#and then seeing droves of people online going | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shroombloomm · 4 months

Text

so high.

cw: degradation, size kink, praising, hair pulling, mention of drugs (weed.), and sexual content.

pairing: drug dealrry/baldrry x mc.

The cold night held thick air, still in the darkness as Jules drove one handed down the road. A blunt between her lips, she knew this would be the last of her stash until she went to see her dealer. The thing about her dealer, though, was that he was consistently fucking busy. It was always so hard to get a hold of him, so she either had to buy in large amounts or she had to start texting him at least a week before she was going to run out.

The schedule worked out perfectly this time around, just as she was running out of weed, he had texted her to come through to reup. So Jules did just that, smoking the last of what she had while on the way to his house. The soft acoustic tunes trilled through the stereo, humming along to a song she just found online not many days ago. She didn’t know the words, but she liked it.

Her pointer finger and thumb pinched the skin of the blunt, taking the last puff and inhaling deeply into her lungs. Jules held it as long as she could before she started to cough up a lung. Smoke bellowed from her nose as she rolled the window down and threw the butt out with ease.

Ahead, there was the house she grew familiar with. The front porch lit up to welcome her, she pulled into the driveway and threw the car into park. When Jules stepped out of the car, a cloud followed after her. She couldn’t help but to chuckle, knowing the entire neighborhood was going to know what she was doing prior.

On the front porch, she knocked and waited. After a few moments, she contemplated pulling her phone out to text him. It was bitterly cold and the sweater she wore was not giving her enough warmth.

“One sec!” He shouted from the other side of the door.

Jules pushed herself off of the wall, crossing her arms over her cold chest. When the door opened, she locked eyes with her dealer, Harry.

“It’s about time,” She joked lightly as he moved to the side to let her in, “It’s cold outside.”

“Sorry ‘bout that, doll,” Harry sighed, closing the door behind her, “I was smoking in the other room.”

Despite knowing that, there was still a thick haze at the top of the ceiling. Jules chuckled, shaking her head. She sat down on the couch, letting out a relaxed sigh. Harry rounded the coffee table, kneeling down in front of her; Harry was styling a bald look with bright blonde hair, a loose black sweater on with black pants. A cross earring dangled from his right ear to match the same necklace around his neck.

“That’s alright,” Jules hummed, “How have you been?”

“Been fine,” Harry mumbled, taking a bag of weed from underneath the table and setting it onto the glass top, “How much are you wanting this time?”

“With the way you reply, let’s say a quarter this time.” She smirked softly.

Harry bit down on his tongue as his lips quirked upwards into a smoke, “Cheeky.”

Harry and Jules weren’t strangers, they were actually really good friends. When she started to smoke in high school, Harry was the only one that she knew to get from. He was the dealer of the school, but of course that was very hush hush. She’d remembered when she first smoked with him on top of a bridge, overseeing a busy road.

Truthfully, Jules had always found Harry a bit attractive. There was an instance in high school where her pick me friend had basically outed her feelings for Harry. At that time, Harry was in a relationship with one of the popular girls; which was funny because historically, Harry couldn’t fucking stand any of the popular girls.

But, lord, did he fucking love Naomi.

So, in truth, Jules never really dated anyone because she had always had eyes for Harry. Sure, she had eyes on a few people throughout the years, she was an adult now and she didn’t want to get caught up on an old crush from some years ago. Jules had dated multiple men throughout the years that never truly satisfied her needs, plus they weren’t really down with her constantly smoking weed.

It wasn’t that weed was a crutch, it definitely wasn’t. Jules used it for her anxiety and depression. A lot of people didn’t understand that.

But Harry understood that.

“Did you want to smoke before you go?” Harry threw a baggy towards her, “That’s gonna be sixty, by the way.”

Jules pulled her wallet from her purse, shuffling through her bills before placing the exact amount onto the table and taking the plastic bag.

“I just smoked, but I wouldn’t say no,” Jules broke into a smile, putting the weed into her tote bag.

“You’re just so greedy, aren’t you, Jules?” Harry teased her as he plucked a wrap from one of the packages, “How’s work been?”

“It’s been fine, really,” Jules let her cheek rest on her hand as she watched Harry clear the cigar of its tobacco, “And I guess business is going fine with you?”

Harry hummed, nodding to her. His thumbs brushed against the wrap to flatten it, sticking his tongue out to lap up the inside of it. Jules’ lips parted, her tongue sticking out to swipe her bottom lip. Entranced by the small action, her cheeks heated up. She cleared her throat, shifting in her seat.

“It’s been fine, yeah,” Harry finally said, swallowing the peach flavor of the wrap, “Sorry I’ve been too busy to get with you. Maybe we can plan something soon, y’know?”

“I’m down for whatever,” Jules shrugged.

Harry sprinkled the weed into the wrap, then proceeded to roll it carefully. While he rolled it up, his lips worked onto the wrap, his tongue poking out to lap the wrap up to keep it firm. This had reminded her of the time that she smoked with him on that bridge, watching him work on the blunt; it was such a simple action, but the fire still sparked inside of her.

It was something about not being able to have something that she desperately always wanted. Maybe her crush from the past was starting to spark inside of her again, or maybe it was the thought of his head between her legs that made her want him. If his tongue could work wonders on the blunt, commanding it to stick delicately together just for him to burn it later, then she’d wondered what kind of trouble they could’ve gotten into together.

“Here,” Harry said as he pinched his lips with his pointer finger and thumb, handing the blunt, “You can spark it. I’m gonna get a couple of drinks. Do you want anything?”

“Erm, water?” Jules placed the blunt between her lips.

“Can do.”

She dug through her pocket for her lighter, then flicked the flame alive to light the blunt. From the earlier blunt, her throat was dry and she was desperate for something to coat her throat. She coughed lightly into her fist, staring down at the perfect pearl of the blunt. When Harry came back with a couple bottles of water, he placed it down on the table in front of her and sat undeniably close to her.

“Can I have that, please?” Harry’s two fingers wiggled towards the blunt.

“Mm, yes.” She handed the blunt to him.

Leaning forward, she grabbed the bottle of water and twisted the top off. The coolness of the water hydrated her and brought her back to life. She drank almost half of the bottle before sitting it down on the table and turning her gaze back to Harry.

Harry’s head was tilted back against the couch, eyelashes long and fluttering until his eyes closed. His cherry lips wrapped around the blunt, cheeks hollowing as the blunt burned bright red from his inhale. The smoke entered Harry’s lungs, and Jules was entranced as his Adam’s apple bobbed when he pulled the blunt from his lips.

She almost blushed, she couldn’t stop staring at him. Harry still held the blunt, bringing his hand down to his thigh as his leg bounced from keeping the smoke inside his lungs. A breath of release and a large cloud flooded the area. The edge of his jaw could cut, perfectly slim and simple as his mouth stayed wide open to let out the smoke.

When Harry turned towards her to pass the blunt, he caught her staring. Jules quickly turned her head, looking ahead towards the TV that she could barely hear; the volume was down low. Jules hated that, she wished that it wasn’t so quiet, if Harry stopped for a moment, he could probably hear the way her heart picked up when he caught her staring.

“Here,” Harry brushed her thigh with his hand, sending a soft wink, “Take it.”

When Jules felt his fingers brush her thigh, it was undeniable that her body reacted temperature wise. Sure, smoking could make someone much warmer, but she felt fucking hot in this sweater. Obviously, it was due to him, but she would never say that out loud.

“Have you ever shotgunned before?” Harry said through his sip of water, his voice was lazier from the intoxication of the weed; each word dripped and oozed slowly from his lips.

“Yeah,” She snorted nervously, “I have.”

When she took another hit, she looked towards him and blew the smoke out. The silence was deafening and she wished there was some sort of noise to distract her from the way his eyes burned into her. Her gaze went to the blunt.

“Do you want to shotgun?” Jules hesitantly asked, her voice shaking under the thought of potentially getting that close to Harry.

Harry chuckled quietly, removing the blunt from her fingers, his cherry lips wrapped tightly around the end of the blunt as he sucked in a loud cloud of thick smoke. When the wrap left his lips, a small cloud of smoke escaped past his lips, but nonetheless, he still held the remnants in his lungs. His fingers curled towards her, motioning her to move closer.

Jules didn’t have much time to think, the longer he held the smoke in his lungs, he would surely choke on it and have a coughing fit. Her body scooted towards him, to which his arm snaked around her shoulder; she felt his fingers caress the back of her neck as he leaned in. His tobacco vanilla scent infiltrated her nose, causing her cheeks to warm and her head to become dizzy at how intoxicatingly delicious he had smelled.

When Jules locked eyes with Harry, she studied the way his eyes were different shades of red, she could barely make out the dark green in his eyes. He was heavily intoxicated by the weed, but so was she, and she couldn’t rip her gaze from his eyes. He blinked once, moving in dangerously closer, while his fingers pinched the back of her neck.

She parted her lips just as Harry nodded upwards to her, his Adam’s apple bobbing from still holding in the thick smoke. What seemed like a lifetime, only lasted seconds. The shadows casting over her were due to Harry’s face being mere inches away from her lips, if she had moved her lips just the slightest, they could’ve locked with his.

Harry’s nose nudged with hers, then settled on one side of her face as his lips parted and circled into a pretty ‘O’, then slowly, surely, blew the smoke into her mouth. Jules inhaled as much as she could, feeling the burning sensation down her throat until it started to strain her lungs. Eyes fluttered closed for mere seconds, and when she opened them, the overcast of Harry had departed; no longer being clouded by the cologne of his. Still, she blew out a nervous breath as the ghostly smoke barely spilled from her lips.

“Shit,” She coughed lightly into her hand, leaning towards her water bottle for coating.

“I’ve always loved shotguns,” Harry told her with his lips quirked upwards into a smirk. He shamelessly liked making Jules flushed and nervous; she was a shy girl anyway, and sometimes he wondered just how shy she could be. Or if it was a cute girl facade. Regardless, he enjoyed the way she avoided eye contact after their mere contact, “Alright?” He chuckled quietly.

“Me?” Jules still tried to remedy the burning sensation in her throat, but she feared this was no real way to remedy the other burning sensation that rested between her thighs.

“Who else would I be talking to, Jules?” He tilted his head, resting his hand on top of the small hairs of his head, brushing his fingers over the buzzcut of his, “A ghost?”

“You’re high enough,” She joked, giggling as she sat her bottle on the table, “I wouldn’t put it past you to see some shit.”

While Harry wasn’t hallucinating, he had to take a second glance at the way her thighs were clenched tightly together and her gaze was forced to the TV with a flustered smile. Harry enjoyed watching the impact he had on others, even if it meant it being his best friend. Truthfully, it crossed his mind a couple of times what Jules would look like underneath him. She was peachy cute, quiet, and chill. Just like he was.

If Harry were to hook up with anyone, it would be with her. He was sure they would click so easily together.

“What’re you staring at?” Jules finally broke the silence, catching his lustful stare that hid behind the glossy look in his eyes.

“What do you think I’m staring at?” Harry mumbled, lips taught upwards with a smirk as he placed the half smoken blunt into the ashtray, “Here’s a hint, it’s not a ghost.”

She pushed her lips to the side, trying to ignore the bubbling in her stomach. Jules knew that answer to that question, but she didn’t want to get ahead of herself. She didn’t know if it was the weed, or if the tension had just appeared, thick in the air.

“I don’t…” Her voice trailed off, mousey and quiet.

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered.”

The words floated in the air, not giving her enough time to react to the compliment, or to the sudden fact that she was getting hit on by one of her good friends. Her drug dealer. Someone she had a crush on for a long fucking time. The air around them became thicker when another body brushed up against hers, glancing out of the corner of her eye, Harry had moved closer to her.

Silence filled the air. She dared not to fully look, if she wanted to bite down on the goofy smile on her face and hide it away from him, she shouldn’t look over. She wouldn’t. She won’t. But Harry’s stare was burning into the side of her face and it made her want to sink into the couch and never come back up.

“So shy all of a sudden?” Harry’s breath hit her ear and her breath hitched. His cherry lips parted softly, using the pads of his fingers to brush against the jawline of hers. When she didn’t turn her head to look at him, he wondered if he had mistaken the tension; if he was just high, or did she really want him like he wanted her in that moment?

“Is this okay?” Harry asked quietly, bushy brows furrowing in deep concern of the blurred lines.

That made Jules turn her head. She couldn’t tell if Harry was joking or not, if he was just trying to test their friendship, or if he really wanted her like she did. Jules parted her lips softly, her tongue swiping across the dryness of her lips as she locked into his dark gaze. She only gave him a small nod.

“Words, darlin’,” He cupped the underside of her jaw, tapping her lips lightly with his thumb, “Let me hear those words.”

Jules swallowed thick, trying to keep her eyes from closing just from the smallest touch; yet it sparked her skin and set her alight in ways she hadn’t felt in so long.

“Mhm, yes,” She whispered soft as a feather.

Harry licked over his lips, studying the features of her flustered expression. Her brows were slightly pinched together, thighs clenching and unclenching together, and her bottom lip threatened to quiver. His thumb traced over her bottom lip once more, dragging it to the side before sliding his thumb down to pull the lip down.

Boundaries weren’t tricky, yet they were walking a fine line on their friendship. That didn’t matter, not when they were high, not when they were both wanting the same thing at the moment. The warmth of Jules' mouth had taken his thumb into his mouth. Harry’s eyes blew wide in surprise, yet not very. Somewhere deep inside of her, she was not shy, and Harry knew if he pushed her enough she would show the side where she could let the little devil come out of her and play.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Harry chuckled quietly, shifting his hips on the couch as he gave her a small once over, “It’s like that then, huh?”

This new found confidence in her dazed mind, and Harry’s reaction, was enough for her to push the boundaries and see how far they could walk this line before they both toppled over it together. Her fingers wrapped around his wrist, steading his movements, as her tongue started to slowly trail around his thumb. Hollowing her cheeks and sucking it deeply, showing off the skills that Harry desperately wanted to test.

“Naughty little minx,” Harry commented, trying to ignore the half chub in his briefs that grew from anticipation. Maybe the lines didn’t exist at all, maybe the lines were a made up rule, or maybe it was a rule that didn’t apply to them; either way, Harry still pumped his thumb in and out of her mouth and pressed down on her tongue just to hear her gag.

The taste of his thumb satisfied her, but she wondered what other parts of him tasted like. Many nights she laid awake, wondering, thinking; dreaming of him growing inside of her mouth. Jules knew she could satisfy him, she was confident about that. One small pop sounded between them, Harry’s thumb now cold as the air hit it, and Jules’ mouth still watering and awaiting more, deeply in anticipation.

“Kiss me.”

Those two words, shattering the tension in the air within seconds. Jules’ couldn’t believe the words that left her. A weight lifted off of her, but another weight brushed against her chest instead. Harry’s fingers were wrapped around her throat, taking her bottom lip into her mouth to taste the sweet indica they had smoked earlier. His lanky body pressed against hers, the sweater giving a facade of bulk, yet when she reached out to touch his hip, it was petite.

He assaulted her lips in a feverish kiss, bruising her bottom lip between his bunny teeth as he bit on it, pulling on it, and sucking it harshly while his fingers pinched the skin around her throat lightly. The fire inside the both of them were only fueling the flames much higher than before; the room burned with fumes of euphoria and lust, rolling each other up and smoking each other to become addicted to the pleasure they could offer each other.

Letting off her lips, she inhaled sharply at the realization that this was, in fact, really happening. Every part of her wanted to take off her clothes, but slow and steady always won a race; one that she wasn’t sure if she wanted to win.

“You taste so sweet,” Harry’s voice rasped out in a sharp breath while his lips continued to kiss around her neck, his hand resting on her shoulder as he squeezed it tightly to ignore the throbbing in his pants, “Fuck, I want more of you,” His tongue lapped up the side of her neck, nibbling on the supple skin.

“Shit,” She hissed at the feeling of his bites and kisses. Jules couldn’t refrain from anchoring her body down against his, letting her legs open. Harry caught the hint, nessling between her thighs and pressing himself tightly against her front as he bit down harder on her neck, “Fuck! H-Harry–,” A choke of moans blurted from her.

“Want to taste more of you,” He mumbled against her skin, “Won’t you let me? I know you must be fuckin’ soaked.”

“Mmmph,” Jules almost choked on the thick swallow, feeling his hardened member pressed tight against her front. She wasn’t sure how long she could take the foreplay, even if it just started; she knew that the moment Harry touched her, she would fight her for life not to come too soon, “I want that,” She whimpered, “I want to feel your mouth on me.”

Harry’s large hands pushed up the sweatshirt that she wore, and she accompanied him in taking off her top. He awed at the sight of her body, leaning down to kiss the valley of her chest while his hand traced over the top of her breast; giving it a hard squeeze, he kept his lips on her skin until he hit her belly button while letting his body slink down.

“Your body is so fuckin’ hot,” He mumbled softly, giving the button on her pants a kind kiss before undoing them, “Can’t wait to see the rest of you. Taste the rest of you.”

Her chest was rising and falling under the anticipation, watching as Harry peeled her pants off of her and exposed the white laced thong she wore. Harry smirked wide, creating dimples in her skin as he kissed her inner thigh, letting out a hum of appreciation.

“This is a sight to see,” Harry taunted, parting his lips as his two fingers swiped up the front of her underwear, a beautiful trace of arousal lightly coating his fingers, “Wet. Just as I suspected,” He teased, then stuck his tongue out to lap up the arousal, it was light and sweet, almost making his head dizzy from the taste, “Tell me something, Jules,” his thumb placed the swollen pearl of hers, flicking his dark gaze up to her, “How long have you been this wet for me? Be truthful with me and I’ll make sure to take care of you, darlin’.”

There was a thin layer of sweat on her forehead, the temperature in the room had heightened by what seemed like a million degrees. Her throat was dry, continuously swallowing the saliva. Jules’ eyes fluttered down to Harry, tongue barely poking out to wet her lips.

“A while,” Her voice shook, flicking upwards into exasperation as his thumb started to circle around the swollen clit of hers, “F-Fuck, that feels really good.”

“Wonder how long you’ve been wanting this,” He teased softly, moving in closer between her legs, his breath hot on her clit as he spoke, “If you’ve been dying for this scene. Me, between your pretty thighs, eating your pretty little cunt.”

Words, they weren’t available to her. Jules’ drew a blank in her mind, and just as she opened her mouth to respond, a long drawn out moan escaped instead. Harry’s tongue pressed hard against her clit, his two fingers pushing her panties to the side as his tongue began to flick upwards between her slick folds. Describing the feeling of being ate out while high on weed was almost impossible to her, the feeling was so intense that she could barely keep her hips still.

But Harry helped her with that, of course, he was a lovely gentleman and wanted to get the job done. His free hand made sure to hold one side of her hip down. The warmth of his mouth was enough for her stomach to swirl and her thighs shake, the tip of his tongue teasing the arousal between her folds as it dripped down onto his chin, then using just the tip to circle carefully around the swollen flesh that needed it the most.

She was in heaven, or maybe a made up heaven that her mind made her see. Either way, she was in the clouds of pleasure. Jules’ back arched upwards as her hand went to his head, fingers curling into the buzzcut, just for her fingernails to dig deeply into the palm of her hand. A gasp, a moan, a whimper, a plead.

His tongue was working magic, but when his fingers plunged into her hole, she let out a mere cry that made her thighs close around his head. Harry chuckled deeply, removing his head from her thighs while he pumped his fingers and out of her at a steady pace. He watched as her body withered underneath him, face scrunched in pleasure, while she silently pleaded for him in short breathed curses.

“How can I let you cum if you close your legs, pretty girl?” Harry coo’d softly, using his hand to force her thigh back down, “Is it too much, hm? Can barely take two fingers f’me?”

Jules’ whimpered, trying to relax her legs enough to make room for him.

“It–it feels so–good,” She breathed out as her eyes rolled back into her head, trying to catch her breath.

Harry curled his fingers into her cunt, watching her body react to him.

“I know, darlin’, I know,” His voice was laced in fake sympathy as he dipped back down between her legs, “And I’m gonna take such good care of you, too. Just need you to be a good girl for me.”

When Jules felt his tongue back on her flesh, it was merely over for her. She was approaching her first orgasm of the night, something inside of her was telling her this wasn’t going to be the last one either. One of her legs hooked around Harry’s neck as she brought him closer, his tongue assaulting the swollen flesh at a quicker pace, while her moans and whimpers echoed through the living-room.

A long drawn out whimper of his name escaped her, then silenced her as euphoria flooded her veins. Stomach tightening, her body froze as she drenched Harry’s chin. His tongue slowed its pace, but still relentlessly rode her orgasm out until she was pushing her body away from him from the burning sensation of the over sensitive area.

Harry’s head popped up from between her legs, chin glistening with her arousal, and a lopsided smile on his lips. Jules looked so fucked out of her mind, chest rising and falling while she tried to catch her breath. He rubbed her thigh slowly, leaning down to kiss down the valley of her chest once more, then the top of her breast.

“I’m not done with you yet, Jules,” He mumbled against her skin, “Need to bury my cock inside of you, hm?”

“Mmmh, yeah,” Jules nodded her head softly.

“Mhmm, I know, honey,” Harry coo’d as his fingers hooked underneath the string of her thong, pulling it down her legs and flicking them to the floor.

Jules unhooked her bra as Harry took his sweater off. They both discarded their clothes to the side. Harry’s lanky body had carved parts that were prominent, his hips making a sharp V line that disappeared down to his pubic bone, complimenting the ferns that looked so pretty between the sweet happy trail of his that disappeared into his pants.

She couldn’t not notice the veins in his hands as he undid his belt. Flexing, twitching until his fingers wrapped tightly around the belt and pulled it off with a loud snap. The sight made her mouth water; remembering the one time that she had ever seen him shirtless, but this was different. This was intimate, this was for her; he was hers, just for the night.

When he removed his pants, his thick cock sprung from his briefs. Pretty and complemented by the bush of pubes around his member, red and angry, yet soft and pink in some places. Harry’s hand wrapped around his cock, stroking down the veins that displayed across his cock as he took in the sight below him; Jules body, beautiful and all his, perfect in the ocean waves of her hips and clouds of her supple breasts.

“Gonna take my cock f’me?” Harry drew out in a half moan, tracing his hand up the back of her thigh as he brought her ankle to his shoulder and held it there. It took everything inside of him not to shove himself inside of her already, but he needed to know she was ready; which Jules very much was.

“Fill me up,” She begged in small whines, reaching out to touch the carved V line of his, fluttering her eyes, “Stretch me out and fuck me dumb, please?”

Fucking hell, Harry thought to himself as his eyes rolled back into his head.

“ ‘M not one to disappoint,” He licked over his lips, tapping his cock against her cunt softly, watching as his tip lathered around her arousal through her slick folds, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re fucked dumb.”

The tip of his cock brushed against her wet cunt once more, hips steady as he pushed forward. She was fucking wet, but still tight around his cock. His thick girth stretched her out in ways that she hadn’t had anyone do before; yet he was doing it. Stretching her out and making her body crumble underneath him. Harry let out a string of curses under his breath as he leaned over her, one hand on the couch, curling his fingers into the fabric just as his bottomed out to the hilt.

“That’s good, taking my cock so good,” Harry breathed out, a growl vibrating through his throat as he pulled his hips back, just to snap them harshly against her, earning a moan from her, “Fuck, just like that. Y’sound so fuckin’ heavenly.”

Jules whimpered underneath him, wrapping her one leg around his hip and bringing him closer. The shadow of his sharp jawline casted over her as he nearly hid his face into his arm in pleasure. Thrusting, hearing the sounds of skin to skin, arousal meshing, their moans intertwining in the room and spinning in the air together. Harry’s hand cupped one of her breasts, parting his lips as he caught her mouth with his.

Jules used her hand to cup his cheek as she overtook him in the kiss. His tongue lapped messily around her bottom lip, to which hers met his, rubbing against each other as they made out feverishly. Sucking lips, moaning into each other’s mouths, and Harry’s hips messily snapping against hers. His head was burning with the warmth wrapped around his cock, her cunt barely accommodated his cock, which made Harry work that much harder to fuck her.

All while desperately trying not to fucking bust. He needed to slow down, or it would’ve been over in seconds. It was almost not fair. Something he desperately wanted in the moment, being ripped away by his shortcomings. If he could make it a few more minutes with her tight cunt wrapped around him, he’d be considered a winner.

Harry broke the kiss, leaning down as his lips perfectly wrapped around her nipple and his tongue slowly licked at the skin, eyes shut closed. She had never come from nipple play before, but her core was nearly flooded and throbbing with pleasure. Harry gazed up at her in wonder, the noises she made made his cock drip with each mewl. Ever so often, she would go back to grinding, but the way he worked her nipple had made her go still. It was like she couldn’t bear to move. If she moved, she would certainly cum.

Her fingers digging into the couch, and her nose resting at the top of his forehead, she begged him for more. Small pants and breaths left her as she ground her hips against his cock, toes curling as she whined to herself. The pleasure was so much that she wanted to fucking cry from how good it felt.

“Keep sucking them, p-please, p-please don’t stop–” She nearly cried.

With each kitten lick, she drenched Harry’s cock, only making him more proud of the way he made her feel. The adrenaline rushing through him, the pleasure, it was blinding; having such a gorgeous thing laid out in front of him, and getting the honor to have her.

But, he wanted more too.

Adjusting his hips, he slowly, painfully, thrusted his cock up into her–the slow pace was enough to make her cry. Tears welled against her waterline as she bit down onto her knuckle, her orgasm was slowly inching more and more.

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she buried her face into his shoulder. He let off her nipple, kissing up her breast slowly as he nuzzled his face into her neck, continuing to thrust up into her. The sudden emptiness made Jules mewl out in desperation, only for Harry to grab her hair and force her to her hands and knees.

“Look at you shaking, can barely take my cock, ” Harry breathed out, slapping his cock against her ass with a huff, “So pathetic, I fucking love it. Watching you like this. Never thought I’d see the day you’d cry over how good I fuck you.”

“F-fuck…you,” Jules whined quietly, closing her eyes as she pressed her ass against his cock.

Harry sat pretty on his knees behind her ass, his cock in his hand as he slowly pushed back into her pretty hole. He let out a guttural moan, tilting his head back with his Adam’s apple bobbing as he continued to buck his hips in and out of her.

“Trust me, baby, I will.”

He grunted out, thumb trailing down to her hole, rubbing it in circles as his hips snapped against her skin harshly.

“God, I fucking love your ass,” He hissed out, “So fucking thick. So full. Gorgeous, really.”

“P-Please…” She whispered.

“I know, baby,” He chuckled out, taking both hands as he spread her cheeks apart, then shook them carefully. Spreading them apart, he could get a full view of how his cock slid in and out of her. It made his spine shiver.

She grumbled, hiding her face as the euphoria nearly sent her over the edge of an orgasm. Harry hollowed his cheeks, then spat onto her other hole before rubbing the wetness around it slowly.

“You like that?” He taunted.

“Y-Yeah, please keep rubbing it, feels really good,” She whimpered with a beg as she looked back at him. Harry smirked wide, snapping his hips to burrow his cock deep into her.

“Keep talking like that and we’ll have to switch holes, darlin’.”

Jules could barely hold it together, her cunt dripped around his girth as he stretched her out. It was impossible not to come, but she needed to make this last; each thrust was contradicting her thoughts, his tip brushing against her spot delicately, making her thighs clench and voice mewl out in long, sultry moans while his fingers dug into her ass.

Harry slowly pulled out of her, letting out a half broken moan as he fell back onto his ass. Jules, utterly fucked, looked from behind her as Harry patted his lap and curled his fingers in a come hither motion.

“Come ride me, dollface.” Harry mumbled, fucked.

His thighs were toned tight, the way he looked with his thighs spread and chest heaving up and down; glistening with sweat, Jules moved herself into his lap and pressed her mouth against his into a hard kiss. Harry grabbed her jaw, handling his aching cock underneath her as she eased down onto it once more. Her hands found his chest, curling into his skin as she felt his thick girth fill her back up, her mouth opened against his as she mewled out a desperate moan.

“Gonna sit still for me, let me do all the work for you, yeah?” Harry brushed the stray hairs from her forehead, kissing the underside of her jaw as he rocked his hips back and forth.

Her stomach was burning, thighs shaking from the tip of his cock grazing her spot with each thrust. She placed a hand against the back of the couch, panting out as her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Harry cupped her breast, slowly kissing it as he whispered sweet praises to her.

“I said sit still,” His voice was firm, yet sweet, his jaw clenched as he felt her walls pulse around his cock. She let out a soft whine, clutching his forearms tightly. Jules was close, there was no denying it anymore, she would surely spill on him any time soon.

“It feels–god!” She cried out, pinching her eyes shut tightly. Harry chuckled darkly, one of his hands roaming to the back of her neck to grasp the roots of her hair. “Just like that—,”

“Be a good girl and shut up f'me, okay? Tongue out,” He used his other finger to tap her lips slowly. She whimpered, doe eyes glued down to him as she poked her tongue out slowly. He smirked, forcing her head to come closer before sliding her tongue past his lips.

He sucked her tongue, massaging his own against it before flicking and kitten licking it carefully. At the same time, the force of his thrusts rocked through her, harder, faster, Harry was peaking in his own orgasm. Her stomach was on fire, feeling like she was going to explode into a million pieces. Harry’s hand slowly roamed up to her stomach, past her belly button and to her nipples.

His two fingers pinched, twisted and flicked at them as his other hand took her hip and made her grind against his cock at a quicker pace. She cried out, nearing tears as pants left her. Harry felt her pussy start to become drenched, her walls throbbed in agony as it signaled that they were both reaching heaven, right where they wanted to be.

Taking a handful of her breasts, he squeezed it harshly. He started to buck his hips up into her cunt. Her fingers dug into his skin, eyes rolling back into the back of her head as her stomach began to twist for the second time this night. Mewling out, her head tilted back from the pure bliss that filled her veins.

Jules’ forehead rested against his, pleaing, whining, only ultimately to be given what she had wanted in the first place. Harry smirked, letting go of her tongue before taking her hips into his hands and watched as she fell apart on his cock.

His attention to her details, her body moving with each twitch and cry, and the beautiful feeling that overcame his cock; he let out a throat ripping moan right as he orgasmed deeply inside of her, just as she finished the same time. They held each other tightly, breaths staggered and tired as they relished in their high, just to come down from it moments later.

“Fucked dumb, baby?” He chuckled out.

“So fucked dumb.” Jules whispered back to him.

#harry styles x yn #harry styles x reader #baldrry #harry styles smut #harry styles x plus size reader #harry styles #harry styles blurb #shroombloomm #harry styles imagines #dom harry styles #harry styles one shot #drug dealrry #harry styles x mc

1K notes · View notes

straykeedz · 6 months

Text

day 17: bang chan + bulge kink

©straykeedz

tw: female anatomy; oral sex (f receiving); protected piv sex; dirty talk??; ♡

wc: 2,3k;

this is part of my kinktober masterlist. you can find my regular masterlist here (tho it will not be updated until the end of kinktober) ♡

🔖 (open): @linos-kitten ; @luneskies ; @kxcies-blog ; @idunnomanmynamewastaken ; @cessixja ; @stolasisyourparent ; @kookiesbunny ; @xoxo-xoxo-bunny ; @ivyskzsworld ; @mal-lunar-28 ; @leetaste ; @sunnykynnie ; @channiesgoodgirl ; @seonghwatoothless ; @mrsminho ; @seungminluv3 ; @jin-from-the-block ; @aaasia111 ; @sulkygyu ; @whosanaanyway ; @y-ur--I ; @vixensss ; @nightimescapes ; @freckleboilix ; @dreamingaboutjisung ; @yourbeomiebear ; ♡

to make sure i add you to the taglist, your age must be clearly visible on your profile. also, empty blogs will not be added - add at least a profile picture to your blog so that i’ll know you’re not a bot. ♡

smut below the cut, minors dni.

☉

You never thought a date with a man you’d met online could go that well.

But a certain Chris somehow proved you wrong, and now you’re absolutely whipped for him. He feels the same way about you, so you decided to make things exclusive pretty quickly, and have been seeing each other for nearly a month now. The two of you get along really well, the chemistry is definitely there and you can’t keep your hands off each other every time you’re together - making out and touching each other, not in a sexual way tho, you haven’t gone that far yet.

However, tonight you just had your fifth date and you’re now about to do something you never do.

See, you have a rule: you don’t sleep with a man until the tenth date. To somebody, it may sound like a stupid and useless rule, but you’ve never been one who only looks for fun in relationship. You don’t judge who only goes out with people for fun, it’s just not something you can do. You tried hooking up with a couple of guys, but soon found out it’s not your thing, and that in order to be satisfied in bed you need to develop a proper emotional connection with that person.

So what the hell were you doing on that stupid dating app? Easy - your friend had practically begged you to download it and try meeting somebody there since it’d been ages since you’d last gone out with somebody.

You did it - for her. And you were pretty skeptical about it, because meeting strangers online is not something you’d usually do. But somehow you ended up meeting Chris - and it changed your life.

But back to that tenth-date-rule. You now find yourself about to break it, and you’re blaming Chris for that.

Yes, because he looked so fucking sexy on the day you had and you just couldn’t stop thinking of how bad you wanted him to bend you over the next surface and fuck you senseless, or how banter you wanted o just kneel down before him, unzip his pants and suck him dry. And he was not even wearing a sexy outfit or had hinted at something racy or anything - the man was just innocently standing there, in front of the aquarium, explaining something about jellyfish to you and you were staring at him while all kinds of dirty, filthy thoughts involving him were flowing in your mind.

All you kept doing was stare at his fingers, then his veiny hands, then his wrists, then his strong, muscular arms and suddenly, you were wet. The rest of your date went on like this - him explaining everything about this and that species of fish, and you thinking of him pressing your body against the next fish tank, unbuckling his skinny jeans, lifting your dress, pulling your panties to the side and, finally, entering you.

When he drove you home and walked you to the door of your place, you decided you just had had enough of being good and following the rules, tonight you wanted - no, you needed to be reckless.

So, you pulled him in for a hot, passionate kiss, and you now find yourself under him on your bed. His body hovers over yours, lips still pressed together, only pulling away from each other when you have to remove your sweater first, then his. And then, when he unbuckles his pants and slides them off his thighs together with his boxers, you notice it. And it’s big, probably bigger than any guy you’ve been with, and it kinda intimidates you.

“What’s wrong?” Chris asks, noticing your wide eyes and slightly panicked expression, worried he might’ve done something wrong.

“Nothing, it’s just…”

“Just?”, he encourages you.

“You’re big.”, you admit, blushing a little.

“Oh.”, he looks flustered too, glancing down at his own cock, which looks painfully hard. “It’s not that big.”

It’s not that big, says the guy with an eight-inches dick that’s about to split you in half. You’re about to say something when Chris suddenly lies down on his tummy, right between your parted legs, and you forget what you wanted to say in the first place.

“Can I take them off?”, he asks, looking at you with big, lustful eyes, fingers brushing the soft fabric of your underwear, making you shiver.

You nod, and he hooks his fingers on your panties before sliding them off your thighs. You’re feeling kind of embarrassed of being exposed like that in front of Chris, and he seems to notice it immediately.

“We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”, he reassures you, caressing your inner thigh with the pad of his thumb. “Okay?”, he gives you a warm smile.

“No, I- I want this.”, you say, propping yourself on your elbows to look him in the eye. You want him to believe you, because it’s the truth. “I promise.”

Chris doesn’t say anything else, he simply licks a long stripe on your pussy and hums as soon as your taste invades his mouth. It’s intoxicating in the best way possible, and if it were for him - he’d never stop. He laps at your clit repeatedly, expertly, occasionally flicking it with his fingers with delicacy - after all, it’s the first time you’re sleeping together, and he has to experiment a little in order to find out what you like.

“Can you…” you let out a shaky breath. “Use your fingers, too?”, you ask him, cheeks flushing red.

“Inside?”, he asks, kissing your clit.

“No, just - put them on my clit like this.”, you shape a ‘v’ with your fingers.

You’re not used to telling men what you like in bed, but Chris is not men. He nods, then places his digits on your pussy, just like you asked, clit beautifully placed between his index and pointer finger. He spits on your clit to lubricate the whole zone, then attaches his plump lips back on your clit, gently moving his fingers at the same time, providing further stimulation, especially when he delicately squeezes it between his digits.

Chris seems to be naturally skilled at eating pussy, because he makes you cum in record time with a combination of kisses and sucks on your clit and the movements of his fingers, which has you tugging at his hair and practically pushing his whole face against your pussy as you ride out your orgasm.

You let your body fall back on the mattress as you pant, releasing the grip you have on his hair. “Shit- sorry, did I hurt you?”, you ask, propping yourself on your elbows once again, scared that you might’ve unintentionally pulled his hair too strongly.

He shakes his head as a no, then licks his lips, savoring the way you taste, then wiping his chin with the back of his hand. “No, you didn’t. In fact, it was really fucking hot.”

“Now it’s your turn.”, you reach for his hard cock, but when you wrap your fingers around it, giving it a couple of slow strokes that have Chris biting his lip and kicking his head back. “Although…” you suddenly stops your movements, and Chris snaps his head in your direction, looking at you “I’d love it if you came while inside of me.”

Chris blinks a couple of time before his brain finally registers what you’re asking him. Once he processes your words, he nods frantically, climbing off the bed only to pick his skinny jeans up from the floor, taking his wallet out of one of the back pockets, eventually fishing a condom from it. Then, he’s back on the bed.

“You know, you really shouldn’t keep your condoms in your wallet.”

“I promise it hasn’t been there long. I put it there today.”, he admits, cheeks slightly blushing at the implication of his words.

“Oh, so you were hoping to get laid?”, you chuckle, but he can see you’re not really offended by the situation.

“Not hoping, but you know…”, he says while unwrapping the rubber, rolling it onto his length swiftly. “Better to be safe than sorry.” He’s got a point.

He positions himself between your spread legs and aligns the tip of his cock at your entrance. Then, he spits on his fingers and spreads his saliva all over your pussy to make sure you’re wet enough to take him - little does Chris know you’ve been wet since he picked you up four hours ago.

“Tell me when you’re ready.”, he tells you, rubbing soft circles on your knee with his thumb.

“Ready.”, you tell him immediately, and he chuckles - he’s just as whipped for you as you are for him.

When he pushes inside - the stretch is insanely good and it doesn’t hurt, even though he didn’t use his fingers to stretch you out before entering you. It’s thick and long, and it feels so big inside of you it makes your head spin. It takes a while for him to bottom out completely, mostly because he’s pushing him at an excruciatingly slow pace to make sure not to hurt you - all while rubbing soft circles on your clit.

Then, once he’s fully inside of you, he lets his body fall on top of yours - chests pressing together as he balances himself using his elbows. He kisses you on the lips as he gives one tentative thrust inside of you, testing the waters. You moan against his mouth, taking in the feeling of having him inside of you - a feeling that’s overwhelming in the best way possible, and you don’t want it to stop.

The first thrusts are slow and precise, letting you adjust to his size, and the angle is just right, hitting all the right places with each movement. Then, he starts to pick up the pace of his thrusts all while kissing the corner of your mouth, or your neck, or your collarbone. Kisses, kisses everywhere, combined with his fingers gently caressing your hair and scalp as he snaps his hips against yours quicker now.

“So good to me.”, he whispers words of praise in your ear, letting out a choked whimper when your hand squeezes the flesh of his ass as he moves inside of you. “You feel perfect around me.”

You believe him, because he does feel perfect around you, too, and you can’t believe you almost missed out on all of this because of that stupid rule.

“And you feel perfect inside of me.”, you moan. “So deep. Look.”, you intertwine your fingers with his, then drag his hand all over your body, placing it on your abdomen.

He’s confused at first, but then he feels it. He feels himself. Inside of you. The tip of his cock right below your belly button, moving inside of you. His eyes widen, and he pulls away from you abruptly, but it’s just because he wants to witness it with his eyes.

He continues to fuck you, only this time he’s kneeling between your legs to get a better look of how his cock moves in and out of you. He’s mesmerized by the view, a tiny bulge appearing on the soft, delicate surface of your belly - shaped just like the tip of his cock, making his head spin. He brushes it with the pads of his fingers, feeling himself inside of you, moving slowly, and then halting his thrusts completely. His dick throbs inside of you, and he can see it reflected on how the bulge moves.

“Do you like it?”, you ask, your voice soft as your knuckles caress his forearm.

Like it would be an understatement. “I love it.”, he whimpers, and it makes your stomach do a flip. Then, he does the same thing you’d done a couple of minutes before. He takes your hand and places it on your belly, letting your palm lie flat on your skin as he thrusts deep inside of you, allowing you to feel every inch of him sinking in your hole. “Tell me you like it too.”, he moans, and he sounds absolutely desperate and close to his release. You are too.

“I do.”, you pant, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist, keeping your hand on your tummy. “I do so fucking much. You’re fucking me so well, Chris, I’m so close.”, at this point you’re just rambling, incoherent words falling from your lips as your toes begin to curl.

“Y-Yeah?”, he whimpers, hissing as he kicks his head back and breathes through his nose, snapping his hips against yours until wet sound start filling the room. “You like my big cock stretching you out? Like it when you feel it in your tummy, baby?”

You can’t believe this is the first time you’re fucking this man - the chemistry feels unreal.

“I do, I do.”, you whimper, your orgasm is so close your toes are already beginning to curl. “So close, Chris, so close.”

“Fuck, cum for me, baby, please.”

As soon as he feel you clench around him, his orgasm washes all over him too, cock throbbing inside of you and he places his own hand next to yours, wanting to feel himself emptying into the rubber, even if it’s from the outside. It doesn’t matter, the thought drives him wild. He keeps his hand there until he feels his cock start to get limp, and then he’s quick to pull out our you, careful to hold the base of his cock. Then, he takes the rubber off and throws it in the trash can in your room and climbs back on the bed to lie down next to you.

And as you try to regain your breaths, cuddled up next to each other, you can’t help but think that you really need to thank your friend for making you download that stupid app.

☉

-> reblog and leave feedback to support me if you enjoyed reading my works and to let me know your thoughts, i love reading your thoughts on my works! ♡

1K notes · View notes

obsessivevoidkitten · 8 months

Text

Your Boyfriend Owen

Yandere Male x Gender Neutral Reader (CW: Noncon/dubcon, stalking, drugging, kidnapping, chaining, general yandere behavior, social awkwardness, creepy staring, mild scent kink.) Word Count: 2.5k (This was supposed to be a small couple hundred word drabble... oopsiedoodles...)

It was the first day of your last year in college.

At the end of class there was a student lingering at his desk. He was your age and of average build, maybe a bit on the skinny side, with disheveled medium length black hair that was a bit wet with sweat and glasses that were a bit crooked.

He seemed really distraught and panicky as he typed on his laptop.

You introduced yourself and asked him if he needed help with something.

He went silent and awkwardly stared at you for a moment before speaking.

“Uh… hi, I’m Owen.”

He was obviously not used to people approaching and talking to him.

I-I don’t know how to get assignments and submit them on this updated online portal we have this year! I just cannot figure it out!”

You leaned over his desk and took a look at his laptop, you happily showed him how to navigate the new system. You didn’t blame Owen for being so high strung, the classes were tough and this new portal was pretty confusing.

What you didn’t realize was that in this simple act of helping him you had made the biggest mistake of your life.

Owen was stunned that you were helping him. You must have liked him! No one was this nice to a random stranger.

As you leaned over his desk to use his laptop he noticed you smelled so nice.

If he hadn’t already been sweating from his previous issues with the student portal you may have noticed the blush that crept across his face.

When you finished he thanked you nervously before you left for your dorm.

There was plenty of foot traffic to and from the dorms, classes, and the food places on campus. It was very easy for Owen to go unseen as he followed you to your dorm.

He… just wanted to make sure you got there safely. And also wanted to see where you lived.

Over the course of the next few weeks Owen you constantly caught Owen staring at you in class and he never failed to greet you when you sat down or try to talk to you when you left. You were always polite but… it was a little creepy to be honest, but you ignored it because it was pretty harmless. He just had a crush on you.

It was far from harmless though, during the time of day that you had classes and he didn’t he would sneak into your dorm and take little “treasures” that he was sure you wouldn’t miss.

A used pair of underwear that still had your scent from the day before. Maybe a shirt if it wasn’t one of your favorites, he knew which ones you wore most often.

As far as he was concerned he was your boyfriend, even if you didn’t know it yet, and good boyfriends noticed small details like favorite clothes.

He also took note of super important information like what food seemed to be your favorite, wherever you ate lunch he was sure to be in the crowd watching you.

Things probably would have continued on like that for a lot longer, just a creepy stalker pining for you, but then one day you helped someone else in class.

They didn’t deserve to even breathe the same air as you! He was fuming, he clenched his hands so hard that his nails bruised his palms. To grace such a nobody with your assistance drove him beyond jealousy.

But that did not even compare to when he saw you the next day eating lunch with the slime ball.

Why would you do that to him? Surely you liked him, not this piece of shit. He must have forced himself into your space and you were just too sweet to push him away.

Owen had to do something before things escalated too far. And he didn’t have to wait too much longer to have his opportunity.

There was a huge Halloween party coming up and he knew for a fact you would be going.

He went with a masquerade ball costume, complete with an intricately decorated Venetian mask.

When you were at the party he waited for the perfect moment to make his move. He stared at you the entire time, not taking his eyes off of you for a moment. Even if he hadn’t been planning something he wouldn’t have been able to take his eyes off you. You had decided to go as a pale faced vampire, it made him wonder what your teeth on his neck would feel like.

When you were all alone, and after your judgment was a bit off from a few drinks Owen came over and introduced himself and started chatting you up before offering you a drink.

He was a bit of an oddball, but he was always nice right? What was the harm?

You accepted the drink and soon everything was a blur. You weren’t rendered entirely unconscious, just helpless, compliant, and a touch clingy.

Owen escorted you out of the party with you leaning on him heavily, his face was red beneath his mask, his darling was relying on him for support! Just how it should always be~

Not many people at the party knew you, and even if they had they wouldn’t have thought much of you leaving in this manner, you just appeared to be a little drunk and leaving with someone who you trusted.

Owen stroked your cheek gently and guided you gently into the passenger seat of his car.

It was really happening, he was taking his love home.

He lived with his parents, in the large basement of their house. He was the true epitome of a basement dwelling freak.

You clung to him and nuzzled into his neck as he brought you inside. You didn’t know why, but you felt so needy.

He sat you down softly on the bed, he had changed the color of the sheets to match yours. He wanted you to feel at home and get adjusted to being here as quickly as possible and thought it may make the transition easier.

To that end he had also hung copies of the same posters you had hanging in your dorm, had the bookshelf filled with every book that he had ever seen you reading, and while everyone else was at the party he had even managed to snag a few things from your room.

Most notably your Nintendo switch and your blankets. They were drenched in your scent~

In your drugged state you couldn’t quite make sense of your surroundings… it looked kinda similar to your room… but not…

“Wh-wherrre aare w-w-weee?” You couldn’t speak without slurring your words.

“We’re home! Th-this is where you live now!

That didn’t seem right… did it? It felt a bit off… But why would this nice man lie to you? He gave you a drink and a ride… home.

“You’ll live here with me and I will take good care of you!”

“That’sss sooo n-nice of you”

Owen smiled, he knew you may feel differently once the drugs wore off, but he had taken precautions just in case. What mattered was that you were here, you weren’t leaving, and you’d eventually admit that you liked him and wanted to be here with him.

He sat down beside you on the bed and wiped the pale makeup from your face gently, you leaned into his touch with a cute sigh that made his heart swell and his cock twitch.

You were so perfect. Eventually you would be like this without the drugs, he just needed to be patient and train you until you saw that you needed him as much as he needed you. He had wanted to wait until that point to make love with you.

But… you were acting so sweet and needy. So malleable. And he could tell that you really needed it, your face was flushed and you kept grinding your crotch slowly against your arm that you had between your legs.

You stared up at him in confusion as he began to peel away his clothing, his cock bouncing free. You couldn’t take your eyes off of it. Then he carefully took off what you were wearing, slowly. He wanted to savor the moment. The person he loved more than anything else in the entire world was about to be revealed completely to him.

“So p-perfect~”

“Whaaaa are you doooinnng?” You looked up at him while not even noticing you were already grinding into your arm again.

He rubbed your thighs gently before replying.

“I’m g-going to help you with this,” he said as he caressed your crotch.

You blushed and smiled, in that moment all you could think that Owen was just so nice. He had already taken you home and now he was going to help you with your arousal too!

You spread your legs to allow for easier access as he fumbled with the lube.

He was considerably more nervous than before.

“I-it’s my first time, I hope I’m okay~ I-if I’m not we can pr-practice until I get it right!”

Owen applied the slick fluid liberally to his cock, where it mixed with the precum that his cock was practically drooling, then he scooted you to the edge of the bed and knelt between your legs, using his tongue to get you nice and stimulated.

The scent and flavor of you was almost enough to make Owen cum almost immediately, he was more drugged by your smell than you were on actual drugs. He moaned loud, taking it all in.

Before he caused either of you to orgasm before the main event he managed to pry himself away and apply lube to your entrance, sliding in a couple of fingers and twirling them around inside you.

You bucked and moaned, desperate to have more inside you as the lube mixed with all the saliva he had deposited inside you.

“Neeed morrrre,” You started crying a bit, you were just so desperate. You were like a bitch in heat and nothing would take care of it except Owen’s cock.”

“S-so needy! Don’t cry honey bun, I will take care of you!”

You tried to get your sobbing under control as he kissed you deeply.

“Gosh, y-you’re pretty even when you’re crying…

Then he stood beside the bed and propped your legs up on his shoulders. He rubbed the tip around your hole a bit, wanting to ingrain this moment into his memory for the rest of his life, before grabbing your hips and plunging his entire length inside of you in one movement.

The two of you gasped in unison, finally you felt that yearning void in you start to fill and he was inside of you.

It was much better than he had imagined in the fantasies he had so fervently jerked off to.

The heat, the tightness, your insides were enveloping his cock in pure bliss. And the smell of your sweat mingled with his and the scent of sex was just indescribable.

He slid in and out rhythmically, bending down and biting your neck as he did so. Claiming it as he sped up faster and faster.

Owen couldn’t help not lasting too long, and luckily for him you couldn’t either in your drugged state.

You cried out as you came hard, the force of your climax shaking through your body, pushing Owen over the edge. He filled you with plenty of cum before wrapping his arms around you lovingly.

“I love you so much!”

Your intoxicated mind felt the perfect response to this was, “I looo-love youuu toooo.”

When you woke up you were clothed and all cleaned up, and you could scarcely remember a single thing after the party. You had an awful headache and it took you a few moments to realize that this was certainly not your bedroom.

You felt someone spooning you from behind.

Owen. Owen was spooning you!

You must have gotten black out drunk and hooked up with him.

The thought made you feel sick to your stomach.

You immediately jumped out of bed and went to put your shoes on when you finally saw it.

A long thick chain that led to a shackle around your ankle.

You screamed.

Owen woke up instantly and tried to console you. He had been worried this may be your reaction.

“C-calm down honey b-bun. Just let me expla-”

“Don’t call me honey bun you sick freak!” You shouted the words with as much venom as you could muster, with tears threatening to roll down your face at any moment.

“HELP! HELP PLEASE!! SOMEON-”

Owen grabbed you from behind and put his hand over your mouth, using his other hand to hold you close to his shirtless form.

You still yelled, but it was pretty muffled. You could only hope someone had heard your initial outburst.

“Shh baby, calm down, it will be okay I promise~”

He kissed the top of your head and you tried to shake him off but you were still weak from last night, and he was stronger than you had anticipated. You finally went still and silently cried, your voice too strained now to say much of anything.

Then you heard footsteps coming from above you, they got louder as they approached. Did he have roommates? Had they heard your plea for help? You allowed a spark of hope to ignite inside of you.

You couldn’t see it, but Owen was blushing deeply.

“O-oh jeez, I didn’t want you to meet my parents y-yet. Not until you felt b-better.”

A man and a woman came down the steps. They both had features that reminded you of Owen.

The woman spoke while the man stood behind her, “Just what the HELL is going on at this early hour!? The sun is barely out and I have to work later tod-”

She met your eyes, only just now realizing that her son had someone in his arms. You could see her gaze follow the chain that bound your leg to the wall.

Seeing your tear streaked face, red and puffy from crying, shaking from fear, she gave a look of sympathy. Your hope grew. Would she help you escape her loony son? Your sore throat strained to form words, but they only came out muted and garbled through Owen’s hand.

“Owen! You didn’t tell us you were dating! Honestly, with how awkward you are, I was a bit afraid you’d never take a liking to someone.”

Then she looked at you again.

“You’ll be okay, I know it’s hard at first, but you’ll settle right in.”

“I-i made sure the shackle was lined with something s-soft so it doesn’t hurt them. J-just like you told me how you did when y-you started dating dad!”

You saw the man bite his lip and gaze down sheepishly.

Owen was in his mid 20s, if his age was any indication… if he was conceived when his parents first met… then you were going to be here for a very long time.

#yandere x reader #yandere boyfriend #yandere scenario #male yandere #yandere male x reader #yandere x gender neutral reader #My OCs #My OC Owen #yandere imagine

2K notes · View notes

merakiui · 6 months

Text

long-distance love.

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, phone sex, obsession, power imbalance, kidnapping, implied (cyber)stalking, non-con touching, characters written as 18+ note - sea witch, the magicord mod you've had intimate online relations with, is closer than you thought.

Sea Witch is a busy man.

His weekly schedules are almost always packed to bursting, each event meticulously arranged into open slots as if aiming to form a perfect puzzle. Times never conflict; he’s particular about how he spends his hours, and very rarely does he allow himself a break. It has always been work, work, work. He’s one of the city’s most affluent, eligible bachelors and yet he’s married to his business. Those who lust after him think it’s a wasteful shame. Azul finds it to be a relief far greater than any he’s ever known. He will never compromise the enterprise he’s built from the ground up just because of some flimsy, fickle feelings.

Originally, he had no interest in Magicord, a messaging platform that grants people from all over the world the chance to congregate on specific servers for mutual interests like anime and gaming. He only downloaded it because Idia Shroud, a fellow friend and business partner, lived and breathed the app, his online presence so profound it was almost like a second home. He’d swipe away notifications from his actual messaging app, too busy in a voice call with his group of dungeon raiders to bother answering important calls.

So he resolved to get on Idia’s level in hopes of improving communication. Although Idia’s level, as Azul often noted, was not exactly a place he wanted to be. While Magicord could be used for business purposes, that wasn’t what drew people in. Azul of all people knew very well which target audiences were being reached with apps like Magicord, and he was not one of them.

“To think I’d stoop as low as this,” Azul had once groused over a phone call with Idia, who was giving him quite a lengthy, not-very-needed-but-also-very-much-needed rundown on Magicord’s inner workings. “I hardly have time to play games, let alone socialize on this…app.”

“Aren’t you always going on about how adaptable you are?” Idia sniped back, not in the mood for normie criticism. The sound of clacking keys could be heard on his end. “And you’re the one who asked. Kinda defeats the purpose of learning if you’re just gonna complain.”

Azul rolled his eyes. “I fail to see the logic in downloading another app just to ensure my messages reach you. Honestly, you ought to start checking your email. Or, at the very least, go through your missed call and text logs.”

Alas, Idia had been stubbornly adamant about his preferences and so, much to his displeasure, Azul was forced to undergo something of a Magicord Training Camp until he emerged a pro. And being a pro meant knowing how to navigate his own profile and toggle between that and Idia’s, which was really the only tip he needed because that was all he’d use the app for.

But Azul has always had an innate itch for wanting to know something from top to bottom, inside-out, and the idea of not knowing every little detail about Magicord drove him insane. If there was an opportunity he could capitalize on, why should he risk squandering it with his elementary-level knowledge? So he spent his rare slivers of free time playing around in there, creating a server and wondering who could ever become so attached to an app when the world beyond the screen was filled with just as many, if not more, social encounters.

His introverted side understood the appeal. In fact, he loved the idea of hiding behind a manufactured persona online. He didn’t have to be Azul Ashengrotto on Magicord. Rather, he could rid himself of his dislikable traits and become an entity—an idea or a concept—rather than a flawed man who others might scrutinize ruthlessly.

So he became Sea Witch, and within just a week he’d constructed quite the comfortable server. The invite link was spread throughout the various branches of Mostro. It would provide employees with an online sanctuary, where they could easily connect should doing so in person prove complicated (as had been the case regarding Idia, which was the sole reason he’d even poured so much time into this effort). Most of all, it gave Azul the chance to keep watch from afar, silently sitting in wait and curating a collection of mostly unimportant intel. Mere gossip, if anything.

But gossip is just as good as the next scandal. He likes to be prepared, a razored edge on all sides.

As far as the company was concerned, no one knew who this Sea Witch character was and no one knew who spread the link. And as far as individual employees knew, this was likely just some overworked intern’s labor of love—a well-crafted server intended to function as a digital gathering place for those exhausted after a long day. And that was mostly true, but all of the potential blackmail he could gather, the information he could glean, and even the people he could keep a closer eye on in an online setting—all of that paled in comparison to the real prize he’d attained. This was of great importance. It was something that altered the course of his life, opened his eyes to the brilliant beauty of a first love.

It was there in that undersea-themed haven where he met you, the one who would add flavorful spice to the once bland, boring meal that was his life. And just after a few weeks of simple, cordial conversation, he realized a single taste of your kind companionship wouldn’t be enough to sate him.

Greedy to a fault, Azul wanted you in your entirety.

Which brings him to the present, where he’s currently leaning back into the expensive leather of his driver’s seat. He’s parked on a silent strip of road, in a more residential part of the city. It’s not very busy here, and his windows are tinted to avoid immediate recognition. Rush hour won’t hit until later, and he’s not due for any conferences. He has time. Plenty of it to spare on this little excursion.

“I wanna meet you, Sea Witch,” you admit, nearly whining through the phone. “Where’re you from? Maybe we’re in the same area.”

Azul smiles at your impatience. You just can’t get enough of him, can you?

Every weekend, you hop into a VC with him and chat for hours on end. At first he simply provided a listening ear when you wished to rant through text or call. You’d voice all sorts of complaints. Azul filed them away in the event that they might be useful in the future, initially intending to use such information to ruin you should you prove to be someone worth ruining. But the more he spent listening and scrawling notes on blank paper, the more he realized you were just overworked and struggling financially.

Upon making these connections and learning all sorts of facts from you regarding your life beyond Magicord, he felt compelled to help. Out of the goodness of his heart, of course, ever the benevolent saint. And you weren’t complaining when he offered to pay you for your time. In exchange for two hours of conversation, he’d provide you with the funds you needed to afford your necessities.

Somehow, throughout many months of give and take—with his giving being on the jaw-droppingly exorbitant side, always one to top his own ludicrous generosity—your hours-long conversations would sink beneath the surface of mere companionship. It was one-sided intimacy. Azul was careful with what he shared, building a mostly secretive profile for himself. He didn’t want to risk tarnishing your fondness for Sea Witch by sharing details that felt more like Azul and less like the effortlessly funny, charming, and eloquent Magicord mod you’d originally made contact with.

You didn’t seem to worry about compromising your own privacy, easily divulging a variety of fun tidbits about your life. You’d share the tiniest of details and he’d eat it up every time, hungering for more than just crumbs. That time you sent him a photo of the octopus macarons you’d bought from a local bakery because you were thinking of him? He remembers it well, and he’s constantly reminded of it when you text him about things you did over the weekend or hobbies you basked in. Sending photos of your houseplants, asking him for his opinion on clothes you were hoping to buy (which he was always more than willing to sponsor; all you needed to do was send the link and he’d purchase it), and even trusting him enough to fall asleep in the VC with him (arguably one of his favorite things about your unique relationship).

And he called it unique not because it was a bad sort of strange. Rather, it was unique in the refreshing sense. He’d never had an online friend before, let alone someone who would so willingly and readily indulge him. Granted, this willingness stemmed from the deal he’d cut with you and so you were really only doing these things for your own gain. But then so was he. It was a relationship built upon necessity. You needed money to survive, and he needed you.

So it was okay to fall into sleazy fantasies. It was all an act anyway, and it wasn’t like you judged him or his preferences. At least, not outright. If you did, it was silent. You were considerate and sweet; and you really did consider him a friend. Or so he hoped. If your casual conversations were any proof, it was obvious there was some sort of enjoyment and trust there.

Friendship or something more, he would have you. Whether that meant in the safety of his pocket, enclosed within his mobile phone forever, or in his penthouse, tucked away in his bedroom—he’d have you.

“I’m from a city, yes,” he answers, purposely cryptic.

“Obviously. Come onnn, Witchy. Don’t you wanna meet me, too?”

“I do, and one day we’ll meet. I promise.”

He listens to your irritated groan and his cock twitches in his slacks. Good god, your voice is a blessing—more heavenly than a cherubic choir.

“One day isn’t today, though.”

“Perhaps not.” He speaks to distract you from the rustling fabric of his pressed suit as his hand strays further. He spies his reflection in the rearview mirror, notes the flash in his irises. If only you were here, sitting beside him in the passenger seat. If only he could slide his own seat as far back as it would go, lie still and serene, and let you climb into his lap to spear yourself on his erection. Genuine leather be damned. He wanted your scent, your essence, your everything engraved into the very interior. “Humor me—if we were to meet right now, what would you like to do?”

“Mm, I’d want to get a good look at the man I’ve been talking to for nine months now.”

“Oh, you’ve kept track?”

“You haven’t?” Your laughter is fluffy and light—authentic amusement. “And I’d want to memorize your face so that I’ll never forget it.”

“May I ask why?”

“Because I’m so curious! You know what I look like—”

“Not entirely,” he interjects, sly and silver-tongued. “You’re a portrait half-finished in my mind. Not yet sketched to completion.”

And it’s true. From your shoulders down, you are a faceless beauty. He’s seen you nearly naked and fully clothed, in frills and lace, in latex and ribbons, in satin and chiffon. And yet, for all of the skin you’ve shown, he can’t place a face (or a real name, for that matter) to your body.

“Okay, poet,” you tease, and he’s already palming himself through the fine fabric of his trousers. “But I’ve still never seen an inch of you. You’ve never even sent a dick pic.”

“You’ve never asked.”

“Can I have one now?”

“Nice try.”

“Asshole!” you gripe, clicking your tongue in disappointment. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“I’m aware,” he hums, squeezing himself, his breath coming out faint and haggard.

Yeah, he’s the worst. But then you’re the best at eliciting these sorts of reactions from him. The effect you have on him is utterly enthralling. Your ability to reduce him to a pliable puddle in just a few words—a mere few lighthearted, hollow insults—is truly impressive. He’d feel ashamed of himself if it wasn’t so good.

“You’re probably not even that big.”

“Would you like an exact measurement?”

“Wouldn’t it be better to measure it in person? See how many inches I could fit inside. I’ve been practicing with that dildo you sent me—the one shaped like a tentacle,” you purr, frustratingly coy. He wants your sinful lips wrapped around his dick right now—wants to fuck your throat sore and raw. Wants nothing more than to spill heavy and hot on your tongue so you’ll taste him for days. “If we met up, we could make that happen. Sooo, where’s my Sea Witch from? What part of the world?”

“Patience, angelfish.”

Even though he says so, he’s practically vibrating with excitement as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Soon. So soon. Very, very soon.

And then…

He imagines you rolling your eyes with your next words. “Fine, fine. I’ll be patient. But that’s not gonna stop me from fantasizing.”

“Well, what do you think I look like?”

“Now isn’t that a fun question?” You mull it over. He can tell because you mutter a variety of ums and hmms in that soft, sweet voice of yours. “I think you’re tall and you have a handsome face that matches your equally handsome voice.”

“Yeah?” he encourages, undoing the belt, button, and zip on his pants one-handed. “What else?”

Your giggles filter into his ears, seeming closer than they actually are due to the wireless earbuds he’s wearing. “From what I’ve gathered, you seem to have expensive tastes.”

Sitting in his lavish, one-of-a-kind, custom-made sports car, Azul thinks you would be correct.

“I wonder what gave it away…” he drawls, his voice creeping an octave lower.

He places his phone in the cup holder, reaching to open the glove compartment and retrieving a tiny bottle of lube. Squirting a scant amount on his palm, he fishes himself, throbbing and pathetically hard, out of his boxers. His slick hand is a warm, welcome embrace around his silky-smooth shaft. He sucks in a breath through grit teeth, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Mhm, I wonder. It’s not the fact that you told me I should just buy a designer bag for work when I asked for recommendations. And it’s certainly not your ability to get me lots of nice gifts as if it’s nothing. So maybe it’s just your excessive generosity that makes you seem so rich?”

“Sure, we’ll go with that.”

“Speaking of that, what do you do for a living?”

“Guess.”

“Okay, Mr. Mysterious… Um… Hm. I think you’re a pilot.”

The whiplash that assumption brings is so seismically jarring he thinks he might go flaccid. Gripping himself with renewed vigor, he slides his fist along his length, slow and perfunctory, picturing you under his desk, your mouth open wide to receive him…

“A pilot… Mm, no, not quite.”

“Aw. My second guess was gonna be a contract killer. They make lots of money.”

“You have quite the wild imagination, angelfish. Even if I was one, do you think I’d admit that to you?”

“Maybe,” you tease. He pictures your smirk as it twists your perfect, pretty lips into something wicked. “For the right price, yeah?”

“Oh? Do elaborate.”

Please. Please keep going. Don’t stop talking. I need to hear you, closer, louder, clearer… More.

“What sort of price would I have to pay to get Sea Witch to spill his secrets?” you muse, your voice a tantalizing curl of syllables, but he suspects you already know the answer to your hypothetical. “I can’t offer you money, so you’d have to settle for something a little more…physical.”

He shivers, nodding his agreement even though you can’t see it. “Physical’s good,” he mumbles, foregoing eloquence in favor of filth. “Much better than—mm—than money…”

“Yeah? All right. Let’s see… You’re well-off and you might or might not be a contract killer. Do you wear suits?”

“I do.”

“Ooh, so you’re one of those contract killers.”

Azul can’t help it; he laughs, the sound tumbling out in a breathy gasp. “I prefer looking nice at all times.”

Languidly, his hand continues its idle pumping. He cracks his eyes open to peer at the pre-cum beading at the tip.

“Even if you’re just going to get messy?”

“Explicate the situation that’s leading me to soil my clothes. Details, angelfish.”

“Well, if you’re a killer who wears suits, you wouldn’t like even the smallest stain. It ruins your image, but if it was me…” You pause, probably for effect, and it works. His back arches with anticipation, fingers closing tighter. “You’d make an exception.”

“I would,” he admits far too quickly. “Always.”

“So you really would out yourself as a killer if I spread my legs for you?”

“No, but I’d let you dirty my suits.”

“Good. They’ll look better on the floor anyway.”

His breath hitches. Fuck, your every word is a siren’s song, leading him deeper into mist-clouded waters. He’d keep you pinned on his cock all day if he could. Why should you continue to work your mundane job when you could spend your precious hours with him instead? He’ll be your job. Seven days a week, during each of the breaks he’ll pencil into his schedules, you can visit him and he can empty all of his stress into you. And you’ll take it because you’re such an obedient sweetheart for him, always so ready to please your master.

He prays you can’t hear the salacious squelch of skin on skin as he works himself towards the edge, but a nastier part of him wants you to listen in so you’ll be reminded that this is your fault. No one else can possibly make him this messy. No one else is capable of rendering him a clumsy, lovestruck fool. You’re probably well aware of these facts, having brought him to this same edge numerous times in the past. Sometimes you would reach that tipping point alongside him, your gasps and groans joining his in an obscene duet.

Neither of you decided upon today’s development, but he thinks—knows—you’re intentionally stringing him along. You want this as much as he does.

“So was I right? You’re totally a contract killer?”

“I’m a businessman, angelfish,” he corrects, a silly, drunken smile softening his jaw. You make him feel so stupid, so warm and fond.

“So basically the same thing. Just as ruthless, no?”

“Please, you wound me. I’m always kind.”

“Ah, so there are others who get this treatment? And I thought I was the only one…”

“You are. No one could ever compare to you.”

He intends to tack my love onto the sentence’s end, but he stops himself. You’re not his love. Not really. You’re his angelfish, sure, but that’s different. That’s just a pet name befitting the aquatic theme he masquerades behind. And you’re not really Azul’s. You’re Sea Witch’s.

It’s Sea Witch you know and love. Beyond that, Azul is just Azul. And he’s nothing like the ideal he’s cultivated on Magicord.

He sighs and forces himself out of the turbulent trenches of his withering self-esteem. Now is not the time to contemplate which version of himself you’d be more preferential to.

You’ll have no choice but to love the real him. Soon.

“Really? I feel so special.” Impressed, you whistle and add, “I’ve gotta make you feel special, too.”

“You already have—”

“Not inside the VC. Come on, Sea Witch, don’t you wanna meet me?”

“I do. I really do,” he babbles dumbly, grinding his thumb into his slit and smearing pre-cum. He grits his teeth and tamps down a colorful word. How he yearns for this to be your hand wrapped around his length, tugging him to that far-off finish line. “I want nothing more than to—t-than to see you, all of you, in person…”

“So what’s stopping you? I could do a lot more in person than I can over the phone.” He has a smart reply for that, but it sticks in his throat. Pitifully, like the rightful debauched mess he is, he groans, low and guttural. “Let me turn the question on you, Sea Witch. If we were to meet today, what would you like to do to me?”

So many things, he thinks, a litany of smutty imagery flickering through his head.

But Sea Witch is classy (most days) and today is one of those instances. Or at least he’s going to make an attempt, however weak it may be.

“Take you to dinner,” he mumbles, executing jerky, quick motions in a daze, his cock weeping for release. He throws his head back, peers up at the interior roof of his car, and inhales sharply. “Take you all over the city if it pleases… I’d spoil you with so much finery—dress you up and then tear every article off…”

“And then?”

“And—god, fuck—wanna be inside you, angelfish… So badly—need you so badly. I wanna feel you and kiss you and hold you.”

He’s unraveling, strings pulled taut and fraying to extremity. Azul bucks into his hand and imagines it’s you, tight and warm, a sweet, snug embrace. He opens and closes his mouth, intending to beg you for more, but all that slips out are the tiniest huffs and grunts. He’s so wrapped up in his own ardor that he almost misses your quiet pants, every breath squeezed out of you as if you’re struggling to withhold your gratuitous moans. And it’s deplorable, really, the way his ears prick at these muffled sounds, the way his cock stands rigidly at attention, the way he’s falling through fragments of filthy fantasies, each one so close and yet impossibly far.

“I want you, too,” you mewl, tone wavering between shameless thrill and some sort of seventh heaven.

He wonders what you’re using to pleasure yourself. Are your fingers, slick and curled, rubbing up against those perfect, pretty spots that have you seeing stars? Or are you using the toys he purchased for your enjoyment? Maybe you’re lowering yourself onto the dildo right now, gummy walls clenching around girthy silicone. And maybe you’re tugging at your nipples, massaging them between the pads of your fingers, or maybe you’ve swapped skin-to-skin for a bullet vibrator instead.

Maybe—just maybe—it’s the mere thought of him that sets your flesh aflame with an intoxicating desire.

“And I want you—” you gasp, and his mind travels to all of the risqué photos you’ve sent, each one saved in a password-protected album on his phone— “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything before. I want you to show me that no one else can compare to you. I want you to—mmh, hah—to hold me down in bed and fuck me until my legs are sore and I can’t walk.”

I will, he thinks, lashes fluttering on his cheekbones. He strokes himself quickly, chest heaving, tongue near-lolling out of his mouth as he pants like a hound in heat. I’ll do all of that and so much more. I’ll fuck every coherent thought out of your pretty head, keep you just smart enough to rely on me, turn you into the prettiest sea flower who’ll only blossom for me.

“I promise, angelfish. I promise I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted,” he vows, his nerves alight with lustful delight, “and you’ll never know misfortune again.”

“I—oh! I’m close, so close! Please, Sea Witch! Please don’t stop. Please fill me up and make me yours!”

The sheer vulgarity twined through amatory vehemence, coupled with his own hurried pace, has him tumbling down the slope, arousal peaking and spilling over in thick, creamy spurts. He has half a mind to catch his spend before it can ruin the pristine interior of his car, and he blinks down at the semen sullying his palm. Idly, he rubs his fingers together to test the viscosity, wondering how his fluids would look on your face, your stomach, your ass—or even pooling out of your hole in plentiful amounts.

That fantasy is enough to send blood rushing right back to his softening cock, and he wills those thoughts away with logic—complex calculations and the financial forecast for Mostro. There will be plenty of time to indulge in sexual cravings later. He reminds himself of this while he tamps down his zeal, his heart relaxing in his ribs as he sits with the slowly ebbing aftershocks of orgasm.

You seem to be doing much the same, for you’ve gone perfectly quiet.

“Everything all right, angelfish?” he whispers after a few minutes, his breath now evened out.

“Mm, yeah. All good over here. Messy, but good.”

“I’m comforted knowing we’re in the same boat.” He chuckles while fumbling to dig a cotton handkerchief from the depths of his suit jacket. He cleans the cum and residual lube from off his hands and dick before neatly tucking himself away. Soon, there will be no need for this charade. Soon, he can adore all of you from beyond the screen. “Angelfish, there’s something I’d like to tell you.”

“What’s up?” you murmur, your own voice settling into its usual cheery cadence. He suspects you’re just putting on an act to sound happier. That will change when you’re reunited in person because it will be real. Because there will be no point in pretending through the phone.

“Well…” Azul smiles, folds and unfolds the sodden handkerchief, and then straightens his posture. He should be on his way now. “Ah, it’s nothing. Never mind it. I’ll tell you later.”

“Whaaat? But you’ve made me so curious now. Don’t just leave me in suspense!”

“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to remain in that suspense indefinitely.”

“Ugh. You’re so annoying sometimes.”

He knows you don’t mean that.

“I’ll tell you soon, angelfish. Exercise a little patience. There’s no rush.”

“Easy for you to say. You know what it is.”

“That I do, yes.” He hums, considering his next words. “Would it help if I left you with a word of advice?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything.”

“Um. Okay, sure. Hit me. What’s your advice?”

Azul buckles himself in, starting his car via push button. It rumbles to life, smooth and steady. “Don’t fight so much, my dear.”

“Don’t what? Sea Witch, what are you talking—”

Your words are interrupted with a startled yelp. Azul listens to the struggle as if it’s a podcast enjoyed at sunrise. Things are toppled in the chaos; something shatters. He catches the beginnings of a blood-curdling shriek before it’s swiftly silenced. There’s more muffled scuffling before, eventually, absolute peace.

It’s broken by Floyd’s petulant whine. “Maaan, Shrimpy was so difficult. Thought you said they were easy, Azul.”

“Understandably so,” comes Jade’s astute reply. “We did catch them when they were most vulnerable.”

Floyd hums his agreement. “Y’know, Jade, Shrimpy’s kinda cute…”

“They are, aren’t they, Floyd?”

“Whatever you’re thinking, perish it right now,” Azul hisses, features twisting into something dark. “Keep your slimy mitts off of my angelfish.”

There’s an unsettling silence. Azul rolls his eyes. They’re fishing for a reaction he refuses to give.

“Clean up whatever mess you’ve made.” He takes his car out of park and eases into drive. “And don’t let anyone see you. It’ll be a hell of a pain if neighbors make unnecessary reports.”

“Yeah, yeah. Heard ya loud and clear.”

“Very well. Farewell for now.”

The call is cut. Azul grips the steering wheel, smug.

Soon waits for him on the horizon. He will not be a minute late.

You wake on a bed, in a spacious bedroom with exquisite floor-to-ceiling windows, many stories up in the clouds. A brightly lit cityscape sprawls beyond the confines of this room, illuminated with the deceptive shine of promise and success. At first it looks foreign. But then you recognize notable buildings, each standing tall and proud amidst the rest, and it occurs to you that you’re in a stranger’s home, in the heart of the big city.

The room itself is plainly colored; it reminds you of a hotel or a room you might find in a real estate catalogue. Perplexed, you sit up and take pause as your unfamiliar surroundings prove to be more frightful than your own confusion.

Pasted to the walls are various printed screenshots from Magicord, each one detailing a conversation of sorts. You stare at the wall behind you, the one in which the bed is currently pushed against, and peer closer at the contents of these messages.

They’re all from you.

Endearing terms you’ve called him in passing. Gentle insults. Lewd flirts. Vents and rants. Photos you’ve sent of very insignificant things—houseplants, meals, clothes. And then there are the photos of your body in skimpy lingerie and cosplay, all taped to the wall like this is some abstract museum of the digital you. The you who, despite being honest most of the time, took solace in the world of Magicord. The you who’d grown close with the mod from that whimsical ocean-themed server. The you who is now trapped, your ankle enclosed in a cuff. There’s a lead that only allows you to meander into the attached bathroom if you so please, and you suspect it’ll pull taut if you try to leave the room.

“What the fuck?” you mutter, your stomach twisting with disgust.

You look down at your clothes—you’re in someone’s collared shirt, intentionally designed to be oversized so that it drapes like a nightgown—and horror prickles your skin.

And then he arrives.

He’s dressed casually in black slacks and a simple white dress shirt, primly tucked in with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. You stare for a long moment, studying his features as his familiarity dawns. Your mouth falls open in a muted scream.

He smiles sweetly, stepping further into the amber glow from the bedside lamps. “It’s nice to formally meet you. I’m Sea Witch.”

But that’s not what’s shocking about this. The real shock—the thing that has your brain stumbling in an effort to put the pieces together before the picture can crumble—is far more jarring than the kidnapping and the captivity. You find your voice then, and before you can stop yourself the words are falling out in a hurry.

“CEO Ashengrotto?!”

Sea Witch—CEO Ashengrotto—stiffens, his brows furrowing immediately. He gives you a sharp, dangerous look. A look that seems to radiate one unspoken question: Where did you hear that name?

“You… You’re A-Azul Ashengrotto,” you continue, swallowing thick trepidation. “CEO of Mostro. You opened a new restaurant last year—Crave, right? And the menu features celebrity favorites—celebrities like Vil Schoenheit and Neige LeBlanche.”

He laughs his disbelief, carding a hand through soft, silvery locks. “How…do you know this?”

“I work there. You visited once with your secretary for quality checks. We even crossed paths.”

Azul gawks, realizes he’s gawking, and clears his throat. “I… I see. Well.” He inhales, holds his breath for three seconds, and exhales. “This makes things rather…awkward.”

“When you said businessman, I didn’t think… I mean, how was I supposed to know? Your voice sounds so different over call than it does in interviews.”

“Of course it does! I never use the same inflection for those things.”

This cannot be real, you think, watching him flounder anxiously. Azul Ashengrotto is Sea Witch. This whole time… Nine entire months… I was talking to the CEO—to the city’s most popular bachelor—and I didn’t even know it. They write articles about this guy! He’s all over the TV! How did I never realize?

And then a very mortifying thought worms its way in: Oh my God. We both know each other’s preferences. He saw so much of me—more than I’d ever want him to see—and I heard too many private things during our calls…

“Let’s just…” You rub circles into your temples to quell the incoming migraine. “Let’s never talk about this again. You can buy my silence and I’ll move on with my life. I’ll even forget all of…” You glance at the Magicord conversations stuck to the wall and then the chain binding your ankle. “All of this…stuff. We’ll agree to call it a misunderstanding and life will be good, yeah?”

The bargain doesn’t seem to reach him. He continues to stare at you, his eyes glazed with an emotion you can’t place. Whatever it is, it’s stormy and dark. You don’t like it, and you shrink away when he steps closer.

“All this time you were right under my nose…”

Azul climbs onto the bed with you, the mattress depressing under the additional weight. Framed by the hypnotic radiance of the skyscrapers climbing heavenward, he’s certainly earned his place in every celebrity gossip magazine you’ve ever read. Articles debating whether he’s secretly committed to a relationship. Articles theorizing what his life plans may have in store for him. Articles discussing whether he’ll ever get married, if he’ll remain single for the rest of his life, if he’ll ever open his heart to the many people who hope to earn his romantic affections.

No one knows it—how could they when he’s so tight-lipped with the paparazzi?—but you are the secret variable the articles have yet to discover. You are the covert partner, the one who has won his heart, the one who now sits shackled on his bed.

What sort of tabloid journalist could ever spin this story?

You scoot further up the bed, your back pressing against the ornately extravagant headboard. Your knees are pulled into your chest, a futile attempt at protection.

“All this time you were so close to me…” He marvels at this, his baby blue hues locked permanently on you. “And neither of us knew. I could’ve had you much sooner had I just realized…”

You blink at him, your heart sinking with every passing second. “Mr. Ashengrotto, what do you mean by that?”

A pout tugs at perfect, pretty lips. “Why so formal, angelfish? We’re much closer than that, surely.” His hands settle upon your knees, gently pulling them apart. Your blood curdles with fear. “There’s no need to be so tense. It’s only me.”

“No… Please wait. Hold on!”

“Hm? If I’m not mistaken, this is what you want. You were rather vocal about your desires. You’ve always been. So why are you looking at me like that? I’m not scary, am I?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Please let me go…”

He clicks his tongue in disapproval, his tone patient despite the subject. “You know I can’t do that.”

“But you… You kidnapped me! Y-You had those guys hiding in my home and they…” You shake your head, unable to describe the sheer terror that had overwhelmed you when those creepy twins descended. Hopeless, you open your eyes to give him your most despairing look. Tears brim in your eyes, threatening to fall at the slightest prodding.

“Oh, my dear, did they scare you? They’re brutes who know nothing of how to treat a person with adequate care. You needn’t worry anymore. I’m here for you.” He cups your face in a fond hold, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your cheek. “Don’t cry, angelfish. You’re in good hands—my hands. And have they not been the most generous?”

“You’re crazy. Obsessed! How can you think any of this is okay? Look around at the walls! You’ve pasted our conversations everywhere—they’re practically the wallpaper!”

“What of it?” His hand slides down to grip your chin, forcing you to meet him at eye level. “I love you. I have for months now. And if those are the ways you choose to classify my care, so be it.”

Tear trails trace down your face. He leans in to kiss the rivers away, but they morph into the saltiest of seas.

“You may not approve of my affections right this very moment. You may hate me, think I’m monstrous, a culmination of all things foul, but you will love me. In due time, my dear. And when you do, the world will open and the chain will come off and you will know freedom under my roof.”

He has the gall to worship you with a loving smile. It poisons you with newly brewing abhorrence.

“So cry your heart out. Scream and kick up a fit. Do what you must. And when the floods subside, we can learn to love one another. Both at our best and our worst, within and beyond Magicord.”

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul #yandere azul x reader #n/sfw

665 notes · View notes

formula1blog · 6 days

Text

Take me back to the night me met

Part 1- Traitor

Part 2- You are here

Part 3- I bust the windows out your car.

Ex Charles Leclerc x Singer Fem!Reader

Summary: Charles faces the consequences of his actions. You both look back at your relationship.

wc: 1272

With the McDonalds in your hands the three of you drove off to the Hotel in Nice where Pierre and Kika were staying. "Was it something I did. Am I not good enough?" You had broken down the moment you exited Monaco. Stuffing fries in your mouth you hoped to stop the crying. "Don't say that, you didn't do anything wrong. Sometimes people just want to ruin a perfectly good thing and that will never be your fault. Remember that." she stroked your shoulders in encouragement to help calm you down.

"Did he say anything to you Pierre. Anything that would have led to this." You cried out. His heart broke at the sight of you. "I don't know why Charles would do this, but I will figure it out. From everything i heard that men was head over heels for you and I know that he did a future with you. I want to know what changed his mind and fucked everything up." Pierre sounded angry. He wanted to slap his friend in the head hoping he would find his brain back. How could he want to lose the woman he spent the last five years with?

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

A couple of kilometers away Charles had arrived at is apartment. The minute he saw the photos online he had booked a flight from Sicily and flew back to Monaco. He knew he couldn't explain it over call. He knew you would hang up on him or don't even pick up the phone. He couldn't blame you.

He did have a work meeting planned but it got cancelled last minute. Some of is colleges had invited him to the yacht part and he couldn't say no. He forgot to tell you about the change of plans. He also forgot how much alcohol he had consumed and after he knew it he had fucked up everything that had happened the last five years. He knew the alcohol wasn't an excuse, but he did regret everything. He didn't plan for this to happen.

When he opened up the door he was taken back by the cold sfeer of the home. He knew that you left. He felt it. Walking through the apartment he saw that your things were missing. The bookshelf was almost fully empty, only his own books were still placed on the dark wooden shelf. Plants were missing and he didn't see your guitar. Walking into the bedroom he saw the closet only filled with his clothes. Some of your pieces were on the ground, probably not able to pack them in your bags. Tears felt his eyes as he screamed his lungs out. "Putain, fuck, fuck, fuck. No, please don't leave." he slid to the ground as he put his knees to his chest.

His eyes were puffy and red by the time he finally managed to calm himself down a bit. The tears were dried to his face by the time he looked up from the ground. His eyes landed on the picture on the nightstand. It was you two together at his first Monaco grand prix. He love that picture more then anything and right now he wanted to smash it to pieces.

He didn't know what to do. He needed someone to talk too, but he knew he didn't have anyone. He had seen a note on the table from Pierre, saying that he didn't have to call because he wouldn't pick up. He couldn't talk to his family, they would only scold him for this. As he deserved. The only option he had was Max. Before he knew it he had walked out of his apartment and towards the Dutchman's home. Hoping he would have good advice for him.

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

Pierre looked up at the sound of his phone ringing. A confused look made a way on his face when he saw that it was Max verstappen calling. That didn't happen often anymore. "Hello Max. What is it?" the other side of the phone was silent and Pierre taught maybe it was a butt dial. He waited for ten seconds more before the dutch man started to speak. "Hi, Sorry. Can you please tell me what is going on. Charles is crying on my couch and I don't know what to do."

Pierre's heart broke a bit knowing his friend was in pain, before remembering that he was the one that caused all of this to happen." Charles thought that it was a good idea to go and kiss another woman, that isn't his girlfriend. I think he right now comes to terms with his actions." He explains to the world champion who lets out a heavy groan. "Why did he do that. Why is he acting like it isn't his fault? He does keep asking about her, so please just tell me you know where Y/N is." Pierre tells him that he had picked you up the moment he figured out and that you were right now crying your heart out to Kika. "Please get to know why he did it?"

"Who was it?" Kika asked her boyfriend. "Max. Charles is in his home crying his heart out because of his stupid actions." Your head snapped up by the sound of Charles. Was he sad? Good he deserved to be. He is the one that screwed everything up. "What an ass whole is Charles. His red flag is redder than his Ferrari."

As if it was on cue your phone started ringing. It was Charles. Charles Leclerc the man who broke your heart was trying to reach out for you. "Don't pick up. Let that man hurt." Kika grabbed the phone out of your hand. He tried another time and again, before starting to text you. Messages were filling your inbox so fast that you wanted to know what he was saying. "Just let me read them. I won't answer."

Charles<3

-I am sorry

- Please just pick up the phone

- Can we talk

- I didn't mean for this to happen

- I love you Cheri

- Please, just talk to me

- I can explain

-> read

- Don't leave me

- We didn't built all of this for nothing

- I can see that you read them

- J'taime

- Cherie please

- Y/N please just let me explain myself

- promise it is not what it looks like

Your heart ache with the feeling that maybe it was all fake. Maybe it didn't happen. "I just wished this never happened. That this was all some kind of nightmare and that I woke up with him next to me. I want to go back to the moment that I met him and do things differently, hoping he doesn't end everything. Why can't it be like the past." You sniffled. You think back about how you met Charles. It was the end of 2017. You had been lost in the mall of Monaco and asked a stranger for help. That stranger turned out to be Charles Leclerc, the formula 2 championship winner. You had been in love the minute your eyes landed on him, it being the same for him. You were both young, but knew that you wanted to spend time with each other. At the end all of it was for nothing.

All that time you spent together. The dates, the conversations, the sacrifices. It was all for nothing. Just because he had to ruin it by kissing another woman. You hated him for that. That he threw everything away that you had worked for. You want to be hurt the same way that you were feeling right now. You smile a bit when you get an idea in your head. "The positive look from this is. I finally have the inspiration to write a new album. And it is going to be completely dedicated to the man who broke my heart."

Part three is coming

#charles leclerc x reader #cl16 #charles leclerc 16 #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc imagine #f1 #formula 1 #kika gomes #pierre gasly #Charles leclerc #f1 imagine

235 notes · View notes

xonavia · 1 month

Text

-> It wasn't often that you saw your boyfriend, Michael Kaiser posted anything online. Only occasionally here or there about some new sponsorship or a win over another team that he was proud of. Well besides on his private account, but really only a couple people followed it, like you, Ness and it he was feeling a little nicer that day then Isagi, but he would always block him when he got pissed off. So today when you woke up and saw a notification from twitter(X) that Kaiser had posted something you immediately went to go look.

and low and behold underneath in the comments you were the first person tagged in the comments down below. You laughed a little when you first saw it before looking in the comments and seeing your username tagged first down below. You quickly got up and called him with a melodramatic tone when he answered. "I'm not that short!" He slightly laughed and then sighed before answering "Well Mein Liebling.. You're shorter than I am. By a lot" "It's not my fault I got the short end of the gene stick!" He snickered again before hanging up the phone. You sighed again realizing that he had just randomly hung up before a couple minutes later there was a knock at the door. Weird. You weren't expecting anybody? You go and look out the window slightly and see Kaiser standing in front of the door, so you hurry back over and open it. When you opened it he just walked on in, before walking over to you, looking partially down at you. "See look what I said, you're way shorter than me." He smirked at you, who was a little flabbergasted at this point. He drove all the way over her to just prove that you were that much shorter then him?! "yeah yeah whatever, great mister 6 foot." You waved him off and went to go sit on the couch. It was a couple minutes of silence and peace before you felt your couch cushion to your left sink and you being pulled into his chest. "I mean It's a good thing your small, otherwise I wouldn't be able to do this~" He had pulled you even closer to him and nuzzled his face in your hair a little before resting his cheek on your head. Yeah, okay.. Maybe being a little short wasn't to bad.

Just a little extra!! Kaiser's Height isn't confirmed but based on what I've seen a lot of people have speculated him to be around 6'0 (183-186cm)! Also fun fact I have a blue rose tattoo, partially based off my love for Kaiser and Ness!<3

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #michael kaiser #michael kaiser x reader #kaiser x reader #xonavia's writings!

279 notes · View notes

lixie-phoria · 9 months

Text

ੈ✩‧ ➛ best friend!hyunjin gets jealous of this new boy you've been talking a little too much about

pairing : best friend!hyunjin x gn reader

prompt : hyunjin can't help but get jealous of the new boy you seem to be infatuated with lately, hating the ugly feeling that burned through his chest everytime you said his name. he wishes he had realized sooner that he had absolutely nothing to worry about, because this new boy was, in fact, only fictional.

genre : fluff, little bit of angst bc hyunjin is jealous :(

word count : 707 words

an : extremely self indulgent haha

hyunjin was in love with you. everybody knew it; his friends knew, your friends knew, even the people in your university that he had never spoken to before knew about it. everyone seemed to know except for you.

but the boy could never confess. everytime he came close to, something always seemed to come in the way. this time it was another boy.

he first heard the name rindou when the two of you were out with a group of friends. he noticed how your phone's screen lit up and the girl sitting right beside you burst into a fit of giggles when she noticed your lockscreen. you switched off your phone before he could catch a glimpse of it himself, but he did hear the faint teasing of your friend. "i know you like rindou, but so much that he's already your lockscreen?"

hyunjin's heart dropped when he noticed the slight blush on your cheeks as you told her to shut up.

he was heartbroken. partly because you were best friends and you apparently didn't feel comfortable enough sharing about this new boy with him, and partly because here he had been pining over you for years and now you were suddenly interested in someone else?

hyunjin wanted to cry. what did rindou have that he did not? heck, he didn't even know who this boy was. he'd asked everyone around campus and there was no rindou who studied there. was it someone you met online? maybe on a dating app?

hyunjin's first impulse was to distance himself from you. it drove him mad, not seeing you for days and hearing the disappointment in your voice everytime he called off a plan.

but it was for the best, right? wrong. he couldn't have been more wrong.

the first time he saw you after an entire week was at a party, and his heart hurt when he saw the smile he loved so much take over your face when you saw him.

you rushed forward, throwing yourself in his arms. hyunjin wanted to wrap his own arms around you and breathe in your scent that he had missed so much and just never let you go. but he pulled away anyways, ignoring the hurt that flashed across your face.

"don't get too close. we don't want your boyfriend getting jealous, do we?"

he didn't meant to sound so crass, but it slipped out and there was nothing he could do about it as you blinked at him blankly. once. then twice.

"what?"

he scoffed. so first you kept rindou a secret from him and then you were going to play dumb? did you think hyunjin was that stupid?

"rindou. the guy who's your new lockscreen. aren't you with him?"

hyunjin was confused as your expression slowly morphed into a horror struck one.

"is that what you're salty about?" you asked incredulously.

"well, of course i'm a bit hurt you didn't tell me about him. i would be happy for you, you know, if you really liked him."

the poor boy was so confused when you burst into a fit of laughter, clutching at his arm for support.

"you mean that rindou?" was all you could manage between gasps as he stared at you with increasing confusion.

what was so funny?

"jinnie, no," you said, shaking your head. "rindou is a fictional character. he doesn't exist. he's from a manga i'm reading"

oh.

hyunjin felt heat rise up his face as he hastily freed his arm from your grasp, turning away from you so you wouldn't notice his increasingly embarrassed expression. rindou was fictional?

gods, hyunjin felt so stupid. all this for a boy who doesn't even exist?

"hyunjin, look at me."

he ignored you, letting out a huff as you tried to control the laughter that threatened to bubble out again.

"jinnie, please?"

"stop calling me that."

"but that's the only way you'll listen to me."

the two of you seemed to have forgotten the party raging around you.

"this is so embarrassing. please leave me alone."

"were you jealous?"

his silence spoke volumes and he heard you huff softly.

"jinnie, turn around, please?"

"so you can laugh at me more?"

"no, you dumbass, so i can kiss some sense into you."

🏷️ @foxinnie8 , @hamburgers101 , @starlostlaiba (send an ask to be added/removed from the taglist :))

696 notes · View notes

tigertales9 · 1 year

Text

Weathering the Storm

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Warnings: 18+ / Smut

Description: This fic takes place last off-season in mid-April 2022 (about 2 months after the Super Bowl loss to the Rams).

A/N: This fic has been 99% done for several months, but I keep tweaking it to pieces. I'm still not super happy with it, but I've decided to go ahead and post it. It's a bit of a sex fest. Full disclosure: I actually edited out some of the sex and it's still a sex fest.

---------

You smile at Joe as he strides ahead to open the restaurant door for you. "Thanks," you say, your smile intensifying when he gives you a playful wink. It's good to see him happy, you think to yourself, following him into the dimly-lit building.

It'd been about two months since the Super Bowl and Joe was back to his usual self. The disappointment of losing the big game had morphed into a single-minded focus on improving and coming back better than ever. You had no doubt he was going to unleash hell on the league next season.

"Y'all can sit anywhere," the hostess hollers from across the mostly-empty dining room. "A waitress will be right with you."

You follow Joe to a table in the far corner and sit in the chair he pulls out for you. "We beat the dinner rush," you muse, giggling when Joe heaves an exaggerated sigh of relief.

That was the entire reason y'all drove to a small bar & grill just over the state line on a week-day afternoon. Joe didn't want any attention; he just wanted to eat in peace without it turning into a production. Y'all had also really enjoyed the leisurely drive on this warmer-than-usual April day. Winding around back roads with the windows down and the sights and smells of spring in the air felt like a mini vacation. Him sliding his big hand under the hem of your dress to rest on your bare thigh was the icing on the cake.

A few minutes after you sit down, your waitress arrives at the table with a couple of menus. "We know what we want," Joe says, softening his abrupt words with a big smile while waving off the menus. She blushes and drops her pen on the floor, quickly leaning down to grab it while muttering an apology. Joe widens his eyes at you for a second before she stands back up. You give her a smile and place the order y'all had decided on when looking at their online menu. She scribbles it down, grins at you then hurries away without looking back in Joe's direction.

You shake your head at Joe. "You can't just whip that thang out on unsuspecting people."

"What thang?"

"That panty-dropping smile. You gotta ease folks into it; build up a little tolerance before you hit 'em with it full force."

"It's just a smile," he mumbles, grinning when you narrow your eyes at him. "And the Mona Lisa is just a painting," you counter.

You're still smiling at each other when a waiter walks up carrying two frosty longneck beers; he drops coasters on the table and sets the bottles down, his gaze darting between you and Joe a few times before he takes a deep breath. "I'm a big fan," he mutters, a blush rising in his pale cheeks as he makes this admission. "You got screwed in the Super Bowl," he continues, locking his gaze on Joe and furrowing his brow. "That late holding call was bullshit!"

Joe smiles and nods his head. "Always good to meet a fan," he says, taking a quick sip of his beer while the waiter fidgets. The waiter blushes even more crimson before continuing. "You're gonna win plenty of Super Bowls, though, so don't sweat it. Everybody who knows ball knows you're the truth."

Joe gives him a dazzling smile. "Thanks man, 'preciate it. What's your name?"

"Ca…Caleb," he stammers, eyes going comically wide as Joe holds a hand out to shake his. "Nice to meet you, Caleb," Joe says, giving a firm handshake. "Nice to meet you, too," Caleb whispers, backing away slowly before turning to jog toward the kitchen; he turns back around and points a finger at Joe. "Best QB in the league!" he yells, almost tripping over his feet before catching himself.

Once Caleb disappears, Joe glances around to make sure no one is ogling him. "Thank God this place is mostly empty," he mumbles, giving you a wry grin. You take a long swallow of your beer and give him a wink. "You're 2 for 2," you chuckle. "You need to register that smile as a deadly weapon."

"Hush," he mutters, his eyebrows creeping toward his hairline when you slowly slide your tongue around the rim of your beer bottle before taking a sip. His heated gaze is still locked on yours when there's a commotion at the back door of the restaurant; the door slings open and two men walk in from the outdoor deck, both of them cackling and snorting like a couple of wild animals before one stops dead in his tracks and points directly at you.

"Hot Damn!" he hollers, his bloodshot eyes going wide as a gust of wind from the open door blows your skirt higher up your thighs; you grab your skirt before anyone gets a glimpse of panties and firmly tuck it under your legs. "C'mon, sweetie, don't be shy," the drunk croons, taking a step toward your table before Joe stands up and turns to face him. "Oh shit, nevermind!" drunky yelps, retreating to the bar on the far wall across from your table, his friend close behind him.

Your pulse rate is going crazy when Joe calmly sits back down and takes a sip of his beer. "You wanna leave?" you whisper, throwing a quick glance at the rowdy drunks.

"Nah -- if they keep acting up I'll just beat the shit out of both of 'em."

"And go to jail for assault and battery?" you snap.

"Not if they throw the first punch," he grins, the twinkle in his eye looking scarily like anticipation.

"Joseph Lee," you grit out, your eyes narrowing in warning. "Don't you dare get into it with those assholes."

"Relax, babe," he soothes. "I promise I won't start anything."

You're still pondering if you should leave when your waitress walks up and sets your food down. "Thanks," you say, managing a smile even though your nerves are completely frazzled. "You're welcome," she says. "Just holler if you need anything else."

Before you can take a bite of food, you hear a loud whistle and turn your head to see the two drunks leering at you. "I might have to bust some heads if those assholes don't stop staring at you," Joe grumbles, shooting a death glare at them.

"Hol' up!" one of them yells. "Is that the pretty boy who just lost the Super Bowl?" They both squint at Joe, trying to get their alcohol-blurred eyesight to focus. "Sure is," his buddy finally chimes in, both of them guffawing and chanting "loser" until the bartender slams a hand on the bar in front of them. "Y'all can either shut up or leave," the bartender snaps.

You slowly turn your head and make eye contact with Joe; he takes a huge bite of his burger, his easy, breezy, greasy-lipped smile setting off alarm bells in the back of your mind. He's itching to beat the shit outta those guys, you think to yourself, taking a dainty bite of your burger while keeping a close eye on the drunks out of the corner of your eye. Joe gives you a wicked grin as he shoves a handful of french fries in his mouth before offering you one. You lean forward and let him feed it to you, giving his salty index finger a quick suck to try and redirect all of that pent-up energy. His eyes flash with lust and you give him a naughty grin. Mission accomplished, you think to yourself. "You keep looking at me like that and we'll have to get a to-go box," he mutters, taking another bite of his burger. You give him an innocent look before reaching for another french fry.

Y'all make small talk for the next 20 minutes while he eats all of his burger and half of yours. Just as he's polishing off the last of the fries, you hear more snorts and cackles coming from the drunks at the bar.

"Baby-faced pretty boy don't look like he knows how to please a woman," drunk #1 says loudly. "She must be with him for the money." They both laugh like hell before the bartender snaps at them. "That's it! Get out!"

"Relax," drunk #2 chimes in, giving the bartender a shit-eating grin. "We're just pointing out that he ain't man enough for her. She needs a real man. I mean, look at her!"

Joe's chiseled nostrils flare as he methodically wipes his big hands on his napkin. "Fuck … this," he snarls, pushing his chair back to stand up. "No baby, they're not worth it," you plead, your pulse rate kicking into overdrive as he walks toward the drunks, his long legs quickly closing the distance. The bartender, now joined by the manager, struggle to herd the drunks toward the exit before one of the drunks turns and sees a mad-as-hell Joe bearing down on them. "Oh shit! Run!" he yells, both of them falling all over the place trying to hit the door before Joe catches up to them.

Once they're gone, Joe and the manager have a conversation while you try to take deep breaths and calm your racing pulse. You absentmindedly run a hand through the condensation on your beer bottle as you watch Joe shrug his broad shoulders and shift his weight from one foot to the other. Wonder what they're talking about, you think to yourself, letting your mind wander a bit now that the threat is gone.

You're actually a little surprised by Joe's intense reaction to the leering drunks. He could get a little jealous sometimes but it was never anything too serious, usually just him getting annoyed at guys overtly ogling you or being flirty. He almost always let it go with just a warning look at the offenders because he knew you were going home with him. He was alpha to the bone but without the toxic masculinity that often came with it.

Joe's deep, throaty laugh pulls your attention back to him just as he turns around and strides back to your table. "Manager wants to comp our meal so he refused to take my credit card," Joe grumbles, reaching into the pocket of his gray jeans. He pulls out an old-school money clip and peels a couple hundred dollar bills off before dropping them on the table. "He can't refuse this," he gloats, giving you a smug look while dropping into his chair. You shake your head but keep your mouth shut. You'd warned him about carrying so much cash but he shrugged you off. The conversation went something like this:

"You shouldn't carry so much cash. Several hundred is fine but several thousand is asking for trouble; just use your credit card."

"You never know when something might blow out the power grid and credit cards will be useless."

You rolled your eyes. "What's gonna blow out the power grid?"

"Solar flare, World War 3, alien invasion," Joe shrugged. "You never know."

Joe loudly clearing his throat pulls you back into the moment. You take in his told-you-so smirk for a bit, trying to decide whether or not to remind him that you said carrying several hundred in cash is perfectly fine, so this is not a 'told-you-so' situation. One look at his body language and you decide to bite your tongue. No need to poke the hornet's nest, you think to yourself before grabbing your beer bottle and chugging the last few swallows, feeling his eyes on your throat as you slowly gulp the remaining beverage. When you're done, you set the bottle down and lock eyes with him. His cocky smirk is long gone.

He quickly stands up and gestures for you to do the same. "Let's go," he orders, placing a hand on the small of your back as y'all walk out the door and into the parking lot. The heat from his large hand easily penetrates your slinky shirtdress and you bite your bottom lip as a steady throb of arousal ignites deep inside you. He opens the car door for you, eyes glued to your bare legs as you get settled in the seat. "You okay, babe?" you ask as he slides in the car and starts the engine. "Fine," he mutters, flashing you a quick grin that more closely resembles the lovechild of a snarl and a grimace. Great, you think to yourself. Gonna be an interesting night.

You look out the car window as dusk settles in and the streetlights slide by in intermittent flashes; you note that he's taking the direct route home. No more lazy back roads, you think with a bit of regret, your attitude shifting when he cranks the music and settles a hand on your thigh. You turn your head to look at him, enthralled by his ridiculously sexy profile. You can tell by the look on his face that he's still pissed off. Luckily he isn't the kind of guy who takes his frustrations out by driving aggressively but his body language is big mad.

"You sure you're okay?" you whisper. "I said I'm fine," he mutters, removing his hand from your thigh just long enough to turn the music up a bit more. He slides his hand back under your skirt, teasing the elastic edge of your panties with his limber fingers. You wiggle your hips a bit trying to get closer to his fingers, but he never gives you more than a quick caress over the top of your flimsy lace thong. You shoot him a couple of glances trying to read his mood but the gathering dark makes it hard to read his expression.

You're wet as hell and a little annoyed when he finally whips the car into y'all's driveway. Just before the car rolls into the garage, you notice storm clouds forming on the horizon and realize it's going to be a stormy night in more ways than one. The second he pulls into the garage he quickly kills the engine and hops out, jogging around to open the door for you. You give him a bland smile as you swing your legs out and stand up. "Thanks," you whisper. "Sure," he mutters, ushering you in the house before you can say anything else.

As y'all enter the house he heads directly to the kitchen, grabbing a glass out of a cabinet before slinging the freezer open to get the vodka. He splashes some of the ice-cold alcohol in the glass and takes a hearty gulp, leveling a loaded look at you as you close the distance between you.

"That's not what you need," you say, nodding at the vodka bottle. He raises the glass to his mouth again and locks eyes with you over the rim; he pauses for a second then takes a long, slow sip, finishing it off by loudly sucking on his bottom lip in a way that sends a sizzle of electricity straight to your clit. "You got any better ideas?" he purrs, giving you a dirty wink before pushing away from the counter to stalk around the room like a caged tiger.

Ohhh, he knows exactly what he's doing, you think to yourself. Two can play that game. You watch him pace back and forth for a minute, a tiny smile gracing your lips as a naughty idea forms in your mind. He needs to work this aggression out, you think to yourself, and I know just the way to set it off. You feel a little thrill of anticipation as you think of what you're about to unleash.

"Those guys at the bar really pissed you off but I can't understand why," you muse. "I know it wasn't the stuff they said about losing the Super Bowl. You're just getting started in the NFL, and we both know you're gonna fucking run it one of these days. So what was it?" He stops pacing and narrows his eyes at you. "I didn't enjoy them eye-fucking you!" he snaps.

"I don't think that's it," you shake your head. "That happens all the time, to both of us. That's the price of admission when you're with a baddie." He gives you a tight smile as you continue. "What really pissed you off?" you repeat, holding eye contact with him while slowly unbuttoning your shirtdress. He shrugs his broad shoulders while avidly watching you. "I don't know," he finally answers.

"I think you do know. You just have to be man enough to admit it."

His eyebrows shoot toward the ceiling. "You don't think I'm man enough?" he sputters. "You sound just like those assholes at the bar!"

"That's not what I said."

"Sure as hell sounded like it!"

"Then you're not listening."

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Why don't you explain it to me," he orders, eyes glued to the cleavage exposed by your partially-open dress.

"I think you felt challenged when they said you're not man enough for me. But why did that make you mad when you know it's not true? You do know that, right?" you ask, holding his gaze as you push the dress off of your shoulders and let it drop to the floor. He watches closely as you bend over and pick the dress up, tossing it onto a barstool.

"Look." He runs his fingers through his hair and hits you with a penetrating glare. "I'm having a hard time following this conversation since you're mostly naked. Are you questioning if I'm man enough for you?"

"No, I think you're questioning it. I think that's why you're so pissed." You reach behind your back and unhook your bra, letting it slowly slide down your arms before tossing it on the barstool. "But if you're worried about it you can just … prove it."

His hot gaze rests on your ample breasts for what seems like ages before he finally meets your eyes. "You better stop playin'," he warns, narrowing his eyes as you slide your panties off and toss them on top of your bra.

"Oh, I'm just getting started," you tease. You give him a filthy grin before spinning around and sashaying toward the stairs wearing nothing but your high heels. You sling your long hair over your shoulder and add an extra swish to your hips, knowing Joe's eyes will be drawn to your perky butt and toned legs. "You coming?" you ask, throwing him a look over your shoulder. You're almost at the top of the stairs when you hear him pounding up the stairs behind you; it takes everything you have not to run like hell but you know he won't hurt you, not unless you beg him to.

As you walk into the master bedroom you hear the rain start hitting the roof, lightly at first then with growing intensity. You come to an abrupt halt when a bolt of lightning streaks across the sky, the intense flash easily penetrating your gauzy window shades to light up the entire bedroom for several seconds. You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding as Joe walks up behind you and settles his big hands on your waist. You can feel the heat radiating off of him and a shiver of pleasure runs through you when he presses a kiss on your shoulder. You turn to face him, his heated gaze causing a visceral response deep inside you.

Before you have a chance to speak, a loud clap of thunder rattles the windows causing you to jump and let out a squeal. Once you regain your composure you take in Joe's stoic expression. Of course he didn't jump, you think wryly, he didn't even blink. You search his face for a minute before speaking. "What are you thinking?" you whisper. He stares at you for what seems like ages before finally answering. "What do you need me to prove?" he asks, voice husky with desire tinged with anger. You shake your head no. "I don't need you to prove anything. This is about you not me."

He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly before dropping to his knees at your feet, his gaze holding yours as he leans forward until his mouth is almost touching your crotch. You feel his breath on your most sensitive skin, and you're sure he's going to taste you but instead he flashes you a knowing smirk before looking down at your feet. "Let's lose these," he murmurs, his agile fingers easily unfastening the ankle straps on your heels. You hold onto his shoulders as you step out of the shoes. "Thanks," you whisper, watching closely as he stands back up and pulls his t-shirt off, dropping it on top of your shoes.

He quickly strips down to nothing but his low-rise boxer briefs before burying one hand in your hair, pulling hard enough for you to hiss at the sting as you lean your head to the side, exposing your slender neck. He eases the pressure on your hair before dropping a trail of kisses and love bites from your collarbone up to the sensitive spot behind your ear; a shiver runs through you as your nipples harden against his muscular torso. He nips your earlobe with his teeth and you feel a gush of wetness between your thighs as he slides his hands down your back and cups your ass, giving a gentle squeeze before picking you up; you wrap your legs around his waist and bury your face in his neck. "So wet," he groans, moving you up and down his barely-there treasure trail, his arm muscles flexing with each motion. You bite your bottom lip as your eyes flutter closed at the delicious sensation.

After teasing you for a bit, he abruptly stops. "Look at me," he orders. You remove your face from his fragrant neck and lock eyes with him. "You think you'd get this wet for those assholes at the bar?" he asks. "God no!" you make a disgusted face. "I'd never get this wet for anyone but you. You know that." He searches your expression for a minute without speaking. Before you can fill the silence, another loud clap of thunder causes you to flinch. "The storm's close," you whisper, glancing at the windows as a lightning strike sizzles across the sky. "Real close," he mutters, giving you a tight smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

He walks to the side of the bed and sets you down before dropping to his knees on the floor between your legs; he plants his hands on your thighs and spreads you obscenely wide, licking his lips while leaning in.

"I need to tell you something," you say abruptly, stopping his forward progress.

"Right now?"

"Yeah."

He reluctantly drags his gaze from your crotch to your face. "Okay."

"I … kind of manipulated you earlier and now I feel bad about it."

He furrows his brow. "What do you mean?"

You chew on your bottom lip for a bit before coming clean. "I knew you were mad as hell and needed to work through it without getting shitfaced on vodka." You shrug. "I goaded you with that 'prove it' shit, but it backfired."

He studies your expression for several seconds before speaking. "How did it backfire?"

"I thought you'd chase me up the stairs, toss me on the bed and fuck me through the mattress, and then we'd both feel better. Instead you got all calm and quiet and I'm afraid you're mad at me, and I'm also afraid you actually think you're not man enough for me which is total bullshit and . . ."

"Babe," he interrupts your breathless rambling. "I'm not mad at you."

"Really? Even though I tried to manipulate you?"

His lips curl up in a genuine smile. "You had good intentions." You breathe a sigh of relief and return his smile. "Plus you were right," he continues. "It pissed me off when that dickhead said you need a real man." Joe's jaw clenches with anger as he relives the memory. "He's lucky I didn't knock his fucking teeth down his throat."

"Forget those assholes," you soothe, leaning forward to press a kiss on his lips. "I've never wanted anyone the way I want you. I'll never get enough of you." His gaze and body language soften at your admission. "I feel the same way," he whispers, pushing you back on the bed and capturing your lips in a slow-burn kiss, his hands roaming your body while his tongue works magic in your mouth.

He takes his sweet time kissing you before nuzzling over to that sensitive spot behind your ear, smiling against your skin as you writhe beneath him; he kisses a trail down to your breasts, giving you that intense look from underneath long eyelashes as he teases your nipples for several minutes before continuing down, dipping his tongue in your belly button before planting wet kisses against your inner thighs. He eventually focuses his attention on your core, delicately licking your folds before plunging his tongue inside. You're so turned on that it only takes a few minutes of his talented tongue plus agile fingers to set you off.

"Sooo good," you eventually whimper once you catch your breath, your body limp as a ragdoll as he wraps his hands around your waist and easily moves you to the center of the king-sized bed, his eyes never leaving yours as he strips his underwear off and crawls onto the bed between your thighs. "You need a minute?" he whispers, hissing as you reach a hand out and wrap it around his erection, pumping him several times. "I need you inside me," you plead, moaning when he slowly drags his cock through your wet folds before pushing inside. He teases you with several shallow thrusts before placing your legs over his shoulders; once he's got you right where he wants you he starts thrusting again, slowly at first then picking up pace, running his big hands up and down your still-trembling thighs while his hot gaze pins you in place as effectively as a chokehold. After several minutes he moves a hand down to play with your clit. "Damn baby, you feel too good. I'm not gonna last long," he grits out, barely getting the last word out before your climax hits quickly followed by his.

The sound of your mutual heavy breathing is almost drowned out by the sound of the intense thunderstorm. Once you catch your breath, you bask in the afterglow of back-to-back orgasms, smiling at the way Joe continues to caress you as he stretches out beside you on the bed.

About 15 minutes later, a loud clap of thunder startles you out of your fucked-out bliss and your entire body jumps. "It's okay," Joe whispers, pulling you tight against him. You nestle your nose against his broad chest and breathe him in as the storm continues to rage. "So intense," you sigh. He slides a hand up and down your back and presses his lips against your ear. "What's intense?" he asks, "the storm or the sex?"

"Both," you giggle, "but especially the sex. Can't wait for the next time you get a little jealous."

"Next time?" he scoffs, giving you an absolutely filthy grin before flipping you onto your stomach. "I'm not done with you this time, gorgeous," he purrs, massaging your shoulders for a bit before slowly running his tongue down the length of your spine, pressing wet kisses against the small of your back. You smile against the mattress as he tilts your hips up and settles between your thighs. You sigh in contentment and arch your back, already anticipating an easy, slow-grind fuck.

The strength of his first thrust catches you off guard as you're pushed forward against the silky sheets. Damn, you think to yourself, quickly scrambling to brace your hands against the headboard, arching up and pushing back to meet his next thrust. He continues to fuck you hard, relentlessly impaling you on his thick cock as your whimpers and moans are muffled by the mattress. "You like that?" he growls, pounding into you with a force that takes your breath away; you try and fail to form the word 'yes' so you let your body language do the talking, grinding back against him as the sound of your flesh slapping together at the apex of each thrust drowns out the rolling thunder.

Just as your shaky legs are about to give out, he reaches a hand around and massages your swollen clit, speaking words of filthy encouragement as you dig your fingernails into the padded headboard. "Cum for me, baby," he purrs, pinching your clit with the perfect amount of pressure to set you off. Your climax hits like a bodyslam and you draw just enough air into your lungs to moan his name as he follows you over the edge, your core spasming hard around his cock as he empties inside you right before your knees collapse. You fall forward onto the bed and he follows you down, both of you sweaty and trembling and gasping for breath.

---------

Several hours later your eyes flutter open in the semi-dark room; you squeeze your thighs together as your half-asleep body comes close to orgasm before the moment passes, leaving you feeling unfulfilled. How am I feeling unfulfilled when my man just fucked me stupid? you think to yourself, turning your head to look at said man. The bed beside you is empty and you briefly wonder where Joe is before being distracted by the sound of thunder. You listen to the steady staccato of rain hitting the roof and realize the storm is still storming. You turn your head to check the bedside clock -- 3:33 a.m. -- before yawning, stretching, then going still just as Joe walks into the bedroom, his tall, naked silhouette outlined by the hallway light.

You watch through half-closed eyelids as he gulps water from a water bottle as he walks to your bedside table and sets another bottle down. "Thanks," you whisper, smiling at the thoughtful gesture. "I didn't mean to wake you up," he murmurs, leaning down to press a lingering kiss on your lips. You push up into a sitting position and shake your head. "I was already awake," you answer, reaching for the water bottle and taking several swallows before continuing. "I had a super naughty dream about you, but I woke up right before I got off."

"Why didn't you wake me up? I'm always happy to help."

"You weren't here when I woke up," you shrug. "Plus we already had a marathon sex session. I thought you might be worn out."

"Are you questioning my stamina?" he asks, crawling onto the bed and sitting upright with his back against the padded headboard.

"No, sir," you answer, smiling when he gives you a heated look. "But you put in work earlier tonight. It's okay to be tired."

He narrows his eyes at you. "You think I'm not man enough to get you off again?"

"What? Of course not," you argue, "I know you're man enou . . ."

"Then get your sweet ass over here," he interrupts, patting his thick thighs. You set your water bottle on the bedside table then do as ordered, slinging a leg over his lap to straddle him. He teases your folds with his fingers, groaning when he feels how wet you are. "Damn baby, so wet for me," he whispers, sliding his tip up and down your slit several times before pushing inside; you gasp when he breaches your entrance, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip at the feel of him stretching your sore folds.

He immediately goes still. "You okay?"

"Yeah." You wiggle your hips a bit to get him moving again. "Just a little sore."

He wraps his hands around your waist and starts to pull you off of him.

"No!" you protest, digging your fingers into his arms to hold your position. "you started this and you're gonna finish it!"

"I don't wanna hurt you, baby," he soothes. "Let me get you off with my tongue."

You narrow your eyes at him. "Are you trying to make me beg for your cock? Seems a little manipulative." His eyebrows shoot upward and he opens his mouth to protest; you cut him off before he has a chance. "I'm kidding," you chuckle, leaning forward to plant a kiss on his lips. You suck his full bottom lip into your mouth, biting it just hard enough to draw a deep-throated groan from him. "If you want me to beg for it, I will," you whisper, kissing a trail up his jawline to his ear. "I need you inside me. Please?"

"You don't have to beg," he murmurs, "but let's take it slow, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

He narrows his eyes at you. "Woman, if you call me 'sir' again tonight we're gonna have a problem."

"What kind of problem?" you ask, trying hard to keep your expression neutral.

"Don't act all innocent," he growls, "you know exactly what kind of problem. Don't you?"

"No, si…."

Joe playfully slaps your ass to cut you off.

"Sorry, daddy," you tease, flashing a wicked grin at the lust-addled expression on Joe's face. Before you know it, he's buried deep inside you. "Yeah," you whine, digging your fingernails into his shoulders and lifting up until just his tip is inside you; you bounce the tiniest bit to make sure you're lined up right before grinding down hard, wanting his entire length back inside you; you manage to get about halfway down before your downward progress is halted by Joe's strong hands on your waist.

"I said take it slow," he orders. "Bossy ass," you mutter, hitting the hardest Kegel when he chuckles. "Shit baby," he hisses. You lock eyes with him. "I need you to fuck me hard," you demand, reaching a hand down to where your bodies are joined. "You've got me dripping wet," you purr, gathering some moisture on your fingers before sliding your hand up and down his throbbing shaft. He looks down to enjoy the view as you gather some moisture and raise your hand to your mouth, licking your fingers then sucking them as he watches.

"Give me a taste," he orders, licking his full lips in anticipation. You reach back down and anoint your fingers again, bringing them within a few inches of his mouth before stopping. "C'mon," he urges, leaning forward and groaning in frustration when you move your glistening fingers just out of reach. "You gonna fuck me hard?" you ask. "I don't wanna hurt you," he whispers, his opaque eyes darkening with lust as as you wiggle your juicy fingers just out of reach. "Please?" you beg, your gaze locked on his as he slides his strong hands down from your waist to your ample ass, getting two handfuls while searching your expression. "Please?" you repeat, slowly sliding your slick fingers across his lips. "I wanna feel every vein on your cock."

"Jesus," he groans, sucking your fingers into his mouth and thrusting up inside you, both of you moaning as he bottoms out. The next several minutes are like an out-of-body experience, Joe's strong hands lifting you up and down, impaling you on his cock as the thunder crashes and the lightning sizzles across the sky.

What seems like a lifetime later, after your fourth orgasm of the night has you seeing stars and gasping for breath, Joe's deep voice penetrates your blissed-out vibe. "You manipulated me just now, right?" he wheezes.

"Of course not," you scoff, panting against his deliciously sweaty neck as your core continues to shoot aftershocks around his slowly-softening erection.

"Bullshit. You know that 'sir' and 'daddy' shit drives me crazy."

"Hadn't really noticed," you shrug, trying hard not to cackle at his incredulous snort. He pulls back and looks at you with an are-you-shitting-me expression. Before he has a chance to speak, you come clean. "Okay yes, I manipulated you like a motherfucker," you admit, still trying to suck air into your lungs as your pulse rate finally starts slowing down, "but you manipulated me too."

"Did not."

"Did too!" you argue, clearing your throat before doing your best Joe impersonation: "You think I'm not man enough to get you off again?" He chuckles as you continue. "You knew that ish was leading to one place and one place only."

"Pound town?"

"Exactly! Thanks for admitting it."

He hits you with a cocky grin, drops a kiss on your parted lips then maneuvers you off of his lap and down onto the bed. "Don't be mad, baby girl," he teases. "I'm not a bit mad," you chuckle, sighing in contentment as he nestles you in his embrace.

After several more minutes of heavy breathing, he nuzzles his nose in your hair before speaking. "I'm gonna pass out now, okay?"

"Yes, sir," you answer, giggling when he gives your ass a smack.

---------

You slowly open your eyes, blinking a few times to bring things into focus. The soft sunlight peeking through the window shades tells you the storm has passed. You yawn and stretch before rolling over to look at Joe; he's still sound asleep, his pretty lips parted slightly and his unruly curls caressing his forehead. It should be illegal to look that good so early in the morning, you think to yourself, grimacing at the thought of your own appearance. You quickly decide you need a shower to wash off the dried sweat, spit and cum from the previous night's activities. You give Joe one more lingering look before easing out of bed and heading for the bathroom.

You turn the shower on to heat up then walk to the toilet enclosure to have a quick pee. "Damn," you whisper as you wipe, a little surprised at how sore you are. "He beat it up for real," you giggle to yourself, stepping into the steaming shower and reaching for your shampoo. You wash and condition your hair then lather your entire body with your fav body wash, being extra careful with your sore bits. Once you're done with your shower, you step out and dry yourself off, towel-drying your hair thoroughly before grabbing a hand mirror out of a drawer. You lean against the vanity and spread your legs a bit, using the mirror to inspect the damage.

A few seconds later there's a knock at the door; Joe enters before you have a chance to respond. Should've locked the door, you think to yourself, giving Joe a reassuring smile when his eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. "What's wrong?" he asks, quickly walking toward you. You set the mirror down and grab your towel, holding it in front of you. "Nothing," you soothe. "Just a little sore."

"Lemme see," he mutters, dropping to his knees at your feet.

"I've been sore before. It's no big deal."

"Let. Me. See." he orders, giving you a belligerent look until you heave a sigh and drop the towel; he uses his thumbs to spread your folds, grimacing when he sees how red and swollen you are. "I was way too rough," he groans. "We've had rough sex before," you shrug, "it's really not . . ."

"But that's the first time I fucked you hard when I knew you were already sore," he interrupts. "I shouldn't have done that." You run a hand through his hair, smiling at the concern in his eyes as he looks up at you through those long lashes. "I begged for it," you argue. "Remember?"

"I remember. I still shouldn't have been so rough." He drops his head against your thigh. "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for," you soothe, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "I loved everything about last night. I lost count of how many times you made me cum."

"It was a lot," he mumbles, trying and failing to suppress a smug grin.

"Exactly," you chuckle, glad to see his cocky swagger is fully intact after the 'real man' angst from yesterday. "Anyway, vaginas are designed to take a beating. One of these days I'm gonna push your big-ass babies out of it, and it will bounce back just fine."

He laughs while standing up and pulling you into a hug. "You always know just the right thing to say," he sighs, burying his face in your damp hair and taking a deep breath. He lets it out slowly before speaking. "Do you get nervous when you think about being a parent?"

"Of course." You lean back and lock eyes with him. "That's super normal. We have a few more years before we need to think about it, but I know we'll be fine." He smiles and gives you a lingering kiss. "We have so many things to look forward to," he whispers, his eyes going wide as his stomach growls loudly, interrupting the tender moment.

"Sounds like you're looking forward to breakfast," you chuckle. "Guilty," he says, laughing along with you. "I'll bring you breakfast in bed. What sounds good?" he continues. "Maybe an omelet?"

You take his face in your hands and level a serious gaze at him. "Babe, I trust you with my life, but I don't trust you to make a decent omelet."

"That's fair," he agrees. "The last ones I made came out a little rubbery."

"We have some blueberry muffins left over from yesterday. I'll just have one of those and some orange juice." You give him a wink. "I'll make us a nice brunch later, does that sound good?"

"Sounds great. Hop back in bed and I'll go grab breakfast." He gives you a quick kiss before striding from the room. You smile as you watch him go. "Nothing like a good ol' fashioned fuck fest to put a little extra swagger in his step," you whisper to yourself, giggling quietly as you walk into the closet; you grab one of Joe's t-shirts and pull it on, deciding to go commando to give your vag some breathing room.

You're just getting settled back into bed when he comes in with a tray of food. You smile at him then grimace as your leg encounters a wet spot on the bed; you scoot over to avoid it, making a mental note to change the sheets after breakfast.

"Something wrong?" he asks, noticing your grimace.

"No, just hit a wet spot," you chuckle. "I could probably wring a few gallons of liquid out of these sheets with how wet you had me last night."

He sets the tray on the bed and gives you a smouldering look. "You keep talking like that and I'm gonna need a cold shower before breakfast."

"Sorry," you mumble, giving him a cheeky look.

"You're not a bit sorry and you know it," he teases, taking what looks like an empty glass from the tray and setting it on his bedside table. He then hands you a glass of juice before crawling onto the bed beside you; he grabs his own glass of juice and holds it up for a toast. "To weathering the storm," he says, giving you a sweet smile when you clink your glass against his. "To weathering the storm," you repeat, taking a hearty gulp of juice before reaching for your muffin. He takes a huge bite of one of his muffins and gives you a sheepish look while chewing and swallowing. "I'm sorry I got so mad yesterday. I know better than that." You swallow a bite of muffin and take a sip of juice before answering. "It's okay; you're human, not a robot."

Y'all exchange small talk for the next several minutes while polishing off your snacks. When you drain the last of your juice and set your glass on the tray, he slides the tray to the side and gives you an enigmatic smile. "Time for some treatment," he says, leaning over to grab the other glass off of his bedside table. "Treatment?" you ask, watching as he dips his fingers in the glass and pulls out an ice cube, popping it in his mouth.

He slides the comforter off of your legs and crawls in between them, smiling at your quizzical expression as he grabs a handful of your t-shirt and pulls it up, exposing your bare crotch. "Mmmm, no panties," he breathes around the ice cube, his broad shoulders spreading you wide as he settles between your thighs. You gasp as he leans down and presses his cool tongue against your sore folds.

"Does it feel good?" he asks.

"It feels amazing," you moan, actually feeling a little lightheaded at the sensation.

"Good. Lay back and relax," he orders. "I'm gonna take my time."

You do as ordered, sighing in bliss as he gently soothes your aching folds with his icy tongue. "You're so good to me," you breathe, groaning as he continues his ministrations. "You're not just getting brunch today," you continue. "You're getting dinner, dessert, and anything else you want."

He grins while popping another ice cube in his mouth, manipulating it with his acrobatic tongue while giving you a dirty wink. "Brunch and dinner is more than enough, baby girl," he teases while lowering his head. "I already know what I'll be having for dessert," he sighs, smiling against your sensitive skin when his deliciously cold tongue causes you to gasp his name.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow oneshot

1K notes · View notes

lunarw0rks · 10 months

Text

Old Bones | Chapter One

Summary: After fleeing a toxic relationship, you fear for your safety and hire a bodyguard. He's masked, impassible, and damn good at what he does. | Word Count: 2.2k

Warning(s): strong language, mentions abusive relationship, gun mention, talk of death, trauma/PTSD themes, Fem!Reader

A/N: gonna be honest I got this idea from a c.ai bot. If you want to be on the taglist for this let me know <3

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ♡¸.•*' ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ next chapter | masterlist | ao3 ver. | playlist ꒦꒷ O.B MASTERLIST

On The Lam

The luminance of the sun beating down on you nearly distracted you from every tense thought telling you to back out. It felt ridiculous, standing out in the open like this, even if it was a populated area. The conversations of bypassers came in pieces.

A woman bickering with her husband about what takeout to get; an elderly woman talking to a most likely disinterested grandchild; a fuckboy bragging to one of his friends about how he scored the previous night—you yearned for the days where life was that simple. Living in blissful ignorance, when you were hopeful for the future ahead of you.

If you’d seen your past self, only a few months younger, you’d have called her a moron. How could you have not known? The red flags were all so obvious in hindsight. And for your stupidity, you’ve been living a life of recluse, wondering which stranger who passes you will eventually have his face.

In the present, cursing yourself for making an even denser decision: meeting a stranger online, someone to keep you safe. Shelters are too crowded, the police department is a joke, and cat and mouse can only go on for so long.

What can you say? Desperation makes people do things far from themselves. The saying goes both ways, you figure—each day that passes when he can’t find you is an increasing jeopardy to your safety.

You nearly squeeze the life out of the coffee cup you’re holding when the black pickup truck parks near the curb, just like you’d planned. His car was real, that’s all you knew. The windows were tinted, as dark as the law would allow. It could be anyone sitting inside the driver's seat.

The engine idles for a few seconds, before it comes to a stop. However, the driver doesn’t leave the truck to reveal himself. It’s up to you to make a decision. He’s surely already staring at you, as you stand there like a roach that’s staying still to avoid detection.

The speed of your steps towards the vehicle are about as fast as the pitter of your heart, increasing when you climb inside. You look in the backseat first, and indeed, there’s no one back there waiting to ambush you.

He’s staring at you, hands resting on either of his thighs, as if this wasn’t some sketchy meetup straight out of CSI, where the unsuspecting woman ends up wrapped in a tarp by the five minute timestamp. But he’s not giving you a look of malice or anger, it was the absence of emotion.

You fish out the envelope from your pocket, the deposit for his trouble, and then flash your phone screen, showing proof that you were the other text bubble responding to him. He takes the package and skims through the bills with his calloused thumb, giving a nod of approval.

If he wanted to hurt you, he could’ve locked the truck door by now and drove off God knows where. But he hadn’t. This ridiculous situation could be real after all.

He speaks first, revealing his weathered deep voice, with an accent you can’t locate. “Apartment or house?”

You take a few moments to process, shaking away the metaphorical cat that has your tongue. “It’s an apartment… Downtown, by the projects.” Your voice wavers slightly as you meet his callous gaze.

The ragged voice dripping with disdain, the eyes that look like they’ve witnessed it all, muscular arms that could choke you out in seconds, the insignia tattooed on his forearm, the small scars you can see around his eyes. You can only imagine how he looks under the balaclava tightly gripping his face.

You feel like it’s one danger stacked on top of the other—on the lam from an ex-lover, living in a chancy neighborhood, and now sitting in the car with one of the most intimidating men you’ve ever laid eyes on.

He closes off the envelope again, sticking the wad of cash into the cup holder. Next, he reaches into the center console, pulling out an ancient flip phone and a scrap piece of paper and pen.

“This is the burner phone you’ll use until our contract is up. No outside calls, no texting, and under no circumstances will you use your personal cell.” He has the phone outstretched, but won’t allow you to take it until you’ve nodded to reassure that you’re listening.

You flip up the screen, seeing only one number listed in the contact. No photos, no apps, nothing else. You stuff it into the pocket of your jeans, retrieving the paper and pen next.

“Write down your address, flat number, and cell. Everything we discussed before.”

You scribbled down all the info, cursing yourself at the awful handwriting before you. He doesn’t glance at your work, just hastily takes the items back and stuffs them into his pocket.

He then gives you a look of vexation, like you’re supposed to know what the next step in all this is.

With the tightening of his brow, he huffs and reaches across your lap, so close it makes you lean as far back into the seat as possible at the sudden proximity. His elbow is digging into your abdomen as he outstretches his arm toward the lock.

Click.

You jump at the sudden noise, despite the threat of him immediately harming you diminishing now that you have a possible escape. You’re not going to take your chances now, despite the fact that your address is folded in his pocket. Not your smartest decision, but neither was marrying the one that landed you in this situation.

You climb out of the vehicle, giving him one last glance before you shut the passenger door. There’s no going back now. You’re a few hundred dollars less, and a few hairs away from packing up and skipping town again.

You get inside your own car, turning the key to begin your drive home. His black truck tails you the whole way back, looking even more out of place in the sketchy neighborhood your apartment resides in.

When you enter the lobby, you gaze out at him through the window. He’s parked in front of the opposing building, probably trying to appear conspicuous. The landlord is sure to notice a “visitor” taking up your second parking space day by day. He moves like he’s done this a thousand times, like he’s thought of every way for someone to flag his presence.

By the time you reach the stairwell, he’s behind you, following your path up to your apartment. When you reach the inside, it’s as if you’re seeing your own place for the first time.

The barren walls where you hadn’t bothered to tack anything onto, the pathetic looking sofa in front of your box TV, not to mention your kitchen—the counters and stove untouched. The only sign of life is little traces of you; your laptop, still open and displaying what you were last browsing, the laundry you hadn’t folded yet, not to mention the mess of luggage in the corner.

It’s obvious to him by now that you’re not here to stay for long, and there’s a palpable reason for him being here. No one lives like this by choice. That wasn’t his problem, though. He was your muscle, your already paid muscle, so what does he care about the disorderliness of your apartment?

“I cleared out the spare room for you. It’s not much, I know.” You turn the corner, revealing what was more of a broom closet than a bedroom. You’d put out an air mattress for him, as well as a folding chair to pose as a nightstand.

He doesn’t react, just gives the scene a glance, then moves on without you. He’s casing the place, taking note of the layout in his mind. The lack of grandeur would come in handy. Two exits—entrance and terrace, only a few small windows, and not many rooms for an intruder to hide in. This was nothing to him.

Once he’s finished his walkthrough, you’re both standing in the entrance again.

“I supply my own weapons,” he pronounces, giving the living space one more scan. You had noticed it by now, the holster on his dominant side.

His eyes instinctively come back to you as you fiddle with your fingers in apprehension, how you’re wearing a wedding ring, but clearly no sign of a lover with you.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out the situation at hand: a woman fleeing from her spouse. But he knew there was more to this plight than just a hotheaded spouse. You weren’t the stereotypical battered woman he was expecting—no visible injuries, no cowering at the sight of his large frame, nor were you a petrified dear in the headlights.

He’d prefer it that way. Less strings attached, less drama, less chance of this job turning messy.

You force your nervous hands to your sides, noticing how he studied them. Though he was technically on your payroll, you felt you were in no position to question him.

He was actively standing in your apartment, had access to your information—it was a little late for cold feet.

—

“Did your husband strike you?” The officer questioned, not bothering to read the cues in front of him.

You hadn’t called them. It was your nosy neighbor, who somehow spent more time eavesdropping on your arguments than anything else. The icy concrete steps provide no comfort to your shivering legs as you’re perched on them, still in shock of it all.

“No, we were arguing,” you mutter, feeling overwhelmed by his grilling and the blue and red flashes lighting up the street. He hadn’t struck you. That was the truth. Why was it so goddamn difficult to tell the truth?

You felt this was all smoke. That the tension between the two of you would ease up after your place is swarmed with cruisers.

It should’ve been, at least. The serenity came and went as fast as the impatient officer. Instead of the previous dramatics of flying cutlery, it was hushed threats and holds on you that bruised where only you could see.

It was those evenings that you prayed for your nosy neighbor, or anyone for that matter to give you an out. No one did. He was too stifled, and too smart for that; the type of temper more disturbing than any man throwing violent punches.

You weren’t foolish. Things would get worse, you’d be completely dependent on him, and then dead before you had the chance to make an escape. You swore that wouldn’t happen to you—becoming a martyr for abused women. You weren’t going to be the next awareness story spread on social media.

Legalities were laughable, so you bailed. Packed up each of your belongings piece by piece, and bought the first plane ticket out of there. The leaving wasn’t the daunting part, like you’d heard before. No, it was the running—hiding away in your apartment, having to look over your shoulder in the checkout line, all of it.

Your husband’s wit was what charmed you in the first place. Then, it was his determination; it was jarring and never ending. But now, they were parts of him so potent they sent a chill down your spine.

You weren’t going to cut and run without that damn persistence of his close on your tail.

—

You find yourself repeating the same routine. Laying there, staring at the water damaged ceiling above you, worrying endlessly about the road ahead of you.

Fate was something you once viewed as the reason for all the bullshit—the happenings already in place for you, sometimes ending in a lesson or a new chapter. It had to be fate, the way he’d find you eventually, no matter how much distance you make.

As you wandered out of your room, you rub the fatigue away from your eyes, steadying your view of the dim apartment. The carton nearly slips through your fingers when you see him lightly snoring in the armchair instead of his room. That was something you needed to get used to, that’s for sure.

He stirs awake, coming to attention immediately. You give him the pointless offer of something to drink, met with the rejection you were expecting. He remains there, hands folded across his chest in restlessness.

You flick on one of the shotty lights, which flickers constantly as it does a terrible job of lighting your kitchenette. You pull out a chair and take a seat at your table, rubbing your thumb along the glass in a soothing fashion as you take small sips from it.

It was becoming a pattern, long before you moved here. Gazing out at the shimmering stars in the sky, using them as a distraction from the chaos around you.

When you’d run out of tearful words, or the dread of what he’d do wouldn’t let them escape your lips—you look out the window at the stars. It felt sick to find solace in something that reminded you of him, but you did nonetheless. Your mind wasn’t plagued with remembrances—rather, it was deserted, as if its way of coping with the scars it still harbored.

The man sitting in your apartment knew that freeze all too well—the pause of total dissociation. The eyes of the person glossed over and expressionless. All he could do was hold his gaze on you as you sat at the table, unable to form any words of reassurance.

An intruder busts in, and his countermoves would be swift, precise, and lethal. Beyond the shadow of his nonchalance, he was a man yearning for the distraction of the night sky.

#simon riley #simon riley x reader #mw2 fanfic #mw2 #ghost mw2 #task force 141 #call of duty #ghost mw2 x reader

458 notes · View notes