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V .......

Vampire! Anselm x Reader thots™ up in this bitch

Some NSFW shit under the cut, enjoy the random brainrot I just got

Big mansion with heavily tinted windows, private jets with black out curtains, yachts they ride to see meteor showers together.

They have those big extravagant parties, nobody thinks anything of it. All they're doing is picking through their "associates" to see who is the one they need the least and pull them to a dark corner and drink their fill..... Or they bring in somebody who siphoned funds into their own accounts from their estate.... Makes a spectacle of draining him dry as a warning--

V!Anselm totally gets a hard on when he sees you covered in blood I don't make the rules

Even if y'all have been together for centuries or one year, the man is still a horny little shithead for you, and being alive for so long has definitely allowed his kink list to be exponentially longer than most since being exposed to the Internet.

Sometimes during those public feedings of the stupid little fuck-ups who steal from him, Anselm will ravage the shit outta you in the middle of the party (unless you're not into it, that is, you are his Queen of The Night and he would never disrespect you and make you uncomfortable, the man would rip out his own fangs, first)

Really likes it when you decide to seduce™ him. Pour a glass of wine/blood down your body and he will be on his knees to lap it all up.

Would also un-ironically dress as Dracula for Halloween-themed parties/balls.

"What? It's thanks to Bram Stoker so many people now only believe us to be pure fiction, giving us leeway to exist in the public eye. Why not honor his character? What? Yes, yes, I know he was based on Vlad Țepeș, I was there--"

"Believe it or not, I think I have a cousin who is descended from the real count... I should invite them to one of our parties."

"Why am I not surprised?"

Would totally shoot glares at you if you make him to the "Bleh bleh bleh" thing from Hotel Transylvania, but would do it just to make you laugh. Your voice is like the most addicting thing he could ever have as an immortal.

Despite being an immortal vampire, he has those scars from an assassination attempt; exposing him to the sun and permanently damaging him.

If anything, surviving the sun only served to empower his image more. A powerful man who survived the dreaded sunlight; came out scarred and killed his would-be assassins himself.

V!Anselm will occasionally hold his arm under a beam of sunlight to intimidate those in his business meetings.

He'd feel bad about it later, however, but only in private with you once you expressed your concern as you let him feed from you to replenish his strength. You always do that when he goes "overboard" as you put it; the closeness and intimacy of letting him feed from you instead of a blood bag or some useless employee helped soothe and reassure you that he was all right.

And speaking of feeding from you... It almost always winds up with him inside of you or vice versa in some way... Feeding from one another is one of the most intimate acts a loving couple could do; drinking each other's essence just reaffirms the bonds between you.

And if you guys have a little brood? Oh, the man is unstoppable.

If any children you have are half-vampire because you haven't been turned yet? If they're unharmed by the sun? A testament to the Vogelweide name; his lineage will live on no matter what.

However, if you're still human, Anselm will insist on turning you. Especially when he discovered that someone tried to wound him by attempting to slip something like poison into one of your meals. (Vampires have better senses, Anselm could smell the tainted food even if you couldn't. You never did find out exactly what happened to that guy...)

LOOK. I DON'T KNOW. I HAVE DARK NEEDS THAT ONLY I CAN MEET.

"Matt," Foggy says, evenly. "Get on your knees."

Matt was halfway to the kitchen, stopping abruptly and barely hesitating before he sinks to his knees right there.

"Oh, wow, okay," Foggy says, softly, almost laughing. "Why did you do that?"

". . .because you told me to," Matt says, blushing fiercely, starting to get up until Foggy tells him firmly to stay still. "What are you doing, Foggy?"

"I had a theory," Foggy says. "I probably should have, like, tried to kiss you or something before I explored it."

Matt's turned on just from being told to be on his knees. He adjusts his erection where it's tenting his pants, breath catching at the sound of Foggy's heart racing, the way he smells like sex they haven't had yet.

"What's your theory?" he asks.

". . .crawl to me," Foggy says. "Now."

Matt manages to bite back an involuntary moan at the change in his voice, just stern enough to light some shit up in Matt's head that usually stays dim. Just crackles occasionally, like when Foggy tells him that he's not allowed to go out on nights when Matt really shouldn't go out. Just enough resistance to feel Foggy break it.

He's fully dressed in a suit when he gets on all fours and crawls.

Marc Spector- Paying Your Debt

Summary: Moon Knight saved your life, and now you're Marc Spector's glorified assistant. But when you pick him up one night after a fight, you get to feel the suit first hand, and what he keeps underneath it. (~2k words)

Contents: 🔥18+, nsfw, some plot and then smut in public w/ no one around, one reference to Jake and Steven

—————————-

You owe Marc Spector a debt. 

And he was making you pay it back piece by agonizing piece. It was never something big like, “go on a mission with me or kill this guy for me or take off your clothes and lay down on the bed.”

You keep a list of the things he’d asked you for taped to your refrigerator. It’s like an invoice, a running tally. But you have no idea when the number of things would end up equaling him having saved your life.

******** -Spector List- Picked up from airport (x2) Sutures (x4) + learning how to suture Laundry (annoying and bloody) Set up recurring payments for storage unit (dumb) Take winter tires to the storage unit (too heavy) Pick up book orders Prep and stash go-bags (4 of 7) Ammo (remind him no guns!) ********

Your phone chimes. Not your real phone. The one Marc has given you. It’s a tiny, old flip-phone. 

Spector: pick me up at the university library You: was getting ready for bed Spector: now You: say please Spector: just do it

With a sigh, you write ‘chauffeur’ on your list and head out, not even bothering to change out of your pajamas.

The campus is beautiful this time of year, even in the dark. Warm, fall colors under the moonlight.

You park in front of the library and wait. It’s just after dark on a Saturday night and pretty dead.

You flip open your phone.

You: where r u? Spector: drive around back

You drive around the building and Marc is leaning against the wall. He stands out in the unlit parking lot. He’s still wearing the suit and mask, the dusky white-gray billowing in the breeze and glowing white eyes tracking you as you drive in. He pushes off and walks toward you. He’s limping.

You’d seen him in a lot of states. Hero-mode when he’d saved you, battered and bloody when he came to you for help, annoyed almost always.

Today, though, his body language is tired.

He opens the passenger door and sits down hard, his cape disappearing as he does. He makes a noise like he’s uncomfortable.

“Are you going to be okay?” You ask.

“Yeah, have to leave the suit on. I’m not done healing.” He takes a few deep breaths, presses a hand to his ribs. “But almost. Drive.”

“You’re a superhero. Do you really want people seeing you riding shotgun in a shitty car like this? No one’s around.” You put the car in park and turn off the engine.

The mask and hood disappear from his head. His curly hair is a little shiny from whatever fight he was just in, but he is beautiful as always.

“So what was it this time? A murderer? A rapist? Both?”

He glances at you, shifting his weight to see how his healing’s progressing. 

“You talk so much,” he says.

“You could stop texting me. Rope some other sucker into being your gopher.”

The corner of his mouth tips up into a smile. “I like that you talk so much.”

Your eyes widen. “Wow, Marc, that’s only the second nice thing you’ve ever said to me. The first being the night you rescued me when you said that I, quote, ‘have good instincts for picking a safe route home.’ Oh, wait, that was sarcastic wasn’t it, because I almost died? Okay then, the talking thing is only nice thing you’ve ever said.”

He rolls his head back and forth, stretching out. Instinctively you reach over and rub the back of his neck with your fingers, massaging his tense muscles. He leans into your touch immediately.

His skin is warm and soft. The ends of his hair brush against your hand.

“That’s nice,” he says quietly.

“Okay, seriously, did the bad guys inject you with some kind of personality-changing drug?”

He shakes his head. “Just tired.” He looks over at you. “Come closer.”

You look at him. “We’re sitting next to each other in a car. I’m about as ‘closer’ as I can get.”

He gently runs his hand around your upper arm. Even though you'd felt the grab of his fingers in the suit on the night he'd rescued you, it had all happened so fast that you couldn't remember how it had felt.

You look at it, surprised. “I thought the wrapping was rough. It’s not. It’s soft.”

He tugs you closer, until he can pull you over to sit on his lap, your back resting against the door and one of his arms around you. It was the closest you’d been to him since the night he saved you. 

You’d thought stitching him up was intimate, the few times he couldn’t put on the suit and had to make do until he could use it to heal, but this was more than that.

“Does this hurt your ribs?” You ask.

He shakes his head. “I’m fully healed now. Back to normal.”

“Sure, this is normal. A grown woman sitting in the lap of a grown man who is wearing the ceremonial armor of an ancient deity. Normal.”

His smile is unexpectedly warm. It makes you warm.

“Marc?”

“Hmm?” His hand idly moves up and down your thigh. His big, brown eyes look at you, a few curly strands of hair fall over his forehead.

“Do you have an erection under there or is that, like, a protective cup for your junk when you’re-“

“It’s an erection.”

You nod, feeling your cheeks turn pink. “It’s big. I mean, um, huge. No, just… I should shut the fuck up.”

He smiles, running his fingers tantalizingly between your thighs with more pressure now. “I realized something about me and you when I was out today.”

You tip your head at him. “You think about me while you’re bashing people’s faces in? Awww.”

“You make me smile,” he says. His hand moves further up between your legs, the space between his thumb and forefinger wedged against the hottest part of you. Your breath stutters. “I look forward to seeing you, hearing your voice. It’s the only nice part of my day sometimes.”

“Marc,” you say slowly.

“Let me do something for you.” He starts to rock his hand gently against you, creating delicious friction that you can tell is going to make you embarrassingly wet in three seconds flat.

“Can’t you just get me a gift card?” You say, already sounding slightly out of breath.

He gives you a look, one that says you’re ridiculous. But this time, it seems like a compliment.

He tips his head forward to kiss your neck while his hands pull off your pajama pants. He tosses them into the back of the car and grabs your hips, lifting and turning your body to straddle him. Sometimes you forgot how strong he really was.

You rock against him on instinct while you take off your shirt. You feel Marc’s cock flex when he sees that you didn’t wear a bra tonight.

Moonlight spills across your chest through the windows. He traces it with his mouth.

Gently, he pushes you until your upper back is reclining on the dashboard. He looks you over, then down at where you’re already clenching, needy, wet for him.

He runs his thumb over you, the soft fabric of his gloves just enough texture to make your cunt clamp down. He pops the digit in his mouth to taste. “Still want that gift card?” He says.

“Depends. How much is it?”

You crane your neck to see the crotch of his suit retract just enough to release his cock, thick and hard, already leaking at the tip. You want to put it in your mouth, but he holds you firmly against him.

“Fuck, Spector, your face isn’t the only pretty thing you have,” you say.

He smiles. “I can think of a place where it’d look better,” he says.

You brace your hands against his forearms as he holds his cock steady, lining it up with your entrance. You push yourself down onto him, trying to relax so you can take him all in one go.

He braces his hands against your thighs. “Easy- fuck- baby”

You moan, moving up and then down, seating yourself further onto him. It takes what feels like forever to get there. He cants his hips, pushing the last of his thick base into your cunt and pausing for you to stretch around him. Your breath is shaking. You’ve never been so full. All you can think is that you will never be able to go back, not after him.

He runs his hands over you and you feel the suit retract from his hands so he can touch the rest of your body with his skin. He rolls your nipples between his fingers as he surges his hips up. You use his arms as leverage, pulling and pushing in time to the snap of his hips.

Marc brings one hand down to stroke his fingers at the edges of your cunt, where it’s grabbing onto his cock like a second skin. He plays with the ring of wetness, gliding it up and playing with your clit. 

He collects more and brings his fingers to your lips, pushing them inside your mouth. You suck on his fingers as you ride him, your hips rolling now as you feel yourself tightening, feeling him drive you toward release.

“Please, Marc,” you whine.

“You’re close, you’re close- oh fuck- come on baby- come on,” he grabs your hips and moves you up and down on his cock. He looks wrecked, watching himself fuck in and out of you.

Your hand slaps against his chest as you come, your fingers grabbing the wrappings of his suit as he keeps pushing himself in and out of you, through your orgasm while he shoots his own deep into you. You try to milk him, bring him deeper and feel him filling you. Your legs are shaking. You’re squeezing him so hard you can’t believe he can move inside you at all anymore. His hips slow and his grip eases as he shudders the last of his cum into you.

He relaxes back, then pushes himself all the way inside you again, the wet, filthy sound making you crave him, even though you know it's too soon. He pulls you to him, resting you against his chest.

Your breath is heavy and ragged. You close your eyes against the soft material of his shoulder, feeling his hands heavy on your back.

“Never thought of you as a public sex guy,” you say, turning your head toward his neck.

“It’s not. The way these windows are fogged, we’re alone.” You feel his heartbeat starting to slow already. You can’t say the same.

You lift your head. He’s right. Your car windows are completely opaque, the color and texture like the suit he wears. The air inside is hot and wet. 

“I will never get this smell out of here,” you say. You sit up, clenching around his half-hard cock.

“It’s a good smell,” Marc says. “Should make an air freshener out of it.”

He runs his tongue along your chest where a rivulet of sweat was dripping down. You moan, and he looks up at you, smiling.

“So, are we even now?” You say with a grin.

He shakes his head. “Never. You’re going to be paying me back for a long,” he licks over your breast with the flat of his tongue, “long,” he moves over to do the same to the other, “time.”

You kiss the top of his head as he sucks on your nipple. You feel yourself getting wet again, your hips moving ever so slightly back and forth.

“Maybe you could chip away at it a little more tonight?” He says as you feel his cock twitch and started to harden again inside of you.

“Here? Again?”

Marc grins at you wickedly. He grinds against you, hitting your clit and making you gasp.

“It’s a big debt, gotta start somewhere,” he says.

You lean down and kiss him. “Would you take a gift card?”

cw: dubcon

bully!Soap who has you face down on his bed, belt binding your hands behind your back

rough hands spreading your ass apart, and you whine, hiding your face in the blanket as you struggle against your binds “j-johnny knock it off! y-you can’t!”

“oh i think i can bonnie.” he laughs, delivering a sharp slap to your ass, closing his eyes at the sound of your shrill cry, only to open them, gaze falling to your puckered hole and he groans, using his thumbs to spread it, and you let out a sob that goes straight to his dick

“i-it’s dirty…”

“ye just took a shower, dumb dog.” he snarks, before spitting directly onto your spread little hole, dragging his tongue over it, nails digging into your thighs as you squeal, thrashing

“johnny!” you cry, struggling to catch your breath and he rolls his eyes

“‘Johnny!’” He mocks, grip tightening on your hips as he goes back to swirling his tongue around your rim, dipping his tongue inside

smirking when he feels you to limp, sobbing into the mattress as your hips twitch, pushing back against his tongue, which he cruelly pulls away

“thought you said this was dirty?”

Cowgirl

pairing: dbf!southern!frank castle x afab!reader

summary: a trip to the store with your dad’s best friend ends in a lack of a swimsuit and the feeling of his beard scratching you forever engraved in your mind.

warnings: age gap (reader is 22, frank is 52), use of pet names, dirty dirty thoughts!!!, mention of a divorced dad?, fingering, no real sex, bearded frank <3, no mentions of y/n, no descriptions of reader, not proofread

word count: 2711 words

author’s note: the line “ride cowgirl” in pyramid by frank ocean inspired this whole fic, which i kinda wanna make into multiple fics?? a story if you will?? anyway, i think this is a huge step up from my last writing piece so please enjoy :)

read the sequel ride, cowgirl !

“I'm telling you to loosen up my buttons, babe.” You sang along to the song blaring from your dad’s speaker, you hijacked it when he went inside to get more beer for him and his friends, swinging your hips and slowly spinning in a circle. Your music was way better than his divorced dad rock music, which you secretly enjoyed, and if you were going to enjoy the get together he was throwing you were absolutely going to play your own music. 

“But you keep fronting.” Tiffany, your long time best friend, sang back into the imaginary microphone in her hand as she pranced around you in a circle. The two of you putting on a performance to the imaginary crowd in your backyard, or so you thought. Twenty feet away, sitting in perfect position across the fire to watch you swing your hips around, was your dad’s best friend Frank.

Frank was only half listening to the conversation between the men around him, he was more focused on the way you danced and how it was making him rethink every decision he ever made and was about to make, his knuckles going white from the grip he had on the bottle in his hand. Sure, he’d always known you were a gorgeous girl but something about tonight was different. The fire barely illuminating your skin softly had him wanting to slide behind you as your hips moved in time with the song, his lips dragging across the skin of your neck before moving to your ear where he whispered promises of what he’d do to you later. He took a sip of the lukewarm beer, watching you for a second more before turning back to whatever bullshit conversation that was going on. It paled in comparison to you. Currently, everything did. 

The summers in Texas were your favorite, the air was never too humid and warmed you up when the wind came through at night, the lightning bugs never failed to show up every night and lit up the trees if you paid enough attention. Truthfully you were biased, but the thing that made them truly the best was having no true responsibilities again and you would always enjoy that, especially when your beloved dad bought your alcohol for three months. One of your favorite perks was the swimming pool, you were either swimming with a few of your friends or tanning on the side but you were almost always found by it. The swimsuits you typically donned weren’t the slightest bit modest, and now wasn’t any different. You were barely covered in a green bikini, the top consisting of two triangles and a string, and the bottoms high cut and covered with a mesh skirt. 

“Castle, how’s work been man? Ain’t heard much bout it ‘n normally ya don’t shut up bout it.” Goddamnit is all Frank thought as your dad dragged him back into the conversation, ruining the imagery in his head. If looks could kill, the one he shot your dad would’ve murdered him beyond recognition. “‘s alright, busy. Always picks up in the summertime. Ready to have some more downtime, spend it with family.” More like with your daughter. 

“I hear ya. Promise ol’ girl over there we’d do some family shit this summer, if business keeps the way it is I ain’t too sure how well I can keep that promise.” Your dad responded, pointing you out to the guys as if Frank hadn’t been oogling you all night. You and Tiff had stopped dancing to the music and instead opted to sitting with your legs in the pool, gossiping about town drama and Tiff’s newest boy of the week. 

“Understandable, if ya’ll need anything just holler at me.” Frank responded, ready for the conversation to be done, ready to continue watching you like a creep from afar. He’d be a creep if it meant staring at you all night, he’d be a creep if it meant a chance to feel your hair wrapped around his hand while he-

“Dad, Tiff and I are going to get snacks from the gas station!” You called out happily, ripping Frank out of his delusion with the angelic smile of yours, walking over to the group of men surrounding the fire. 

“C’mere, I’ll give you my card so you can get some more drinks.” You happily grabbed the card from your dad, bending over to give him a small hug. Frank was no better than the next man, he scratched at his scruff as he admired the way the green of your bikini complimented the tan skin threatening to spill from the lack of support. 

“Frank, can you drive us? It’s dark and neither of us wanna drive.” It was like the perfect opportunity fell right into his lap and he’d be damned if he wasn’t taking it. The smile you were flashing him made him want to get down on his knees and beg, a god he wasn’t sure existed for, forgiveness for what he was about to do. 

“Course darlin’, let me get my wallet.” He looked at your dad who seemed to have no qualms about the situation before getting out of the chair, placing his mostly empty bottle of now warm beer on the ground and following you into the house. 

“I’m gonna go put a shirt on, give me a second.” Up until tonight, much like Frank with you, you hadn’t noticed how attractive he was. Older men had always excited you but this was different. Frank was big, strong, rough around the edges but had that southern hospitality you loved. You couldn’t help but think about how his scruff would feel rubbing against your skin, would it leave redness in its wake? would it help spur your orgasm as he fucked you with his fingers? 

You picked up some oversized t shirt that probably once belonged to your dad and put it on, shaking your head as if it would get rid of the thoughts. 

“Hey, I’m gonna head out. Horrible timing I know! But y’know, boy of the week is calling.” Tiff spoke, her expression clearly apologetic, giving you a hug and promising to make plans for later this week before grabbing her things and leaving.

“So for taking so long, got caught up in my thoughts.” Of you. You smiled softly, suddenly aware of how the sun had brought out freckles you didn’t know he had and how muscular he truly was.

“‘S alright, lets get goin’ ‘for your dad starts wonderin’.” He matched your smile, placing his hand on the small of your back as the two of you walked out of the house and to his truck. You were painfully aware of how big his hands felt, triggering your mind to think about his fingers. You rubbed your thighs together to relieve some of the tension aching at your core, it felt so taboo to lust after a man your dad’s age. Not just his age! His own best friend! 

The trip to the gas station was uneventful, unfortunately, the two of you exchanged conversation like the tension wasn’t thick enough to cut. Like Frank’s jeans were getting uncomfortably tight and your bikini bottoms uncomfortably wet. Like neither of you wanted to jump the bones of the other person.

“Hey, Frank?” You asked softly, trying to gain the courage to ask the question you wanted the answer to.

“Darlin’?” He put the car in park, looking over at you expecting you to call him every disgusting name under the sun for his thoughts about you tonight.

“Do you, uhm…”

“I’m not a mind reader, baby.” At first you thought you imagined the word, that he didn’t actually say it but it was your imagination fueling the growing fire you had for Frank Castle. But he did say it, and he did it on purpose. Testing the waters, seeing how far he could go without making you uncomfortable. 

“Have you ever been with someone younger?” Not the fucking question, idiot. You scolded yourself, you didn’t want to know the answer to this. What if his answer was yes and you were imagining his interest in you, that you weren’t special. 

“No, I uh haven’t. Not yet, anyway.” There he went again, saying things that made you think you were imagining it. Maybe you’d wake up any minute and none of it was real. He could see the wheels turning in your head, you were a smart girl and he knew that. 

You, timidly, leaned over the console of his truck and experimentally ran your fingers through his scruff. You’d never been with a man, much less a man with a beard, you’d only been with what your father classified as boys. Frank leaned into your touch, placing his hand on top of yours and dragging it to his lips. Placing kisses on your palm, keeping eye contact with you. You were having trouble breathing, he was going to kill you. The beautiful hunk of a man was going to be the cause of your death, you’d make sure Tiff had it written on your tombstone. “Death by Frank Castle.”

Frank let your hand drop into your lap, threading his own hand through your hair to grab the back of your head and pull you closer to him. He leaned forward to meet you halfway, eyes scanning your face just taking in your beauty. His lips were made to fit yours, you were convinced, moving in motion with yours. His beard scratching your skin deliciously, his fingers wrapping themselves in your hair, his scent. He was everywhere, he consumed you. 

“Need you, Frank please.” You breathed, pleading with him. “Need you so bad, need to feel you, your fingers.” You carried on, your voice sounding like you were on the verge of tears. 

“Baby, not here.” He spoke softly, committing the way you sounded to memory for him to reference later when he was alone, “I’ll get you off though. Make you cum, all over my seat.” 

His words eliciting a whimper, you’d take anything he was willing to give you. It didn’t matter that anyone could see into his truck at any moment, made the situation so much more intense. He tapped your thigh, signaling he wanted you to open your legs. 

Frank let his fingers dance over the exposed skin your lack of pants left, dragging them up your thighs slowly. Painfully slow. He left open mouth kisses down your neck, occasionally biting and soothing the bite with his tongue. What felt like a decade later his middle finger traced your clothed folds, chuckling into your neck at how wet you were. You bucked your hips at the stimulation, earning another chuckle from the man in the driver’s seat, you were dying to receive some more stimulation from him. At this point, you’d sell a kidney and probably your soul to just have a singular finger inside you. You’d probably sell his soul too.

He dipped a finger underneath your swimsuit, groaning at how wet you truly were and that he was the cause of it all. His dreams were, partially, coming true and he needed to thank the heavens and the stars. Your moans and whimpers were music to Frank’s ears and he’d do anything and everything to keep them coming, to keep those angelic noises from leaving your pretty mouth. The truck was silent except for your noises and the squelch of Frank playing with your pussy.

“‘S wet, pretty girl. All for me? Did I do this to you, baby?” He taunted you, sliding his finger through your folds and swirling your clit as he waited for an answer.

“All for you, promise.” You whined, leaning your head against him, sweat beading on your skin as the car started to heat up from the summer air and the actions being performed. 

Your pleas were answered when he finally plunged a finger inside of you, pulling it all the way out and admiring how it glistened in the light provided by the street light in the corner of a parking lot. He did this a few times, thrusting his finger in and pulling it all the way back out before plunging it back inside of you. His lips found your neck again, moving your head back to the original position it was in, kissing every spot of open skin he could reach. As if he read your mind, he inserted another finger alongside the one already inside. The stretch burned in a way that made you feel alive, made you feel on top of the world. All because Frank’s fingers were inside you. God, his fingers were big. So big it made you think about how right your dad had been to call everyone else a boy and not a man. So big all you could do was think about how big his cock must be, if his jeans were any indication you were in for a real treat. Not here though, stupid stupid gas station stupid truck. Your thoughts soon turned to mush.

His fingers curled right against the spongy spot inside of you, hitting it over and over again, he readjusted his hand to put his thumb on your clit.

“C’mon pretty girl, let go for me.” He spoke low, trailing kisses back up your neck and nipping at your earlobe. 

You could feel the warmth growing in your stomach, the knots forming into bigger knots and then even bigger knots. Could feel the heat spreading throughout your body, your orgasm so close you could taste it. It was right there, his fingers hitting all the right spots and his thumb working wonders on your clit, his scruff scratching your skin and his mouth kissing everywhere. He was suffocating you in all the best ways possible. All you could see, hear, smell and taste was Frank fucking Castle.

Stars. Your vision turned to stars as your orgasm washed over you, your body shaking in the passenger seat as he fucked you with his fingers. Those damn fingers. You couldn’t see anything but stars, for all you knew you had gone to heaven and it was thanks to the magical orgasm given to you at the hands of your new god. 

When you came down from your high, Frank was whispering how well you had done and how pretty you were. He was caressing your thigh and placing kisses to your head. 

“Did so good, gonna get me addicted.” He reached behind your seat and handed you a water bottle, opening it and holding the lid so you could drink it.

“Thank you.” You smiled up at him, that killer smile that got him here in the first place. He truly was going to get addicted to you and he had no complaints about it, could die a happy man tonight if fingering you in his passenger seat is all he gets to do to you. His phone ringing in his pocket brought him back to the situation at hand.

Shit. Both of you thought, remembering what you were supposed to be doing and how it was now an entire forty-five minutes later.

“Hey, ah yeah we’re good. Small fender bender, yeah….to make it all worse the gas station was closed when we got here.” Frank spoke to your dad on the phone, coming up with a lie like his life depended on it and he hadn’t just fingered you to the edge of your life. “Should be back soon, don’t worry man. I’m keepin’ her safe, precious cargo.”

You chuckled softly at his sentence, relaxing completely in the seat and taking a few sips of water, thinking about the future of your relationship with him. Or whatever it was, you made out and he had his fingers inside you but that didn’t mean shit. What if he regretted it and now didn’t want anything to do with you, what if he was too worried about his friendship with your dad?

“Quit thinkin’ too much. We’ll figure out whatever this is, all I know for sure is I need to see you again. And you to ride me, like a fuckin’ cowgirl. Ya hear?”

Ride, Cowgirl.

pairing: dbf!southern!frank castle x afab!reader

summary: neither of you can keep last night off your mind, needing more Frank finds comfort in your room.

warnings: age gap (reader is 22, frank is 52), use of pet names, dirty dirty thoughts!!!, mention of a divorced dad?, fingering, sex!!, praise kink asf, oral (f receiving), soft frank, reader calls him frankie accidentally, frank making noise in bed, riding like a cowgirl!!, bearded frank <3, no mentions of y/n, no descriptions of reader, not proofread

word count: 3514 words

author’s note: I’m in love with darlin’ and frank, they are simply the lomls currently. anyway, the end gives the perfect set up for a third part if it is desired!! In the meantime, it’s 1;30 am for me and I need sleep!! please enjoy &lt;3

read the first part cowgirl ! and the next part cowboy hats !

Boyfriend by COIN played on the speaker your dad, conveniently, left outside as you laid on one of the pool loungers.  Thoughts of Frank consuming your mind, thoughts of his hands and his voice and the way he smelled and how he looked pain that he couldn’t fuck you in the backseat of his truck. Your fingers finding themselves rubbing the side of your neck, the very spot Frank had found comfort. 

“So how did last night go?” Tiff asked, hanging over the side of the pool to look at you. Your heart raced, did she find out? How would she? Did you accidentally call her when you were panting his name like it was the only word you knew? The way you froze as she asked a simple question, immediately made her suspicious of you.

“Huh?” You asked, in hopes of getting her to elaborate just a bit so you could come up with the lie of your life. Or maybe, you should confide in her. She is your girl for life, it’s not like she’s gonna judge you for doing it. If anything, she’d praise you and beg for details.

“After I left? How did the rest of the night go? Your dad doesn’t have the most interesting friends on the planet. All they talk about is work and their lack of wives.” She rolled her eyes, laying her head on her hands and kicking her legs in the water. 

“Actually…” You smiled, bringing your knees up to your chest to hide behind them as the blush spread across your body.

“Oh. My. God. Hold on!” She rushed to climb out of the pool, dripping water all over you as she sat on the opposite end of the lounger. If gossiping was a team sport, the two of you would have ten gold medals, if anyone asked you weren’t necessarily talking shit but simply saying how you felt about people.

“So, after you left, Frank and I went to the gas station and I asked if he had been with anyone younger. I don’t know what got into me, Tiff! He just looked so…godly. I wanted to jump his bones the second I came downstairs from changing.” You covered your face with your hands and groaned, the blush was probably becoming permanent at this point. You were going to be bright red for the rest of your life.

“Your dad’s best friend?! Holy shit dude. C’mon spill!” She laughed, prying the hands off your face and sitting expectantly. You were beyond grateful for the fact she wasn’t judging you and was actually interested. Maybe that was a bad thing, you didn’t care.

“Anyway, he said ‘Not yet’ and I was in shock or something! So, I reached over and kinda did a weird caress thing to his beard. I was flyin’ by the seat of my swimsuit, I’ve never been with a man who has any sort of facial hair. But he kissed me, and I mean like Really kissed me.i’ve never been kissed like that before, Tiff. Mind blowing.” Unbeknownst to you, the very man you were speaking about had walked out the back door and could hear the whole conversation. His chest swelled with pride, in some fucked up way he was glad no one had ever kissed you like that. It meant there was a lot more he could do way better than any of the other people you’d been with, and he’d be damned if he didn’t ruin you for any other man out there.

“Your dad is about to come out here, suggest you find somethin’ else to talk ‘bout.” He hollered at the two of you, your head whipping around so fast it was a miracle you didn’t give yourself whiplash, chuckling at the way your eyes widened when you realized he had heard you talking about him. “Quit speakin’ so damn loud anyway, sure the whole neighborhood heard.”

Frank didn’t truly mean what he said, he would love to listen to you retell the story of your escapades, what he didn’t want was your father to hear and put two and two together. He didn’t need to get into some shitty mess with the one constant in his life, he owed more to your dad than he cared to admit and ruining that friendship would send Frank to an early grave. That in no way meant he regretted what he did last night, and everything else he planned to do. He simply wanted to go about all this in a way that wouldn’t cost him his friendship but still gives him his girl, gives him you. He prayed for the first time last night, and he really truly prayed, for a situation where it all works out and he’s not back to square one. With nobody. Again. 

“Thanks for the warning, Mr. Castle.” Tiff shouted back, a smug smile playing on her face, giving him a small wave. She nudged your shoulders, giggling at the whole situation. All you wanted to do was shrink and disappear, you couldn’t be more embarrassed. You felt small and helpless, your best friend thought it was hilarious. God if you can hear me, please kill me.

You spent the whole morning thinking about him and the consequence of what you did, how would your next interaction go? Would it be weird? Would he pretend it never happened, that he wasn’t dying to have you right then and there. Yet, here you were no true interaction but you were the one cowering away from it. You were the one trying to pretend like it didn’t happen, when truthfully you wanted to shout it from the rooftops and let everyone know who had given you the best orgasm of your life.

“I’m going to shrink to the size of ant and drown myself in the fuckin’ pool, Tiff. I swear to god.” You slouched as far down in the lounger as you could, squeezing your eyes closed in some desperate attempt to make it all disappear. “Of course he would be here right now.”

“Ants don’t have lungs, they can’t technically drown. Besides, it’s not like he came out here and murdered you, all he did was tell you to be quieter. He also made no indication or mention of last night, so stop lettin’ that pretty head of yours go wild.” Tiff rubbed her hand soothing up and down your arm, she knew better than anyone the way your mind would take someone breathing at you and interpret it as they hate you and want you dead. That’s why she worked so well with you, the sane and grounded to your wild and anxious. 

“I don’t think it would matter even if he did, the principle of it all is what’s causing my worries. Do you think worry dolls are still a thing? I could most definitely use one right now.” A groan once again left your mouth, your eyes opening and searching for the older man who was carrying planks of wood across your backyard. Your father walked out of the house, giving you and Tiff a wave before hollering at Frank about whatever they were building.

The whispers and giggles coming from the two of you were intriguing Frank, he wanted to know exactly what you were telling her and what you were intentionally leaving out. He wanted to know if you were even talking about him, or if she was telling you the real reason that I just left abruptly last night. Because he knew, he wouldn’t say anything to you about it unless you brought it up first, but he knew. The work in front of him was becoming increasingly less interesting, he was so close to telling your dad to throw in the towel and call it a day. He didn’t even know what he was building anymore, he truthfully didn’t care but your dad did. That was enough for him to keep going.

“Those two have been out all day, shockin’ they’re not burnt or nothin’.” Your dad commented, planting his shovel in the ground and leaning against it. He smiled your way, not that you noticed as you were preoccupied with Tiff. You were his pride and joy, his baby. He’d murder anyone for you, it was a part of the reason you never brought anyone home. 

“‘M not shocked. Last summer, I’m not sure either one of em spent any more than twenty minutes inside. Make sure she- they wear sunscreen, don’t need em getting skin cancer.” Frank was quick to correct himself, not that your dad would’ve found anything wrong with his original statement but he was covering all his bases. Not that he didn’t care for the other girl, Tiff was her name? He didn’t need to know her name, not when he knew yours. 

“I’ll make sure to pick some up from the store the next time we make it to the grocery, I know my girl wears some. Not sure ‘bout her friend.” His girl. The words made Frank irrationally angry, you were his daughter but the thought of someone else staking claim over you drove him mad. One night with you and he was acting, and thinking, like you were his wife. Wife. No.

Frank had met your father when you were nineteen, hadn’t met you until you were twenty. It wasn’t like he was truly doing anything wrong but he was going to fight a never ending mental battle about you. Going through every hoop to tell himself neither of you was doing anything wrong, that you weren’t going to be in trouble for your actions. That it was, simply, okay.

The sun was setting, the breeze taking over and raising the hair on your skin. You truly had been outside all day, with sunscreen reapplied every hour or so, you were bound to find a few sunburnt spots in your shower. You exchanged goodbyes with Tiff and made your way to your room to start the nightly routine you had adopted since being home, switching the bluetooth from the speaker outside to the one inside your room. You opened the window, your music slowly starting to dance with the breeze, when a soft knock on your door grabbed your attention.

“Hey cowgirl.” Frank whispered, just barely loud enough to be heard over your music, making his way into your room and studying it. Committing all the bits and pieces of it to his memory.

“I’m so sorry about earlier, if you don’t want me to tell Tiff anymore I won’t. I just, I tell her everything and I needed to tell someone.” Your cheeks slowly started turning pink, Frank thought you were cute like that.

“Don’t apologize, darlin’. I didn’t care, just warnin’ ya ‘bout your dad is all.” He walked closer to you, his height very apparent, your head the perfect height for his chest. He brought a finger up to your cheek, dragging it down before tucking your hair behind your ear. 

“I appreciate it, I know how much he means to you.” No you didn’t. He knew you knew a small bit not enough to truly understand what the two of you meant to him. He would be forever indebted to your father if it meant keeping you, if it meant holding you and kissing you. Consuming himself with you.

“So pretty.” He truly whispered, admiring every inch of your face, leaning down to kiss you. Your heart stopped, he didn’t regret it? He thought you were pretty?

You decided to stop fucking thinking for once and enjoy it, leaning up to meet him halfway in the kiss. Threading your fingers through his hair, much like he did with yours in his truck. One his hands held the side of your face while the other tucked itself into the waistband of your swimsuit bottoms, rubbing at the indentation it left from being worn all day. 

“Ready to ride, cowgirl?” He asked, pulling away from the kiss enough to nip at your jaw as he waited for an answer. He wouldn’t be mad if you said no, he would be patient and wait until you were, but he went home and fucked his hand like a horny teenage boy at the thought of you on top of him.

A whimper is all you managed to respond with, your mind momentarily thinking about your dad but was interrupted by the softness of your mattress touching your back. 

“Goddamn swimsuits, prancing around in practically nothing.” He remarked, still standing as he eyed your body. His finger snapped the strap of your bottoms, smirking at the sound before he dragged them down your legs. 

“What’s your favorite color?” You asked softly, making him burst into laughter. 

“For what?” He responded, controlling his laughter at the fact you would ask that right now. 

“So I can wear one that color the next time you’re over.” You smiled, looking up at him. Somehow he looked even prettier from this angle, if that was possible. 

“Uh, probably red.” He gave a bit of thought before responding, curious to know if you would actually be wearing a bikini the next time you saw him. At your house, anyway. 

He stashed the bikini bottoms in his back pocket, pulling you to the edge of the bed by your ankles and getting down on his knees. Frank thanked all the heavens and the stars for the meal he was about to eat right before licking a stripe through your folds and sucking on your clit. The stimulation instinctively caused your thighs to close, causing him to force them back open and lay one arm across a leg with his hand splayed across your stomach.

He moaned.

He moaned.

Frank moaned, was he enjoying this as much as you were? Were there any downsides or faults to this man? 

He moved his mouth closer to your clit, paying almost all his attention to it as he inserted his middle finger slowly. A wanton moan making its way to his ears, he thought everything about you was pretty. If he wasn’t rock hard when he took your bottoms off, he definitely was now. The stretch in his jeans was not entirely comfortable, it truthfully wouldn’t be able to accommodate much more. 

“Frank, Frankie, please..” 

Did you just- did he imagine that? He’d never had anyone call him that before, but it sounded so damn good coming from your lips.

“What, pretty girl? Use your words for me. Tell Frankie what you need.” 

“‘M so close, please need more.” You whined, to him it even sounded a bit like you were going to cry. He’s bet his life savings you were a pretty crier, a pretty anything. He just wanted to look at you. Always.

All he wanted to do was pull out his phone and record the pleas and the moans coming from you, to listen to later if you were ever ripped from him and he didn’t get to experience this, experience you, ever again. If it weren’t for your fucking music. He was thankful for it, blocking your sounds from anyone in the house. He added his ring finger into the mix, relishing in the sound you made. You were his drug, he truly was addicted. He needed his next fix before this one was over. 

Moments after he sped up his fingers and added more pressure to your clit, your orgasm ripped through you. Body shaking, eyes rolling back. This was better than the one he gave you last night. You’d never be able to touch yourself ever again, not the way he did. You didn’t think anyone could ever compare now that Frank had touched you. 

By the time you came to, he had discarded his clothes and was on top of you. He pulled you into a kiss, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip and groaning into your mouth when you let him in. His tongue explored every inch of your mouth while his fingers explored every inch of your body. 

“I don’t have a condom.” He confessed.

“Don’t care, on the pill. Frankie please, I need you inside of me right now. Need your cock, frankie..please.” The sound of you begging for him had his ego going through the roof, the fact that anyone could want or need him this bad was mind blowing. 

He rubbed his cock through your folds, kissing you a bit more before he pushed the tip in. Your mouth opening in a gasp. You knew he was big, you saw the imprint in the truck yesterday. But this was different, the stretch hurt in a delicious way that you needed more of. He waited a moment before pushing in a bit more, toying with your clit and peppering your face with kisses to distract you.

He bottomed out, you had never felt so full in your life. You swore he was in your stomach, taking rearranging your guts to a new level. He stayed still, letting you get used to his size. He didn’t want to hurt you, too much.

“Frankie move.” 

Your wish was his command. His thrusts started slowly, building up in speed as he went. It was at this point, you realized Frank Castle was not quiet in bed. He wasn’t necessarily loud either, but he was groaning in your ear. The grunts and the groans were spurring you on, your moans and whimpers were doing the same for it. It was a cycle, and if either of you had your way it would never end. 

“Sound so damn pretty. Makin’ all these noises for me, huh? My pretty girl, my girl.” He put all his weight on his forearms, lifting himself enough to look you in the eyes, his hair falling out of place and onto your face. He was gorgeous, especially like this. Raw. Vulnerable. Just for you. 

“Your girl, yours.” You babbled, too busy reeling in the feeling of his cock driving in and out of you. How his bare skin feels on yours. His voice praising you. Calling you pretty. 

“That’s right, such a good girl.” His praises continued, some of them too muffled for you to hear as he sucked on your collarbone. Or your neck. Any exposed skin he could get in his mouth. 

Without pulling out, he flipped the two of you over so you were on top. Riding him. Cowgirl. 

“C’mon cowgirl, ride me. You can do it baby.” He lifted your hips up and placed them back down to get you started, placing your hands on his chest for you.  He slipped one of your boobs out of the top, you were still wearing, and put your nipple in his mouth. Rolling the bud between his teeth, enjoying the new sounds he managed to get.

You placed your weight on your hands, positioning your legs right, and lifted back up. He was somehow even deeper than before, it was almost overwhelming. His pelvic bone was hitting your clit just right every time you came down, accompanied by his groans, you were a goner. You fell into his chest as you felt your second orgasm start to rip through you, your words slurred as you told him to use you. You were his to use. 

Frank had been close since he put you on top, his self control had been wearing a bit thin. He fucked you through your orgasm, pistioning up inside you like his life depended on it. 

“Where do you want it, c’mon baby where?” He grunted, gritting his teeth as he tried to hold his release off. It was getting increasingly harder when your cunt was gripping him like that.

“Inside.” Is all you muttered out, half aware of your choice. You’d deal with it later. 

Not a moment later he painted your inside white, cummimg with a low and long groan. Relaxing his head completely against your pillows, taking deep breaths. You crumpled against his chest, just resting for a moment as he was still inside you. This was the most relaxed you’d been in ages, at some point you drifted off to sleep. 

You were awoken by the feeling of Frank cleaning you up and putting a blanket on top of you, obviously you knew he couldn’t stay. It still hurt. It hurt your heart, your soul, your everything. 

“Gotta go, pretty girl. I put my number in your phone. We’ll talk later.” His last sentence meant more than just texting you, you both knew it. At some point, lines had to be drawn or you had to fess up to your dad. But for now you’d live in delusion, in a world where you were in an established relationship and no one thought anything of it. He placed a kiss on your forehead, finished getting dressed and got up to leave. Stopping at the door he turned around to give you one last glance, you had already fallen back asleep. His cowgirl.

Cowboy hats.

pairing: dbf!southern!frank castle x afab!reader

summary: five days and five nights without a single word from frank, what an asshole. an asshole who looks too damn good in a cowoy hat.

warnings: age gap (reader is 22, frank is 52), use of pet names, dirty dirty thoughts!!!,unprotected p in v sex!!, praise kink asf, soft frank, frank being an asshole for the first like two thousand words, cowboy hate frank, no mentions of y/n, no descriptions of reader, not proofread

word count: 4015 words

author’s note: end of the road for darlin’ and frankie (probably not, i absolutely will write more, smaller, things for them, but this is the end of the cowgirl series!! I loved writing for them and hope i did them justice!! I hope you guys it enjoy it, mwah 

read the first one here, and the second here !

It had been five days, five entire days and nights without speaking to Frank. Not that you didn’t try, you had been texting him. Multiple times. Just to get “read at 2:30” every time.  Every. Damn. Time. He brushed you off if you spoke to him in person, ignored your texts, you would soon resort to carrier pigeon. What the fuck happened to Frankie who was calling you his girl? The fucking 180 he pulled was pissing you off. The rational side of you tried to convince yourself he wasn’t your boyfriend, he had made no promises to you, he was free to ignore you all he wanted. No matter how angry it made you. The irrational side didn’t care, he had been inside of you raw, he owes you some explanation. What a fucking little fuckboy move to fucking make. 

Ironically, Boyfriend by COIN played through your car. Not now.

“I don’t wanna be your boyfriend,

When you need a little company,

I don’t wanna be your boyfriend,

When there’s not another phone to ring.”

You searched through the passenger seat for your phone once your car was safely stopped at the red light, this was absolutely NOT the song to play. Of all the songs on your playlist, of course it had to be this one. The universe wasn’t done playing cruel jokes on you, it was almost like it wanted to see you suffer just a tiny bit more. A black truck pulled up next to you, in the left turn lane. Frank’s black truck. That Frank was driving. It would take a miracle to save you from driving your car off a cliff, today was testing you and you were losing. He shot you a smile from his driver’s seat, giving you a two finger wave without lifting his hand off the steering wheel.

A smile. The nerve of this guy. The fucking nerve.

The light turned green before you were able to yell all the expletives you knew in all the languages you knew them in. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. You were meeting Tiff at a bookstore for a girls day, she was going to get an earful of what happened five days ago and the fucking nerve he has to act this way. 

“I mean, he is fifty. Right? Maybe he’s just not used to dating culture. He had a wife previously, I think, so just talk to him.” Tiff reasoned, tracing her finger up the spine of a book before pulling it off the shelf to read the description on the back.

“Even if dating culture is different, he gave me his number. Said we’d talk later and has given me the coldest shoulder possible. Then has the nerve to smile at me like none of this has happened.” You whined, frustrated that this was even happening. Initially, you had planned to just be pretty and reap the perks of it this summer. Not get hung up on an older man that’s best friends with your dad. 

“Does he even know you’re angry? I mean he’s not a mind reader and neither are you, ambush his house when you know he’s there. I don’t think he’d shy away from being alone with you.” She teased, poking your side and placing the book back in its rightful spot on the shelf. “Then, you can set boundaries and what not. Fuck. And make up!”

“I would sooner punch him in that smug attractive stupid fucking face.” You rolled your eyes, knowing deep inside the next time he was in your presence and willing to take you to bed that you would be there. You didn’t know how to say no to him. 

“We both know that is the furthest thing from the truth.” Tiff raised her eyebrow at you and cocking her head, daring you to argue about it. 

“Shut up, I’m trying to learn to have some self control.” You tried to hide a smile, failing miserably and rolling your eyes instead. “I’ll ambush him later, he better be there or be prepared to feel my wrath.”

“That’s my girl!” She laughed, clapping her hands the best she could with the books in her hands. “Make sure he really understands the anger. The rage!”

To keep true to your word, you drove by his house on the way to yours to see if he was home. He wasn’t. Fucker. You knew it wasn’t intentional but it sure felt that way, because of all days and of all times he wouldn’t be there. However, to your surprise, he was parked in your driveway. You parked in your usual spot and headed inside, stopping right inside the house when you heard the two men inside.

“How was your date the other night?” He went on a date, what the fuck?

“Horrible. She was still hung up on her ex-husband, talked about him all night.” Good, hope every woman you go on a date with does that. Asshole.

“Sorry man, you’ll find someone someday.” Your dad tried consoling him, your anger was bubbling and the next word of this conversation was going to be your breaking point. Did the sex truly mean nothing to him? Did you mean nothing to him? Were you just a quick fuck to get the desire out and then move on? 

You closed the front door loudly to announce your presence, walking into the kitchen where said men were sitting at the kitchen table. Frank had his legs spread, hand hanging between them with a beer in his hand. The kicker was, he was wearing a cowboy hat, his hair fluffing out on the side. To add onto the never ending list of things making this, currently insufferable, man so attractive he was wearing some sort of red henley with the top buttons undone so you could see the gold chains decorating his neck.

“Hey daddy!” You smiled at your dad, handing him a book he had mentioned twenty times he wanted to read. Your words caused Frank to clear his throat and sit straighter in the seat, you could play his game much worse than he can.

“What’s the occasion, honey?” He always had weird ways of saying thank you, as in he never really did and would instead pay you back by making your favorite food for dinner tomorrow or ordering a dress you really wanted. You figured it was just how he grew up.

“You deserve it, daddy! You do so much for me and treat me so well! I’m gonna take a shower.” And with that you were off up the stairs, flipping Frank off once you got to a point in the stairs where the wall covered you.

You locked your bedroom door. He didn’t need to come in here and desecrate your room anymore than he already had. If he didn’t have such a big dick and fantastic hands you would’ve murdered him already, why bless bad men with great appendages. 

Your mind raked itself for answers, you truly couldn’t come up with one that didn’t end with you not being good enough for him. The date was the trulying baffling part to you, the cold shoulder you could deal with just fine but the date was just cruel. If he didn’t want you he shouldn’t have left his number, shouldn’t have fucked you within an inch of you life, shouldn’t have called you his. He shouldn’t have even read the messages, deleted them and blocked your number. He read them and actively chose to not respond, you didn’t know if it was any worse than just blocking you. If the universe was cruel, Frank castle was worse. 

Your door knob jiggled, quite a few times before you heard the sound of boots going downstairs. You knew he would come up here and try to act like it was all peachy keen, like he hadn’t been twisting the knife he placed in your back. Your phone dinged.

I know you heard, at least let me explain.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the absolute nerve he has had today.

No.

Darlin’, please.

Fuck off, Frank.

Fucking COIN was right, he didn’t want to be your boyfriend. How fucking foolish could you have been. How could you imagine he’d settle down for a twenty-two year old girl who was related to his best friend. You flopped down on your bed and let out a very long, very needed, scream. The tears started coming, you hadn’t been this emotional in a very long time, the tears you had initially shed over Frank turned into tears over everything you’d bottled up. Your tears comforted you into dreamland. You awoke to four texts from Frank.

It’s not how it seems. Sent 9:30pm

Darlin’ I swear, I had to do it. Sent 10:05pm

Two nights with you has me ready to fill every ocean with blood, sweat, and tears for you so don’t act like that. Sent 5am

Your dad set up the date, I couldn’t not go. Was I supposed to tell him I’d rather be fucking his daughter? Sent 5:30am

It didn’t matter to you that your dad set the whole thing up, you responded with a simple yes and placed your phone back on the nightstand you picked it up from. Men are so stupid, you could think of two ways he could’ve gotten out of the date without you being involved. Still doesn’t explain the five day freeze out, if he had been honest about the date it wouldn’t have mattered . As much. He better come up with the best damn excuse for this shit or you swore you’d never speak to him again.

Frank’s phone dinged in his pocket, he’d been waiting all morning for you to respond. He knew you would, just as you were his vice. He was yours. The second you walked in the kitchen last night it was taking all his self control to not pull you onto his lap, continue his conversation with your dad, trailing his fingers up and down your leg. He knew you were angry with him, you had every right to be, but he didn’t know how to even begin explaining the situation. Your dad was being suspicious, he thought it was odd that Frank spent an extended amount of time in your room the other night, thought it was weird that everytime your name was mentioned Frank’s nostrils flared and his jaw tightened. It was your dad who suggested setting up the date, watched Frank’s face as he brought it up to see if he’d give away anything. Frank was saving you both, he was doing this for you. In some twisted way.

The date happened the night after he slept with you, he felt guilty to have gone behind your back. He didn’t want to see you look so excited to see him when he felt tainted. He didn’t do anything with the woman, opened her car door and moved back her seat but he never once laid a finger on her. Her smile wasn’t as sweet as yours, her laugh not as gentle and filling, and she wasn’t nearly as beautiful. Frank spent most of the date thinking of you and how he wished it was you in front of him, not this woman who couldn’t be bothered to speak of anything besides her ex-husband. He thought she’d get the hint that he was bored, he stopped responding to her questions and was now scanning the restaurant making up stories about the other patrons to pass the time.

He just wanted to be with His cowgirl.

Seeing you in your car yesterday made the guilt twist in his heart, he needed to speak to you. But you didn’t want to speak to him, especially not after what you heard in the house. That’s why when his phone dinged and he had the feeling it was you, his face lifted and he was filled with a warmth only you could give to him. The one word you replied with had made the past five days almost bearable.

You know I can’t do that. Can I see you after work? Please, darlin’

He placed his phone back into his back pocket, taking a deep breath as he awaited your response. God, he hoped you responded. It didn’t matter if you didn’t say a word to him the whole time he explained it, he needed to see you and he needed you to understand why he did what he did. He meant what he said, he’d fill every ocean on the fucking planet with blood, sweat and tears if it meant your happiness. He’d go back to the life he left to ensure your safety. 

Fine.

If the rest of the day was the worst day possible he could deal with that, he could deal with anything as long as it meant getting to see you when he got off. He truly didn’t know how you would react or what it meant for the two of you going forward. He could only hope for the best. Whatever that even was.

You spent the rest of the day thinking about what he could possibly explain to you, it was clear that he wasn’t as interested as you thought before. Would you even believe it, whatever his excuse was? Or would you immediately forgive him because it meant he would be back in your life, would you forget it even happened and go back to playing girlfriend. You wanted to forget, to act like it never hurt, but you wanted him to understand how it felt. To be treated like the top of the world and then dumped like you meant nothing. 

You wore red.

That was the first thing Frank noticed as you walked up his driveway clad in a flowy red sundress, you remembered his favorite color and the conversation about wearing it the next time you saw him. Forgiveness was in there somewhere, he knew it. You noticed he was wearing that damn cowboy hat again, damn he was playing a hard game. 

“Thanks for coming darlin’, I was kinda worried you wouldn’t.” He didn’t stand up from his chair on the porch to greet you, in some way you were kinda glad but you mostly figured it’s because you’re on his porch and everyone can see.

“Yeah, I just hope you’ve got something real good up your sleeve.” You responded bluntly, sitting in the chair next to him and smoothing your dress out. “You’re an asshole, Frankie.’

“I know, I fuckin’ know baby. Just listen, okay? I’ll explain and then you can fuckin’ obliterate me but I need you to listen.” He sat up straighter, reaching to take one of your hands in his, rubbing his thumb across the top.

“We don’t have all night, I suggest you start talking.” He could’ve swore he saw a hint of a smile playing on your lips as you spoke.

“Your dad, I know I can’t blame it all on him. He came to me, after I left your room, and he hinted he was a bit suspicious of us. What he said doesn’t matter, just know he was suspicious. He said he had a date planned for me, thought it would be nice for me to meet a woman ‘my own age’ and gave me the information. Darlin’, if I said no he would’ve caught on the next time I spent more than a minute with you, I did this for us. For you, baby. I didn’t touch her, barely spoke the whole time. She spent more time talking about her ex-husband, I’m not sure she even knew my name,” you giggled at that, she didn’t deserve to know him,”Took her home, didn’t give her my number. Nothin’. I came here and thought of you, all night. Thought about how I was supposed to tell you. I felt gross, and I’ve done bad things darlin’. Bad things.”

“I don’t care what bad things you’ve done, because that’s not you. Not now.” You whispered, taking your free hand and caressing his cheek. He leaned into your touch, so soft and warm.

“That’s the thing, I’d do it again. I’d do all those bad things again, for you.” He admitted, watching you process his words. It should’ve scared you, should’ve made you run off his porch and block his number. It excited you, made your core throbbed at the thought of someone loving you enough to do those ‘bad things’ he spoke of. You were smart enough to make your own conclusions about what he meant.

“But why did you ignore me? That really hurt, Frankie. It really fucking sucked.”

“I told you. I felt gross, undeserving of you. I went on a date with someone who wasn’t you and it was eating at me, even if my reasons were just.” He truly looked apologetic, you came here looking to stick it to him but you melted the second he started talking. He did it for you and you were sat thinking he just didn’t like you and wanted a quick fuck.

“Frankie..” You whispered, looking at him like he’d hung the moon and all the stars. Scanning the other houses to predict who could’ve seen you here.

“Don’t do that. Don’t look at me like that, darlin’.” He groaned, tipping his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. You were a goddamn dream.

“I’d like a tour of your bed.” You giggled, the way you figured was he at least owed you some sort of makeup sex. You were melting the second he said he’d do bad things for you, he had to fix the problem he started.

“Mmm I can arrange that, c’mon cowgirl.” He tightened the grasp on the hand he was holding and led you inside, it smelled just like he did. Slight scent of gunpowder, tobacco from the cigars he smoked with your father, some sort of leather and coffee. You could drown yourself in the scent.

“Your place is so…you.” You observed. There were more cowboy hats hung up by the door, more boots on the floor, a whiskey cabinet in the living room which led you to assume everything else was held in his kitchen, the lighting was dim. 

“Might shock ya to hear that I live here.” He teased, leading you through the kitchen and down a hallway to his bedroom. His room was sparsely decorated, he was only a man what could he say. 

“I would’ve never guessed.” You smiled, letting go of his hand to flop down on his bed. It wasn’t nearly as comfortable as yours, didn’t have nearly as many blankets and pillows. 

Frank slid his hands down your thighs as they hung off the bed, admiring the sight of you in his bed. He didn’t deserve you or what you were about to give him. But Frank Castle was a greedy man, he’d take everything you were willing to give. Especially when it came to you. He slowly massaged your thighs, moving both hands to one of your legs and massaging all the way down. You propped yourself on your elbows, watching him curiously as he massaged you.

“What’re you doing, Frankie?” You asked softly, genuine curiosity present in your voice. His lips lifted at the nickname, as they did every time you called him that since the first time.

“Jus’ lovin’ on my lady, do you have a problem with that?” He tilted his head down and raised an eyebrow, the cowboy hat slipping a bit as he did so. 

“Nope, no problems. Just thought you were gonna take me to bed, ‘s all.” 

“You know how to pick my brain, findin’ all the right things to say and when to say ‘em. My pretty girl, made just for me. Ain’t that right?” He let go of your leg, hiking your dress up so he didn’t sit on it when he straddled your waist. “Knew this was gonna happen, huh? Did ya find the laciest red panties you could find? You got words, I know you do.”

“For you, told you I’d do it.” You pulled the top of the dress down to realize the matching lacy red bra, all for your Frankie. He let out a low groan, you were too good to a man who didn’t deserve you. Too tainted to touch the pureness of your soul.

Frank helped you out of your dress, throwing it into the corner of his room, he stared at you a long time. The matching red set was something out of his dreams, he wanted to sear  the image of you wearing it in his bed in his head forever. He ran his hands over your stomach, your thighs, anywhere his hands could reach. It’s crazy how fast a person can come to mean so much to you, especially when they’d been around for years. One night changed everything for the both of you, changed the meaning of love for Frank. He’d figure out how to get your dad on board late, for tonight you were his sweet thing to make sweet love to.

The cowboy hat was left on at your request, he didn’t mind as long as you kept letting the giggles out when it bumped your forehead as he thrusted up into you. Your red bra was left on at his request, a reminder that this was all for him. That it was all real and not some cruel dream. Your moans and whimpers a sweet symphony to his ears, he’d pay over and over and over to hear. Your nails gripping his back, when he checked in the mirror later that evening it’d be adorned with light pink scratches and half moons scattered across it, holding onto him like he was going to disappear again. His thrusts were slow but deep, hitting all the right spots inside you, his hands holding your head to look at him as he showed you everything he couldn’t say with words. 

His words were equally dirty and sweet, just like him.

“Pretty baby, you feel how you’re squeezin’ me?”

“God, gonna lock you away. Keep you all to myself, use you when I want. Make you my pretty housewife.”

“”S alright baby, Frankie’s got you. Gonna take good care of this pussy, make ‘er feel good.”

The two of you came together, he talked you softly through the whole thing. Peppered kisses across your face and down your neck, praising you for how good you did even though he did all the work. He traced his initials, FC, above your heart with his fingers before placing a kiss right where he traced. Marking you, invisibly, as his forever and ever. 

“Don’t ever go on another date with another woman.” You teased softly, looking up at him when you came to.

“I’m not doin’ nothin’ with another woman that’s not you. Promise, darlin’.” He placed a soft kiss to your lips, nipping at your bottom lip and pulling away to look at your face. He wiped away the sweaty hairs that had stuck themselves to your face.

“Good, my Frankie.”

“Your Frankie.” He’d softened in his older years, in his years with you he’d soften even more than previously thought. Frankie, as he came to be known to everyone you introduced him to, never could say no to you. That included the day you decided you wanted to tell your dad about him, you were tired of sneaking around. Even if it was fun. You’d been in an actual established relationship for a while at that point, he was going to find out eventually. In true Frankie fashion he sighed, shot back the rest of his whiskey and said Okay, darlin’. The mental battle he fought, briefly, about you lost the second you assured him you’d traverse it together. Loving you was the best thing Frank Castle would ever come to do in all his life.

🔫 Oh, Captain, My Captain 🔫

Pairing: Unit Chief!Spencer Reid x Fem BAU!Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge 2024

Requested: Unit Cheif!Spencer who uses gun training as an excuse to rub up on the new member🤭

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI Gun kink, dubcon, dry humping, pictures/photos, age gap, Pervert! Spencer, unprotected sex, implied cream pie, semi-public sex, boss x employee dynamic, spanking, masturbation, slight cum play, degradation (slut, whore etc), praise kink if you squint (good girl).

A/N: This is my first entry for the CM Kink Bingo challenge 2024~! I chose a lot of the prompts based on some of the smut requests in my inbox and let my TELL you I was SO EXCITED to write Unit Chief + gun kink!!! I'm so excited for this entire challenge tbh, it reminds me of the good old days on past years' Kinktober 😂🥰

Masterlist || Bingo Board

When Spencer Reid was made the interim Unit Chief for the BAU, he agreed with the reasoning. At the time, he really couldn't argue that he was aptly experienced, responsible enough to make big decisions, and reliable. And whilst he had been through a lot in the last two decades with the FBI, he still did value his own sense of morality. 

He accepted the job and then was assigned you as an intern, and suddenly, he didn't agree with any previous assessment of him. 

Experienced, yes, but he was still stammering and rambling when discussing simple things like the weather. He certainly wasn't responsible enough to keep his eyes off you, and he probably couldn't be relied on in the field to focus instead of thinking about your pretty, plump lips and how they would feel wrapped around his cock. 

All morality had gone out of the window after a week of working with you when he closed his office blinds, popped his pants open and took his cock in hand, relieving himself while staring at your newly printed ID card. 

He had a lot of power, during the few months Emily was away, and he was trying desperately not to use it. 

Unfortunately, with great power comes a great amount of orders to give, and since you reported directly to Unit Chief Reid, you'd become his de facto shadow for the first few weeks. You bought him coffees when you got your own, asked him for quick run downs of past cases so you could take notes and remember relevant details for later, asked him for help writing reports. 

Which caused the blinds to be drawn at least once a day as he desperately tried to keep his hands off you. 

Emily had joked when leaving him behind that she'd usually give the new boss the “don't shit where you eat” speech, especially with people in your chain of command, but it really wasn't necessary with him. Of all people. 

It didn't help that you were so damn clumsy in the office. You were usually pretty calm and collected, but since starting at the BAU, the pressure was getting to you a bit. 

You made small mistakes, you double, and triple checked your work, and you were constantly in Spencer's office asking him for opinions on topics, for background information, and for, well, reassurance. 

And you dropped stuff. A lot of stuff. 

Your analytical Monday have been perfectly suited to the BAU, but somewhere between your head and your hands, all your body parts refused to function adeptly. You'd dropped things constantly, tripped on your own feet, and constantly bumped into people even while they stood still. 

Not to mention the time your dropped your (thankfully, iced) coffee all over Spencer's lap when you'd brought him his own. 

“Oh my- Oh my god, Doctor Reid, I am so so sorry,” you scrambled, immediately grabbing tissues as he jumped up from the desk. 

“Please let me help you, god, I'm so stupid, I'm so sorry-” you said, patting away as his lap as he stood frozen in front of you. You dropped to your knees to mop up the traces of coffee still running down his thighs, as he stammered. 

“Y/N, please, you don't need to, I have a spare pair I can-” 

“I'll have them dry cleaned, I promise,” you begged, just as a knock sounded and the door to his office swung back open for JJ to enter through. 

“Spencer, the files for the- woah! Okay, I'm not jumping to conclusions, but I'm still backing out of this room right now.” 

She laughed her way out of the room, which was when your brain finally caught up to your hands and realized the stupid position you'd put yourself in. 

You'd practically pushed your boss up against the wall, kneeled before him, and begged to touch him. 

You'd squeaked out an apology and quickly left the office, much to Spencer's relief, because even after an ice bath and semi-public humiliation, he was hard and horny and his IQ had been knocked to roughly 7. 

How he'd wanted to keep you pinned in place, to stroke your cheek as he made sure you took each inch of him down your throat slowly, filling you up so you couldn't escape. 

How he'd wanted to keep his job as well, something he'd probably not get to do if JJ had decided to walk back in, or - god forbid - bring other witnesses to his debauchery. 

You were clumsy, and he was desperately horny, and you were both complete and total messes.

“I don't see how I can help you, Y/N,” Tara held up her hands in defeat as you begged for her help. 

“I'm competent with a gun, but it's not something I can teach you. I wouldn't know where to start.” 

“I just need someone to show me how to hold it properly. There's a trick to it, right? There has to be a trick to it?” 

“Ah yes, the old aim and shoot trick, I forgot about that one,” Rossi laughed, shaking his head at your office antics. 

You'd been interning for a few weeks, and the latest in a line of ability tests was shooting. You'd pretty much aced the physical fitness test, but you'd never even held a gun before joining the FBI, and you were struggling. 

“I've put in 10 hours at the shooting range in the last week, and the closest I've got to an accurate shot was hitting the next lane's paper. Don't ask.”

Your coworkers shared a sympathetic look as you sat down at the round table, ready to hear the next case details. 

“I'm relegated to office work until I pass this certificate, and I was not made for sitting at a desk for 7 hours.” 

“Well, why don't you ask Reid for help?” JJ said helpfully, bringing her coffee to her lips to hide the meddling smile plastered there. 

“Reid?” 

“He had some issues shooting when he was a rookie as well, but he put in some hours at the range, and now he's the best shot on the team.” 

“Easy there, blondie, I'm nothing to sniff at with a gun myself,” Rossi smiled, patting himself on the back. 

“I'm sure he'd enjoy helping you,” JJ continued. 

“Who would enjoy what?” Spencer said, finally joining the team in the meeting room and pulling out the case files as everyone opened up their tablets. 

“Y/N was just saying she's having some trouble shooting, and I suggested she ask for your help?” 

He froze momentarily and stared down at you as you looked up at him, hopefully, a shy smile on your face. 

He tried to keep his eyes on yours, but from this height, he had the perfect view down your shirt, your perfect-sized breasts pressing together as you leaned towards him, giving him a generous eyeful. 

He looked away quickly and nodded his agreement, sitting himself down and attaching his eyes to the files instead so he could get his mind off of  your body, and your lips, and the begging that surely would've come out of your mouth had he not accepted earlier. His brain was tormenting him with images of you underneath him, under his desk even, his cock in your mouth as you paid for his precious time training you. He blinked away the thoughts and, for once in his life, actually had to put effort into reading and understanding each word on a page as he ignored the raging fire of his lust. 

A few hours later, the two of you were at the shooting range. 

“My main problem is shooting. The instructors said my form isn't great either and that I looked like a child playing with toys whenever I hold a gun, so if you could help with that…?” You said, putting on the goggles and turning back to look at your boss. 

“Doctor Reid?” You asked. 

“Oh, yeah. Yes, they said something similar when I was training. First, let's see what you can do.” 

You smiled at him as he watched you bounce up to the lane and pick up the gun. You calmed your breathing and got ready to take the safety off when you felt a hard hand clamp over your own and pull the gun from your hand. 

“What are you doing?” He asked, staring down at you with wide eyes. 

“You said to show you-”

“You're not wearing a vest.” 

You cursed quickly as he pulled you back over to the side of the room. The place was practically deserted, as it was past the official closing hours of the range, but Spencer had been forced to pull some strings with his new title and had managed to keep it open (and somehow unmanned) until now. 

He quickly grabbed the first vest he saw and pulled it over your head, taking the side straps and tightening them until the vest was comfortably protecting all your major organs. His hands lingered for a second, and you stared shocked up at him, somehow enjoying the way he pushed you around. 

You were a grown woman, and you could do this all by yourself, but there was something about a man roughly a decade and a half older than you controlling your movements that were entirely too dangerous. You quickly stepped away and back to the podium, whispering a quick thanks under your breath as you tried to ignore the heat pooling between your legs. 

You stretched out your neck a little as you felt him walk back behind you again, keeping his distance as he watched you shoot your first clip at the targets. 

Out of six bullets, you'd missed the target five times and had grazed just below the targets arm once, a brilliant display of your natural lack of talent. 

“Your form is wrong. You're holding yourself too rigid, which means the recoil has a higher chance to hurt you. Loosen your arms slightly.”

His advice was actually good  and you followed his instructions closely, listening clearly as he walked you through each tip. 

“Like this?” 

“A little more… here, let me.” 

You had no chance to react before his body was pressed behind yours and his hands were wrapped around your own, moving g each finger by a fraction to improve your grip, trailing up your arms slowly, leaving a field of goosebumps wherever his fingers grazed. He repositioned your elbows before moving forward his hands down to your hips, turning them slightly as he widened your stance. 

“Try now.” 

Breathless, you could only nod as he stepped back, unaware if he'd even said anything since his hands had landed on you. 

You forced yourself to breathe again and took one shot.

"Oh my god, it hit. Spencer, it hit!” 

“Do it again and we can celebrate.” 

Another five shots later, and you'd managed a small cluster of hits around the arms and one shot. 

“You're definitely veering left, so let's try and over correct by aiming to the right.”

He pushed up against you again and held the gun, moving it to the right a fraction, taking complete control of your body. 

If your breath was scarce before, it was totally gone now as you felt his crotch press up against your ass. Considering the bulletproof vests put an extra inch around your chests, he was absolutely doing it on purpose, and you were shocked to realize you were too. 

You'd pushed your ass back into him, grinding slowly on his hardening cock as he hooked his head over your shoulder, looked down the sight with you, and fired the gun. 

Straight into the center of the target. 

“Good girl,” he whispered before pulling away.  

He moved two meters away from you, and maintained the distance for the rest of the night, and even though you were both aware of his hard cock tightening his pants, neither of you said a word. 

“Same time tomorrow,” he said and grabbed his jacket to leave. It was the first thing he'd said as your Unit Chief that even vaguely sounded like a command and not an enthusiastic suggestion, and you were suddenly very excited for the rest of the week. 

“Before we start,” he said the next day, unbuttoning his shirt sleeves and rolling them up to his elbows neatly. “Show me your posture again.” 

He gestured towards one of the dummy guns at the side of the range, the style you recognised from mission training that held small layers instead of bullets - same weight, same mechanism, no lethality. 

You'd spent the day and night worked up from the last time you'd been here with him, and a small part of you felt disappointed you were starting with the kiddy gun. Not one to miss an opportunity, though. You bent over to pick it up, making sure to bend at the waist right in front of him to show off your ass. 

Maybe you'd gone crazy, but the memory of his touch was burning you from the inside out and you needed to feel it again to make sure you weren't crazy. 

He maintained his distance, though. It was hard for him to keep his hands off you in all honesty, arms crossed to keep himself from crossing any more lines. That and he was sure that you'd be able to tell he'd spurted cum all over them in his office the night before despite him scrubbing them thoroughly multiple times, the weight of his guilt eating into him like a parasite.

“Arms up, point straight. Good.” You tried to keep still as he assessed your form, but his eyes prowled over you thoroughly, and you had to suppress a shudder. 

“You need to control your breathing, Y/N, you can't be afraid of pulling the trigger if you need to.” 

“I'm not-” 

“Shoulders back,” he said, moving to your side as he again began slightly correcting your form. 

Unlike the day before, though, this time, there were no bullets. And no bullets meant no bulletproof vest. 

That's why when his exploring hands came to your chest, he could feel your hardening nipples through the flimsy material of your dress. He could feel you pressing forward into his touch as his hands cupped your breast.

“Calm your heartbeat, Y/N. You need to stay calm so you can shoot straight, right?” 

The words sounded alien, even to him. His gaze was locked on the top of your shirt, looking down it to the slope of your chest, disappearing into your dress. He so wanted to let his hands disappear right along with them, to pull you back into his aching cock and play with your nipples until you cried out for mercy. 

He let his touch fall and played off his molestation as correction, even as your underwear grew slick with desire. 

“Grab your vest. Let's try again.” 

A week of late night training later, and you weren't sure if you were improving at all. The guns were the last thing on your mind when Spencer's hands were on you, his voice in your ear telling you how good you were for him, such a good subordinate. 

Both of you had yet to acknowledge that you were spending the majority of the session just rubbing up on each other, like teens at prom, desperate for whatever friction you could get without having to name the game you were playing. 

“Doctor Reid, if I hit the target this time, can you do something for me?” You chanced on the Friday, needing something else to tide you over for the weekend. 

“What do you need?” 

“No, no, nothing specific, just like a…a reward?"

He'd done his best to keep his hands off of you, which meant that he'd failed miserably, and he knew exactly what he'd like to treat you to as a reward. Keeping his hands of you in daytime hours had become harder and harder as the week flew by, and he felt like a randy school boy the amount of times he'd needed to excuse himself to either kill his bones or abuse his cock with his hand.

“Oh,” he said, growing quiet. You took his hesitation for rejection, and immediately began to back pedal. 

“Y-You don't have to, sir. It was really quite conceited on my part to demand a reward from y-” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“If you shoot six bullets that hit either the chest or the head, you'll get a reward.”

You smiled brightly at him, suddenly feeling very hopeful. 

“But if you miss, you'll get the opposite.” 

The words were out of his mouth before he could even think about what they meant. Just hearing the words made him want to visibly cringe and write himself up for office misconduct. But your smile didn't fade one bit. 

“Yes, sir. I won't let you down.” 

Turning away from him, you loaded your weapon again, and he watched you put yourself into the correct position. Despite his middling efforts to actually teach you, you had seemed to have improved over the last few days. 

He wasn't sure if he wanted that outcome. 

Just as you stepped up to take your first shot, he stepped closer to you, wrapped his hands around your waist, and pushed up against you. 

Your first shot veered left, completely missing the target as you gasped. Spencer had popped open the front button of your pants and was unzipping them, letting his hand wonder down to your panties. 

“Look straight. There will be distractions out in the field, you can do this, right?” 

“Y-Yes, sir.” 

“Good girl.” 

You tried to steady your breathing g and your hands again as he began rubbing slow circles into your underwear, your body alight with lust as you let him. 

Your second shot hit the paper. Your third didn't. 

“You can do better than that, Y/N.” 

You took another deep breath and picked up your gun again, shooting just as he shoved your underwear to one side and dipped his fingers into you. 

Your mouth opened in a silent moan as you quickly shot your last three bullets, not caring where they went so much as where his fingers went. 

“Y/N, I expected better,” you could hear the smile in his voice as he took the gun from your hands with his spare. “You can't even handle a weapon like this.” 

He kept his fingers pumping shallowly inside you, as he inspected the gun again. 

“Maybe you'd learn better under duress. I did, too. It's easy to learn when there's a gun pointed yo your head, right?” 

He quickly turned the gun on you  pushing it to your temple as his other hand shoved your pants down. He angled you forward with a press of his hips as his fingers returned to your cunt and slipped deeper inside. 

“S-Spencer, fuck-” 

“You missed all six bullets, so punishment it is.” His fingers gained speed as you stood, flushed and spreading your legs for him. You wanted to bury your head in your arms and scream out your moans, but the gun to your head kept you quiet and in place. 

“You may not be able to shoot a gun, Y/N, but that doesn't mean you're not enjoying them. You're so wet for me.” 

Tears sprung to your eyes as you felt your climax build and build, chasing the high you'd been searching for with every unprotected touch. 

You were letting your boss touch you, letting a man almost old enough to be your father hold a gun to your head, and you were going to squirt all over his fingers very soon. 

“Spencer, Spencer, please- please….”

“Shhh, it’s okay. There's nothing to be embarrassed about. You just needed some more help learning. You can cum now, princess. It's okay, let go.” 

You tried your best to hold back, but your body had a mind of its own as your orgasm hit you, the cold metal of the gun finally moving away from your head. 

With one hand around your waist, pinning you to the side so you stayed upright, Spencer carefully placed the gun back down before dragging your pants back up your legs. 

Taking your elbow in his hand, he walked you to the door as you blinked out the daze in your eyes. 

“We're going to my office now. To talk about your recent performance.” 

You couldn't have cared less what he'd said as long as his hands were on you, stretching your head back so it rested on his chest and pushing up until your lips could connect with the bare skin at his neck. 

“Hands off. We're going to walk all the way back to my office, and you're not going to let anyone know what just happened, okay? Not with your words, or your expressions or body language, okay?” 

You nodded, but he kept a hand on your elbow, gesturing yourself forward. 

You weren't sure how you were even able to walk after what had to have been the most intense orgasm of your life, but the promise of more likely carried you all the way up the stairs until you were comfortably enclosed in Spencer's  office. 

Like he'd found himself doing multiple times a day this month, Spencer closed the blinds, pulling you down to the sofa with him as he sat. 

“When I was your age,” he started, making sure your ass was facing up as he pushed your head into the cushions gently. 

“When I was your age, I couldn't shoot well. My Unit Chief had to kick some sense into me. I think you need that as well, right, Y/N? You need someone to beat some sense into you?” 

You nodded as he stroked your hair, and he thanked you for being so open to him. 

He made quick work of your pants and underwear, and in a quick hot burst, his hand came down on your ass. 

“Fuck, more. Please more!” 

He did it again and again as you squirmed in his lap and moaned, begging him to keep brutalizing you. 

“That's it, show me how pathetic you are, show me how much you're craving my attention.” 

He pushed your legs off of his lap until you were kneeling on the floor underneath him. He pulled up your arms and pulled your shirt over your head, similarly discarding your tank top and bra until you were totally bare on the floor in front of him. 

Instead of stripping himself yet, he pulled out his phone, palming himself through his pants. 

“Show yourself off,” he said, pointing the camera at you. 

You followed his directions quickly, hands flying to your tits to fondle them while he took pictures of your fucked our face. 

With his foot he gently nudged you down onto all yours, letting you know to turn around so he could flash a picture or two of your sloppy cunt as well. 

Your hips rocked back and forth in the air, unconsciously searching for something to rub against, some relief from your frustrations. 

He kept snapping pictures. 

Deciding that you needed his attention and stat, you let your chest fall to the floor, face flat too as your hips lifted higher in the air. Your hands found your ass cheeks, and you spread them slightly, giving Spencer an even better view of how much you needed him. 

He took one last photo, and then he knelt behind you faster than you could expect. 

In a heartbeat, his pants were down, in two his cock was buried deep inside of you. 

“So…tight, shit. You're such a precious little slut, you kept this little pussy nice and fresh just for me, right?” 

It was all you could do not to cum right there, and when he started moving you were a goner. It had always been easier for you to cum a second time than it was for you to cum a first time, and considering how quick he'd made it happen earlier, you really should've been expecting it. 

Your body convulsed around his cock as you screamed into the floor, hands still spreading yourself wide for him as he rutted into you. 

“That's it, milk my cock, Y/N. Milk your bosses cock, let me blow my load inside you.” 

Your nipples rubbed painfully against the carpet, only adding to the storm of stimulation you were experiencing. 

His hips faltered as he collapsed over your body, holding tight as his muscles locked him into place with his orgasm. He came inside you with a grunt, and he felt your cunt still clenching around him, making sure to take every last drop. 

“That- was much - preferable,” you said, gasping for breath. “To shooting - any gun.” 

He rolled off of you as you laughed, body satiated now for the first time in what felt like forever. 

“You still need to work on your gun skills,” he said after you'd detangled yourself, but before either if you had worked up the courage to leave the floor and get dressed. 

“Why?” You said, turning your head to look at him  lying on the floor next to you. 

“It seems I can fire pretty accurately already,” you said, as your hand snaked down to his cock one more time. 

Thinking about a mechanic!AU where the 141 boys run a garage and need a new receptionist. They hire you because you’re just so cute (great tits) and have a decent resume but it becomes a slight problem when they realize you’re a bit… dense.

Total ditz to be precise.

But they can’t really get mad when you get the keys for clients mixed up and look at them with those big eyes all teary and a little pout pushing out your lower lip.

Price is the most patient, perfectly content to walk you through how to file paperwork and fill out forms. Instructing you in a low voice while his breath brushes the shell of your ear. It’s really their fault for having such a terrible system, you know? Don’t worry about it too much, dove. He’ll settle his big hands on your shoulders and gently trace up and down your arms. See? You’re getting it. Just needed some more practice, hm?

Johnny is more than happy to show you around the garage, rattling off everything he knows about all those nitty gritty details that go right over your pretty little head. He’ll pop open the hood of some sports car and point to the engine to show it off. No, bonnie, you’ve got tae get in close. Closer.

Until you’re bent entirely over in one of those too-short skirts you wear everyday. It takes all his willpower not to yank you into the supply closet.

Gaz is just so sweet to you. Always bringing you little treats and candies to suck on. To help you concentrate, of course. Always greeting you with a soft ‘baby girl’ at the beginning of your shift. Whenever you’re standing around be it at the printer or counter - wherever really - he’ll slip a hand on your waist. It always trails a little lower, his pinky just edging on the hem of your too tight jeans.

Ghost gets frustrated with you to the point of causing tears to well up in the corners of your eyes. He’s feels guilty, sure, but bloody hell just print the damn receipt. He avoids you for the most part. Until one evening when it’s pouring down. You forgot your rain coat of course, silly girl. He offers you a ride which you take happily.

After that he can’t get rid of you. You bring him coffees (how you remember his order word for word but not where you last left your own cup is beyond him) and giggle at his jokes. When a client gets too snappy or too loud he’s the first to step in - standing behind you glaring at them with his huge arms crossed over his chest until they back down.

18+

Steve loves mocking you. 'Does that feel good, oh I bet it does. So needy for me. Taking me so well, aren't you? You want me to fuck you now, yeah you do.' He knows he's hot and can't help but use it against you.

Jonathan has thing for begging. 'You want me to touch you? You're going to have to ask nicely then. I didn't say you could touch me did I?' He always ends up the one begging at some point because you have to much power over him.

Eddie can't go five minutes without degrading you. 'Such a mess. Don't even care do you? Of course you fucking don't. Can't even hear me can you, to blissed out by me taking you like this.' He laughs at you a lot, there's something about taunting you that's too irresistible.

Argyle knows you liked to be praised. 'So fucking good for me. Easy, that's it, you can do it, I know you can. Fuck, fuck, fuck. So good.' He loves the look on your face when he tells you how good your doing, if you blush at his words your basically asking to get fucked.

Robin can't decide who she wants in charge. 'Keeping going, just like that, keep being a good girl. All this for me? You must really like me huh? Please touch me, I'll be good for you. I promise.' She finds it so hot when you do what she says, but equally as hot as when you pull her hair and tell her what to do.

Nancy likes to tease you relentlessly. 'I'll keep stopping if you don't listen. Here, you want me to touch you here, or here, you've got to decide. Maybe I'll just look after myself and make you watch, would you enjoy that?' She likes to push you to your breaking point, it's much more satisfying for her to see you unravel for her attention.

deadpool fucking you in front of a mirror👀

blessss this is so good🤌 hopefully I did your request justice!

man in the mirror - deadpool x fem!reader

NSFW! MDNI!

Deadpool always seemed horniest after a successful mission, returning to the apartment to find you waiting for him, ready.

And that's how the two of you got to where you were right now- him settled into the couch with you riding him cowgirl style. Hell, today he was so impatient to get his dick inside you that he hadn't even bothered to change out of his suit.

Plus, he knew you liked it when he fucked you while wearing it.

"I really gotta give it to ya babe," he chimed while watching you bounce up on down on his cock. "That pussy of yours is fantastic!"

Sex with Wade was oddly full of laughs, because he really was true to himself and did not ditch that 'merc with a mouth' act.

You let out a breathy laugh as you slammed back down on his lap. "You act like this is the first time you've had it," you quipped back. His hands were currently folded behind his head, leaving you in full control. He watched every movement of yours behind his mask.

"Sorry sweet stuff, pussy's just so good I can't help but forget!"

You giggled and continued your work, but his hands grabbing your hips took you by surprise. He stood up whilst managing to keep his cock from slipping out of you. "Watcha doing Wade?"

He crossed the apartment swiftly to the bathroom, nudging the door open with his shoulder. "We're gonna watch this little show we're putting on together." You raised your eyebrows, his sudden switch up furthering your arousal.

He continued his remarks as he slid you off his hips, positioning you so that you were bent over the bathroom counter, facing the mirror. "Trust me baby, you are gonna love this." His gloved hand reached up your curved back and tangled your hair between his fingers. "I mean, it'd be cruel of me to keep this view from you." He was now lined up behind you with his cock, still wet from just being inside of you, parting your folds. He held up his hands, index and thumb out, one eye squinting, as if checking to make sure the shot was right. "Perfect."

You laughed at his commentary while he had been perfecting the position, but the sudden feeling of his cock pushing into your cunt caught you off guard and you gasped. "Fuck Wade!" Your eyes closed from the pressure. He saw this in the mirror, and tsk'd, "Nuh-uh-uh babe, eyes stay open for this." You did as he said, opening your eyes just in time to see him wag is finger back and forth in the mirror, a motion that said 'nope'. "Wouldn't wanna miss this show."

A grin crept onto your cheeks. He was right, you definitely didn't wanna miss this. Watching him standing behind you with his hands gripping your hips, pounding himself into you, practically rearranging your guts, it drove you insane.

His fingers dug deeper into your skin as you rocked back on him, forcing him deeper. "Damn you are naughty!" You let out a loud squeal as he slammed harder into you, as if to one up your last move. You grabbed the counter to steady yourself. A string of profanities fell from your lips, along with his name. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! I'm gonna cum, Wade!"

Without stopping his movements, he began to dig in one of the pockets of his suit. He grunted as he searched for what he wanted. "One second babe," he said. "Hold that thought."

Finally, he pulled out what he was looking for. "Ah-a!"

Was that- his phone?! You could not imagine what he would be doing with that out right now, until he held it up, his camera open.

"Alright princess, go on."

Thank god he said that, because you couldn't hold your orgasm back a second longer. Right at the height of your climax, you heard a click from the camera on his phone. That fucker just took a mirror picture of him fucking your brains out, your face caught mid-orgasm.

Hot though, you had to admit.

As if that wasn't enough, he swiped up on his phone, continuing his charade, reviewing the picture. "Oh that's getting framed for sure."

Once he had the picture saved to his favorites, he focused back on the real task at hand. "Alright hon, my turn." His pace quickened and your face contorted in pleasure again, walls tightening around him. He let out a loud groan at this feeling and you felt him twitch inside of you as his rhythm began to fall apart.

"Fuck- hold it- hold it-"

He slammed into you, once, twice.

With his third thrust he released himself in you, cum coating the walls of your pussy. You moaned with him as he road out his climax. Once he had milked himself completely dry inside of you, he slowly pulled out, and gave you a firm slap on the ass. "Hey!," you giggled.

"Next time, I'm gonna make sure to get a shot of that ass."

─── ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ───

John “Soap” MacTavish is as horny as a dog durning rutting season.

He’s constantly trying to touch you and if he’s not doing that then he’s begging to touch you.

Tryna touch you at every chance he gets, doesn’t matter if your cooking, cleaning, or just watching tv this man is all over you. coming up behind you and grabbing ahold of your hips, pulling you back onto his hard aching cock. grinding you back onto him just to relieve his growing ache.

Even if you lock yourself in the bathroom to have a shower alone for once, this man will pick the lock, strip off and jump in with you before you can even protest. Pulling your wet naked body up against his already rock hard cock, grinding you up against him.

Doesn’t matter if you’re in public either, this man can and will find any way of getting his hands on you. trying on new clothes in the changing room he’ll come in with you and “help”. Standing behind you and grabbing your tits whilst you try to admire a new dress you’re trying on.

Doesn’t matter how much he fucks you, it’s never enough for him. No sooner does he cum he’s rock hard again and begging for another round, whining a whimpering at you for help.

─── ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ───

Back on my affectionate reader bullshit because I just want to smother those assholes with love.

TF 141 x Male! Reader

Kissing the homies goodnight.

18+ Minors DNI!

Cw: whole lotta fluff, it only gets suggestive at the end and that's it

It started with a joke. Gaz drunkenly saying "Hey, if I win will you give me a goodnight kiss?" Before you start a game of cards, you all laughed it off then. Until it starts getting later in the evening and when you excuse yourself to go to bed Soap calls out to you with a chuckle, "Ey, don't forget about Gaz's kiss" you trudge your way back to them eyes drooping. They all expect you to kick Soap or something akin to that, but you surprise them by leaning down and placing a kiss on Gaz's eyebrow before tiredly muttering a "goodnight" and walking away.

And if that didn't give them any ideas..

For the next week it was usually Soap and Gaz pestering you about your kisses being rewards.

"If I shoot all the targets will you give me a kiss?"

"If I beat him in this fight will you give me a kiss?"

It gives them such a boost of energy.

You don't expect anyone else other than them to ask you for one until you're watching a game on the telly with Ghost. "If my team wins, I want a reward like them" He says to you, referencing Soap and Gaz and you nod albeit a bit shocked.

And by a stroke of luck his team wins, you reward him with a kiss to his temple.

And when it comes to Price.. 

It occurred after a tough but successful mission, and it was all thanks to you. What you had to handle was rough but you still came back with minimal injuries.

After a quick check up and shower you head to the common room on base to lounge with your team, but when you just stepped in the area Price got himself up from the couch claiming he needs to get back to work. 

As he passed you he said a quick "Good job out there lad." And held you by your shoulder to pull you close and kiss you right on your cheek before walking away leaving you stunned.

The team saw it all of course, sitting still a bit stunned as well, seemed like your habit of kissing your homies rubbed off on the captain.

You were too focused on the lingering feeling of Price's beard scratching your face that you didn't hear Soap saying how that it's so unfair, how he also had a successful mission but didn't get a kiss from their dear captain, only realizing you've been standing there like an idiot this whole time when Soap ran past you trying to catch up with the captain to claim his well deserved prize.

And it just evolves from there, everyone gives each other kisses. 

It started off as conglatutory kisses like before, then it'll go to "kiss it better" kisses

(Like if Ghost trained so hard he gets bloody knuckles Price will kiss them better, or if Soap suffered an injury Gaz would be there to kiss his bandages, or if Gaz just had a rough day and is incredibly stressed you'd kiss his temple)

Then eventually everytime any of you are about to leave for a mission you all give a kiss to whoever's going for good luck, and when they come back it's those pushing mouth aggressively to cheek kisses happy that they came back alive and well.

And it goes to the point where any chance you get you'll exchange small kisses. Passing each other in the hall way? A kiss to the cheek. Finding each other in the kitchen late at night to grab a drink? A kiss on the forehead. One of you had a brutal nightmare? Boom, get kissed on your damn head, hell why not cuddle while you're at it? (You did cuddle while you're at it)

It doesn't take long for the kisses to trail closer to the lips, for the kisses to trail to your neck and collarbones as well. It doesn't take long for it to evolve from small pecks to heated make out sessions, desperate to feel each other's mouths even deeper. It doesn't take long for the five of you to end up swapping spit late at night, sloppily making out with whoever's mouth is open and wanting, stripping each other's clothes even with your mouth occupied.

After that it's no question to kiss the homies goodnight, hell it usually ends with more than a kiss.

How to bring a God to his knees: Nathan Bateman x fem!reader (smutty blurb)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Nathan in a collar and leash, don’t look at me, okay?! Nathan being a sub etc. etc. oral f!receiving, orgasm denial sorta, consensual domination.

Genre: smut, no plot, SUPER short

Author’s note: what did I just say? Don’t even think about looking at me 🙈😅 (AKA, Apparently this is what happens when I get a blurb request for Nathan smut but no scenario specified!)

You’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

Nathan “God complex” Bateman himself is on his knees for you, looking like some penitent worshipper. His neck straining against the black leather collar you’ve tightened around it. His raven black beard coated in your pearly juices, and his big, half-lidded eyes begging for more.

“Baby, you good?”

He simply looks up at you dumbly, for once no clever retort or smug smirk able to form on his pussy-plumped lips.

You let your gaze rove over his form. His smooth skin sheened in sweat from hours pleasuring you. Biceps pumped, fists clenching. His cock rock hard and ruddy. His thighs tremoring as they brace him in position.

“Aww. Sweet thing. You a little pussy-drunk?”

“Mmm hmm,” he manages, groaning next as you drag a finger through your slick folds and force the moreish taste of you over his tongue. He sucks away every drop.

“You want some more?”

“P-Please.”

You tug on his leash and he drops obediently to all fours, following you towards the couch. You spread your legs and he eyes your slick heat with a restrained yet consuming hunger, a delicious dark glint in his glazed, sub-drunk eyes.

“Come here, baby,” you purr, cradling his head and running your hand over the bristle of his buzzed hair until you reach the nape of his neck. Then, you grab hold of his collar and shove his warm, eager mouth down on to you.

“Mmm, that’s it, Nate,” you praise as his tongue shimmies meticulously through your folds, his eager undone moans -in contrast- reverberating through your core. “Make me cum again, and if you’re good, I might even let you finish, hmm?”

This is it, you think, as he buries himself in you with even greater vigour, the wet slick of his beard dragging through your folds as he gives everything he has to please you.

This is how you bring a God to his knees; and it feels so good.

how many followers do i need to get random asks god be nosy u little shits ask me about my personal life this is fucking boring getting nothing

Throuples Shit with Alejandro Thee Stallion and Rodolfo Parra:

You and Rudy were the ones who broke the ice and asked Alejandro out. Or, rather, you told Alejandro that you three were a thing now. Alejo didn't complain much. It's not like you would've let him and he's a stubborn bastard when he wants to be.

Alejandro is in the doghouse more often than not because he's a consummate workaholic and if you let him, he will stay up all night and work.

Rudy is the one who balances you three out. Mostly. And then you learned that even he can get unhinged. And Rudy gets unhinged. Usually, this happens because of something the men did. Or maybe it's because that one shipment he's been waiting for FOREVER has been delayed. Again. Or the kitchen is dirty. Stuff like that. Alejandro's Rudy senses will go off and he'll calmly escort you away.

Rudy will also tell you how Alejandro actually used to be the more high-strung out of the two of them. Now that you can believe because some of those high-strung tendencies are still there.

Alejo's death glare is something to behold but have you ever seen Rudy's? Especially when you and Alejo are teaming up against him? And he knows he's right? Oh, it's death glares and the silent treatment for the rest of the day lmao.

You three have different covers to sleep under because Rudy gets cold easily, Alejandro usually sleeps under the sheets because comforters get a bit restrictive for him, and you're just... you. You'll also be forgiven for checking up on Alejo when he sleeps because he doesn't make a sound nor does he move. Rudy's the one who lightly snores and sleeps with a pillow over his head. The varying levels of bedhead are laugh-worthy.

Ironically enough, it's harder for Rudy to fall asleep than it is for Alejo. Give him a pillow and some space and he's knocked the hell out.

Most of the disagreements are between you and Rudy. Sometimes they'll center around Rudy not taking care of himself. Or which telenovela you binge-watched was better. Or how hot Valeria is. For the most part, Alejo sits on the sideline and lets you two battle it out. He'll chuckle when you're getting the best of Rudy, though.

When the going gets tough and things in Los Vaqueros start hitting close to home, you'll be sent to a safe house. They can't risk it. And yeah, you can argue them down but they'll still send you off.

Sex is equal parts fun and primal. Good stress relief. Alejo is the one who edges you. With his dick. Rudy is the one who'll slow-dick you to heaven and back. Rest assured, you'll also enjoy your fair share of laughter during foreplay with these two. Absolutely.

alejandro isnt really the ass slapper kinda guy but an ass grabber.. so hard that it bruises from just how much he loves to squeeze the shit out of the flesh. you could be cooking and here comes señor ass grabber saying good morning with a cheek kiss and his huge hand on your ass just squeezing, eliciting a broken gasp from you. can u tell how much i need him

Alejandro absolutely adores his partner, no questions asked.

You doubt yourself for any reason? Aht aht aht. He'll kiss and love and fuck the self-doubt out of you.

Alejandro's the one who, when you're busy preparing breakfast, he saunters in, bed hair on 1000 and night pants hanging dangerously low on his hips, and he'll just bear hug you from behind. Buries his face in the crook of your neck and just... takes everything about you in.

Oh, it tickles, mi vida? Not to worry, he'll tighten his hold a little more and make you laugh louder.

Christ is he down bad for you.

Can we get some Sugar Daddy König X Sugar Baby Bimbo!reader that actually is a little oblivious to the fact she is a sugar baby, "oh the colonel? He's just a fwb who likes to pay for dinner and buy me expensive gifts that's all, he's just like really nice"

Konig really doesn't know where to put his money. He bought a house, a car, and a collection of guns that already go over legal limits. He was thinking about buying a second house somewhere warm, but then he thinks about having to take care of that property too, and his head starts to hurt. He wants to put his money into something nice - he has investments, usually something that Hutch is telling him to invest too because he knows more about tech and crypto and other useless stuff. And the colonel still has a huge chunk of money lying around every month. He didn't even notice that he started to pay for your...everything, at first. Even when you were just friends, you were playing this perfect little game of him bringing you money and you never taking your wallet out of the bag. He likes to spoil you. Gifts, food, new clothes - he doesn't knows anything about clothing brands and expensive gadgets, but you start to chirp about wanting new heaphones or a brand of lip gloss that is sooo trendt eight now, and he likes to listen to you speak. Maybe he is playing his old-school fantasy of having a hot, popular girl actually talk to him instead of bullying and yelling. Maybe he is trying to compensate for his lack of female attention. Maybe he is trying to buy you. He knows that you aren't using him because, by god, your pretty little head is too empty to conjure such a scheme. You're always so surprised when he brings you gifts, and you thank him so cheerfully. Bouncing on his cock like a good girl, not because he is asking you to, but because you really just want to cheer him on. Sucking his cock and spreading that expensive lip gloss all over because he is such a cool dude, much better than your friend's boyfriends. Your friends are so jealous about you having such a great sugar daddy, but you don't even realize that Konig is one. Honestly, if you weren't the one initiating sex, he probably wouldn't even ask you to. He brings you gifts and pops a boner whenever you hug him, and then you get sad because he is lonely and rich and so so miserable, you'll just straddle his hips and ride him until you both see stars. He never asked you to have sex in exchange for gifts. You just...like to accept them. And you like sex. Konig simply likes you too.

Bimbo!Reader that is so convinced Pushover!König has no sexual interest in her, she doesn't mind when he walks in on her masturbating

Konig knew his love life with you ended before it even started when he just walked in on you jerking off, and you just asked if the porn you were playing was too loud. You asked if he wanted to parallel-play masturbate with you later, and he fucking agreed because why not. It's not like he didn't want to whip his cock out and shower you in his cum a while ago, and it's not like he didn't want all of this and something even more. It's just that he can't believe you would seriously not see a problem in his seeing you naked. That you can simply change in front of him and ask for a comment on your bra size without it being flirting. That you're not just taunting him - you're genuinely this naive. Konig offers to help you masturbate, and you use his rough, calloused hands as a soft surface to grind on, your pussy leaking juices all over his knuckles. He doesn't know how he managed to hold his cock from cumming the second he felt the heat of your pussy lips pressing against his skin, but it must have been years of training to resist torture...and still, he would take a hot metal rod showed up his ass than seeing your bright eyes with no thoughts behind them, looking at him like he was your pet dog. Konig doesn't understand how you can touch his dick and make him cum with just your fingertips, and still believe that he is not interested in you. He never thought he could be this whipped for a woman who doesn't even realize that he is a man for half of the time, but he holds your picture in his chest plate pocket when he is at deployment and suffers through dumb jokes of his recruits about "his wife" looking like a bimbo. Little do they know that he will make you his wife eventually - whether you like it or not.

@reallyrallyauthor 's writing fr🙏🏼

reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something

anselm x reader x nathan- One Weekend (part 1)

If Anselm and Birdie have a canon, then Nathan isn’t really in it like this. But it's too fun not to think about.

Contents: 18+ nsfw, past mm relationship, objectification/degradation, mfm threesome (vaginal, anal, oral) ~10k

-----

A sunny afternoon. Anselm and his crew are sitting in his office enjoying an afternoon snack. Hot fudge sundaes that they eat with great relish, nodding to each other about how delicious they are.

Anselm scoops a huge bite of vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce onto his spoon.

“Stop lurking in the doorway like the creature you were named after, Godzilla. Speak,” he yells toward the other end of the room and takes his perfect bite of sundae.

Godzilla clears his throat and steps forward into the room, the space full of the sounds of metal spoons against glass dishes.

“Sir, Mrs. Vogelweide would like to see you in her office upstairs,” he says with a slight bow.

Anselm looks at him from under his dark brows. “Mrs. Vogelweide is it?” He licks his lips. “My God, this might be the best ice cream sundae I’ve ever eaten. Take one up to Birdie after you clean up, will you, Andre?”

He sets his empty bowl on Andre’s tray and the robot motors around the room, collecting everyone else’s dishes.

“She’d like to see you in an official capacity, sir,” Godzilla says.

Anselm sits up straight and buttons his suit jacket. “Well, why the fuck didn’t you say so in the first place?”

His bodyguards stand up stiffly and Anselm waves them back down.

He leans forward, a menacing look on his face. “Where do you think you’re going? Do you think I need protection from my own wife, in our own home? Hmm? What are you imbeciles going to do? What was your big plan?”

They look at each other, clearly having no plans and no actual thoughts beyond trying to get a second round of ice cream sundaes.

Anselm pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, trying to calm himself. He limps over to the mirror and smooths his hair, makes sure his tie is straight and his beard is neat.

He takes the elevator to the second floor and lets Godzilla announce him, only entering when you’ve given the okay.

You smile, sphinx-like, from behind your desk. “Anselm,” you say.

He walks forward through the long room, noticing that his brace is very loud in the absence of the music you usually play.

“You wore that low-cut blouse just to tease me. I approve,” he says, as charming as the day you’d met him.

You don’t stand. You only hold out your hand and he kisses the back with more relish than he’d given the sundae a few minutes ago.

“Anselm, Anselm, Anselm,” you say slowly, looking him up and down.

He looks at his suit, making sure nothing’s amiss. “Shall I sit?”

“No, I just want to look at you. Really take this moment in.” Your smile doesn't change.

He puts his hands in his pockets, a little confused. He stands so you can look as much as you want.

After a long moment, you tap the closed ledger on your desk.

“You’re a really talented gambler, Anselm. You know that? You could have made your fortune placing bets alone,” you say.

He nods slowly. “Would you like me to place one for you, my love?”

You shake your head. “I called you here to talk about an old bet. Through one of the family bookies. A regional high-school Croatian water polo match a few months ago. The semi-finals I think.”

Anselm scratches his beard. “Yes, I remember it.”

You drum your fingers on the desk. “You lost.”

Anselm frowns deeply. “I beg your pardon, my dear, but I did not.”

You make a humming sound in your throat. “You might not be familiar with the cut throat nature of Croatian junior water polo, but the results of the match were contested almost immediately.”

“Yes, but it came out in my favor,” Anselm says with a grin.

“That one did, yes. But not the second arbitration.”

The grin slides off of his face. “Second arbitration?”

“Filed and decided last week. The victory was given to the opposing side.” You fold your hands on the desk. Your smile is so wide it almost hurts your face. “Which means you, Anselm Vogelweide, owe me money.”

His lips part in surprise, a very confused look on his handsome face. He’s literally at a loss for words. To your great delight.

The doors to your office open and in rolls Andre with a silver tray and a perfect hot fudge sundae on top.

Anselm watches it be delivered to you. Watches you take the sundae with a pat on the robot’s head. Watches you slip off your shoes and put your feet up on your desk and dig into your ice cream.

“So, Anselm,” you say around a mouthful of whipped cream, “what would you do in my position?”

He heaves out a breath. “My God, Birdie, I’d shoot me.”

You cough loudly, sundae stuck in your throat. Anselm rushes forward to hand you a glass of water from the side of your desk. “Not shooting you,” you say.

Anselm walks around the desk to pat your back as you get your breath back. You set the rest of the ice cream back on Andre’s tray and you sit upright in your chair.

“I thought you’d acquired a taste for settling disputes my way,” Anselm says with a grin.

“Not with you,” you say. “Then again, my mentor in all of this crime stuff taught me to take debts very, very seriously.”

You look pointedly at him.

Once, Anselm had received a debt payment of a million dollars in cash. He’d had the man bring it to the estate from all the way from across the country.

When the guy arrived, Anselm had asked about the ten dollars of interest. The guy hadn’t had it. Didn’t have any more cash on him.

“Come on boss, you wouldn’t shoot someone over a lousy tenner, would you?” The guy had asked nervously.

“No, of course not.”

And Anselm had allowed the man to borrow a ten dollar bill from one of the bodyguards. He’d given it to Anselm and gone on his merry way.

Oh wait, no. That’s not how that story ends. Anselm had let the guy borrow a stick of gum from one of the bodyguards and then shot him dead before he’d even gotten the wrapper off.

A debt is a debt. The number is irrelevant. At least, that’s what he’d taught you.

Anselm half-sits on the top of the desk, close to you. “Quite a conundrum, my dear. And one for me as well. I’ve never owed a debt in my life.”

“That’s just bragging,” you say.

“Well, shall I have the money that I owe you wired or would you prefer cash?” He asks, business-like. “It would have to be next week. There are two bank holidays that would interfere with the transfer.”

You take a breath, a moment to think it over. You run your foot up and down the calf of his unbraced leg.

“It’s almost two million dollars,” you say, glancing up at him. “You wouldn’t let someone walk out of your office without repaying that kind of dough, right? And if you can’t repay me today, then I’m afraid we might have to make alternative arrangements.”

You see Anselm’s gaze sharpen, his pupils widen ever so slightly.

He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing over the collar of his shirt. “Such a thing would put me completely at your mercy,” Anselm says quietly, with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“But if it’s the only way to pay off your debt, you don’t really have much of a choice. Right?” You lick your lips slowly.

“I accept your proposition.” Anselm unbuttons his suit jacket so you can see from the bulging length in his pants just how accepting he is.

“Andre,” you say to the robot, taking the rest of your sundae back off his tray, “you can leave. Tell guards outside we’re not to be disturbed.”

“Yes, Birdie, man.” His pixel-smile blinks at you as he backs out of the room.

You hand Anselm the sundae.

“Did the robot just call you a man?” He asks.

“I think it’s supposed to be ma’am, but at this point, I don’t ask questions. Where did you even get Andre?”

Anselm scoops some of the ice cream out, fashioning an acceptable bite, and holds it up to your lips for you to eat.

“I invest heavily in emerging technologies,” he says, using the pad of his thumb to catch a stray drop of hot fudge from your chin. He licks it off. “Andre was a gift from one of the owners. He’s offered many times to replace it with a newer model, but they’re all too human for my taste. A robot should look like a robot, I think. Or we’ll all become very confused, very quickly.”

Anselm sits against your desk, feeding you perfect bites of sundae as you work on your laptop for awhile.

He walks around the room, making sure things are tidy, closing the blinds so the sun doesn’t hit the artwork. He glances at you, opens the cabinet he’d had installed.

You don’t object.

He holds up a black, leather riding crop. You shake your head.

A dildo shaped like a unicorn horn, with sparkles in the silicone to make it shiny. You pass.

A ball gag that’s attached with straps to wrist cuffs and ankle restraints. Another no.

“Are you bored?” Anselm asks, his eyes zeroing in on yours. His voice echoes down the room. “Are you so bored with all of this that nothing makes you tingle in anticipation of me?”

“No,” you say, startled that he would even think that, “are you bored by me?”

Anselm grumbles to himself.

“What?” You say. “You’re too far away. I can’t hear you.”

“I said you’ve hurt my feelings, even suggesting such a thing.” He fusses, putting things back in the cabinet, before closing it.

“You’re so dramatic,” you say quietly.

“I heard that,” Anselm says loudly.

You get up from your desk, noticing that Anselm stubbornly stays where he is, brushing his fingers along a shelf like he’s checking for dust.

You walk over to him, curling your fingers inside the pockets of his suit pants. “I’ve thought of how you can repay me,” you say with a smile.

Anselm turns his gaze to you, pretending not to be particularly interested.

“Come on,” you tease him, “don’t be a stick in the mud.”

“Fine. What is it it?” Anselm says, his arms coming up around your waist.

“I want to have the threesome you keep putting off,” you say.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean, my dear,” he says, but you can tell he’s faking. He knows exactly the one you mean. “But if you’d like someone to join us, I’ll have someone come to the house immediately.”

“Not someone,” you say pointedly.

“Not him,” Anselm returns. “I may invest in his endeavors, but we haven’t socialized in many years. I’m not sure he’s capable of it anymore.”

“Social awkwardness never stopped you from hanging out with someone before,” you say, pulling him closer. “If you don’t want to, just say so and I’ll never bring it up again.”

Anselm sighs. “It isn’t that. But you don’t know him like I do. He’ll be very degrading to you.”

“We do that sometimes,” you say.

“He’s very different from me, and for us to both be with you, I’d have to be quite different too. Different than the devoted husband you're used to.”

Your eyes narrow. “Anselm, last night we role played that you were a professor who was blackmailing me for sex. I don’t buy that excuse either. Whatever you’re trying to skirt around, just fucking say it.”

A worried look passes over Anselm’s face. His eyes study you from behind his yellow lenses. “He’s going to be enamored with you.”

You roll your eyes. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

Anselm’s hands tighten around your waist. “Once he gets a taste of your beautiful body and spirit, well… he’s going to try to keep you, my dear.”

A laugh bubbles out of you. “Who cares? It’s not like he can.”

You look at Anselm’s face. He still looks serious.

“Can he?” You ask, confused.

Anselm’s face quirks into a half-smile, half-grimace. “The only way he’ll be with us is if we go to him. He’s a recluse, and never leaves his work for more than a day. His compound is inescapable. His control over it, total. I have no doubt if he wanted both of us to disappear, he could cover every track we’d ever made. Until the entire world wondered if we’d ever existed at all. He’s a genius, my love.”

“Okay,” you say, thinking over Anselm’s words, “then why would you ever have told me he’d offered? If it’s so dangerous.”

Anselm’s eyes sparkle at you, the dark brown turning warm and anticipatory. “Because it would be spectacular, my dear.”

“Then it’s settled, isn’t it? Neither of us have gotten where we are in life, or with each other, by doing things safe and easy.” You kiss Anselm quickly on the lips. “We’re going to have sex with Nathan Bateman.”

*****

Friday Afternoon.

Nathan’s helicopter drops you and Anselm off in the middle of a field. A vaguely-human robot is behind the wheel of a waiting truck. It puts your bags in the back and helps you into the cab.

You stare at it.

“What the fuck?” You ask it. It doesn’t answer. You turn to Anselm, who’s sitting in the back. “Are there a lot of these things around? They’re creepy.”

“I was only here once, when it was under construction,” Anselm says. “I helped Nathan take care of the contractors who’d built it. So that the project stayed a secret.”

The house and the river running under it are gorgeous. Everything a little too still, though, eerie almost. The house is too quiet.

You let yourselves in and the robot takes care of your bags. You see that it has a ‘Hello, I'm Twelve’ sticky note on the front of its body.

“Twelve?” You say experimentally.

The robot drops the bags it had been holding and pauses, looking at you with its smooth, featureless face.

“Carry on,” you say, watching suspiciously as it resumes its duties. You look at Anselm, who's poking around the living room.

“I think I hear Nathan at the back of the house,” he says.

He takes your hand and leads you out to a deck with weathered boards that overlooks the rushing river water. 

Nathan Bateman looks like his photos, even though most of them are from years ago. He has a black, dense beard and a close-shaved head. His hands are wrapped in white tape and he’s beating on a gym bag like it owes him a trillion dollars.

You clear your throat loudly. “You’re not fooling anyone. If you’d wanted us to be impressed, you should’ve greeted us with martinis and a robot butler in a tux.”

Nathan, out of breath, turns to look at you. Your gaze runs from the deep, dark V of sweat down his workout shirt and back up to his face. And you see it in his sharp, dark gaze.

You know two things immediately: one, Nathan Bateman is exactly the kind of trouble that’s perfect for this weekend. Two, he and Anselm have definitely done all kinds of sex to each other.

You have that feeling in your gut as his eyes acknowledge Anselm.

As they sweep over you, though, you have a different feeling entirely.

He has an aura of control that’s different from Anselm’s.

Anselm is like the back room of a gentleman’s club, the one where the business-side is conducted. Hazy smoke and velvet. You’re a half a glass of brandy in, some mostly naked woman face-first between your legs, before you realize he has a gun pointed at you.

Nathan, is a pair of handcuffs and a concrete interrogation room.

His eyes tell you, before he’s even said hello. Submit.

Nathan unwraps his hands with a smile that’s meant to be disarming. He looks like a shark.

“Good to see you,” he says to Anselm. “Thanks for taking me up on the weekend out here. About time.”

Anselm links his fingers through yours. “Not all titans of industry can afford to disappear like you did, Nathan.”

“We’re not like those old assholes. Sitting around doing jack shit. We like to take our fate in our own hands, don’t we,” Nathan says. He holds out his hand and Anselm shakes it.

Nathan shakes your hand too. “Very, very good to meet you.”

“Likewise,” you say with a smile.

Nathan picks up a towel to wipe of his face, before putting his glasses back on.

“Never in a million fucking years did I think Anselm would ever get married. You must be quite a woman, honey.”

Anselm lays his hand on your lower back. “You have no idea, Nathan,” he practically growls. “She’s exquisite.”

No one would notice anything off, but to you, it’s like a gigantic megaphone announcement.

Anselm NEVER speaks about you in the third person when you’re present. Never talks about you like you aren’t there, or like you’re an object, or decoration. It’s a point of pride with him. And he shoots anyone who doesn’t do the same.

But as Anselm and Nathan share a look, you know that Anselm’s tone and word choice have spoken volumes to Nathan, too.

The weekend, it seems, has begun.

*****

“Nathan has cameras everywhere,” Anselm says as he sits back on the bed, his back against the headboard. He unfastens his brace while you unpack.

“Even in here? Pervert,” you say, shooting Anselm a smile.

Anselm chuckles under his breath. He looks odd in the stark, undecorated room.

He rubs his leg and you put down the stack of shirts into the drawer and close it.

“The walk from the truck to the house?” You ask, joining him on the bed.

“It was uneven ground, but I’m fine,” he says.

Anselm never complains. His leg doesn’t usually bother him. You’ve even seen him practically run with his brace, but every once in awhile, he has a bad day. 

You gently move his hands out of the way and massage his leg, starting at the ankle and working up to his calf. 

“Take off your pants, it’ll make it easier for me,” you say.

Anselm grins, and methodically takes them off. You watch him get hard for you, just from your gaze on his body. He reaches out his hand and cups your cheek.

“Will you give my old friend something to salivate over? Something so delicious, he’ll have no choice but to sit at his desk, jerking off like an over-excited teenager?” Anselm leans forward so his face is closer to yours. “Something that will make him want to completely destroy you, when the time comes?”

So, you undress slowly and sensuously. You let your fingers linger on your skin, over your nipples and breasts.

You sit up on your knees, so your thighs are on on either side of Anselm’s. His hands rub up and down your skin, and you touch yourself for him. Playing with your clit, your own fingers sliding along your wet walls, teasing your own pleasure centers. Your other hand reaches for Anselm’s. You bring it alongside yours.

Anselm adds two fingers into your cunt, pressing against yours, forcing more pleasure through you. You brace yourself one-handed on the wall behind the bed, letting Anselm finger you, dragging your fingers with his until you come in a gush of liquid and a high-pitched moan. It drips down both of your hands and makes a dark stain on the bed. Anselm keeps fingering you, your hips grinding down on him. You come again, biting your lip so hard it hurts.

His fingers pull out you, pushing into your mouth. You suck on them gently, sitting down on the bed and then leaning forward so he can cradle you against his chest.

You hope Nathan was watching.

*****

Dinner is sushi and little cups of sake that Nathan constantly refills for you.

He and Anselm talk easily. Memories of when they were last here. Projects Nathan’s working on that Anselm’s invested in. Everything.

Nathan glances at you. “You’re watching this like it’s a fucking tennis match. Don’t you speak?”

It catches you off guard. He’s right. You’ve taken on the role of quiet submissive easily, but Nathan clearly likes to rile you, gauge your reactions.

You shrug, unbothered. “I like listening. I’ve never heard Anselm talk to someone like this. Like they’re his equal.”

Nathan raises his eyebrows. “If you knew me, you’d say the same thing about me. Your husband and I seem different on the surface, but we’re actually a lot alike."

Nathan pops a salmon nigiri into his mouth.

You look at Anselm. He nods in agreement.

“So,” Nathan says, his eyes almost black as they pin you down, “nothing I ask for should surprise you. Right?”

“Right,” you say automatically.

Something about him unbalances you. Even though you know it’s what he wants, you can’t help it. Normally, Anselm would lay his hand on your back, or say something reassuring. He would back you up in some way.

But this weekend, he’s doing none of that. He’s letting you flounder, and find your own way. If you drown, then this whole thing was your decision, and you wonder, briefly, if Anselm would watch you be taken under by Nathan’s current, swept away in his rip tide.

Nathan’s gaze wanders over you. 

“Your body,” he says like he’s talking about a piece of code or the weather, “it’s good.”

Anselm brushes his hand over your shoulder, sweeping your hair back. “You should see her at her best,” he says quietly.

Nathan drains another shot glass of sake. “I’d like that. Why don’t you get undressed, sweetheart? Give us something to look at while we finish talking.”

You turn your head slightly, looking for Anselm’s eyes, but he’s looking further down. Over you, but not at you.

“Please,” Anselm says slowly, “as a thank you for our host’s hospitality. We don’t want to be rude.”

The thrill of Anselm’s fingertips tracing on the back of your neck. The way Nathan keeps eating, even while his eyes are steady and dark on your face.

You slide the thin sweater you’d been wearing up and over your head.

“Very nice,” Nathan says quietly.

“Keep going,” Anselm says, with a depth of authority he usually reserves for when he’s reminded you of your safe word, when he’s made it known that you’re the one who’s actually in control. But again, he’s done none of that now.

You reach back and undo the clasp of your bra. You remove it self-consciously, even though you’re not in any way ashamed of your body. Haven’t been, since the first time you’d been with Anselm. But their gazes are assessing, almost detached.

Nathan points at you with his chopsticks. “Bottoms too.”

You take a deep breath and stand up, undoing your pants and pushing them down over your hips and down your legs. You fold everything neatly and set your clothes next to you. Your nipples are hard and your skin, chilled.

You’re so wet, you’re going to leave a puddle on the dining room chair.

“So, how’s Andre working out?” Nathan asks.

Anselm smiles. “Defective. But I enjoy him that way.”

Nathan chuckles, and signals for one of his more human-looking robots to start clearing the dishes. “That’s fucking weird, man.”

Your rub your hands up and down your arms to warm up.

“You’re too obsessed with perfection,” Anselm says, sitting back in his chair. He unbuttons his suit jacket. “Perfection makes everything dull. I have one perfect thing in my life, and I find that’s quite enough.” Anselm rubs a hand over your bare shoulders.

Nathan nods, looking at you. “You think she’s perfect?”

He sounds casual, but there’s a push in his tone. Like he’s poking at Anselm’s statement, doubting it. And Anselm, though he’s enjoying the weekend’s play acting, can only be pushed so far.

Anselm’s voice is clipped. His eyes are dark steel behind the lenses of his glasses. “Do not forget yourself, Nathan. This is my wife we’re discussing.”

Nathan licks his bottom lip. “Alright, relax. I’m just saying, I’ve never known you to be so hung up on one person. You used to be more open.”

Anselm exhales loudly through his nose. “And you’ve let your isolation narrow your view of the world. You don’t understand people because you don’t consider yourself to be one anymore.”

Nathan makes a face. “I’m human.” He lays a hand on your wrist. “Very human.”

You swallow as he runs his hand up and down your forearm. He picks up your hand and looks at it, brings it up to his face and lays it on his cheek, right where the line of his beard cuts a line across his skin.

“Caught your little show earlier,” Nathan says. “You gonna squirt for me too, honey?”

Anselm chuckles. “If you can find her on-switch, she will.”

“I’m pretty good with hardware,” Nathan says. 

You feel his beard with your fingers. It’s not as soft as Anselm’s. Nathan probably doesn’t condition it, doesn’t worry about it rubbing someone’s skin red and raw.

Nathan seems to like the way you feel his face and hair. There’s even a hint of warmth in his eyes. He looks at Anselm.

“She take your cock as well as I used to?” He asks.

Your heart beats faster against your chest.

“Better, and faster. My God, it took me weeks to prepare you,” Anselm says.

Nathan looks offended. “You’re walking around with a fucking tree trunk between your legs. You’re lucky anyone lets you fuck them at all. I should’ve sued.”

Anselm makes an impatient sound in his throat. “Darling, Nathan’s ego is clearly in need of a boost. Be a dear and sit in his lap.”

It’s not unusual for you and Anselm to have a third. This, however, is different. You’ve never been with someone from Anselm’s past, and in the short time you’ve known Nathan, you realize why Anselm’s never told you anything about his former lover and current business partner. There was no way to prepare you for him.

Much like Anselm, Nathan has to be seen to be believed.

Nathan pushes his chair back, giving you room to settle across his lap. He holds you loosely with one arm, while his other feels your skin.

You were already a little cold, but his touch gives you goosebumps.

“Sensitive thing, aren’t you?” He grins. “I like that.”

He looks at you from under his heavy eyelids.

“Can I touch you?” Nathan asks.

“Are you really asking?” You counter.

Nathan smirks. “I’m an egomaniac. I want you to want me.” He runs his fingers over your shoulder, back and forth.

“I’m the one who suggested that Anselm and I take you up on your offer,” you say, pleased that it seems you’ve surprised him.

Nathan’s gaze flicks to Anselm, who’s leaning his elbow on the table, his fingers practically twirling his mustache in glee.

“I told you, she’s like no one you’ve ever known,” Anselm says.

The wine and dessert are forgotten. Anselm holds your hand, pulling you to the sitting area next to the dining room.

Nathan has you on your hands and knees on a cream-colored ottoman. Anselm’s cock is out of his pants in a flash and when your tongue touches his soft, musky head, you feel Nathan’s tongue on you. His hands pull apart your legs so he can eat you out from behind.

The surprise of it makes you gasp, which only gives Anselm the opportunity to insert himself smoothly down your throat, which makes you jerk back, onto Nathan’s waiting tongue.

Nathan’s hands steady your hips. He dives into your cunt with his mouth and you moan around Anselm’s cock, gagging every once in awhile when you take him down your throat.

Anselm’s hands thread through your hair, holding tightly. His breath picks up and his hips move harder, his cock making loud, wet sounds as it enters and exits your mouth. Spit rolls in strands down your chin. Anselm shifts your head a fraction, so you can look up at him.

Whether it’s so he can take in the view, or so he can check you’re okay, you have no idea. Both, probably.

You can’t answer him though because Nathan is licking you from your clit to your asshole, burying his tongue in every place he can and making your body tense and shudder.

He sucks hard on your clit and you come with absolutely no warning, your moaning driving Anselm’s climax and he jams his cock down your throat again, throbbing and coming in hot spurts.

You whine, pulling your hips forward, but Nathan is relentless. Eating you out until your arms collapse and Anselm pulls out of your mouth. You’re face is buried in the fabric of the ottoman, tears staining the fabric, as Nathan’s strong arms hold you up, his tongue and mouth working between your legs quickly, licking another loud orgasm out of you.

And then he’s gone. Your hips drop hard and you lay there, panting.

You see Anselm walk back over to the table and take a sip of water. He hands Nathan a napkin to wipe his face with.

They’re talking about something, but you can’t bring yourself to give a shit. They walk away, Anselm gesticulating and Nathan nodding as they leave down the hallway.

As if you don't exist at all, now that they've gotten what they wanted.

It was probably all of three minutes.

Twelve cleans the kitchen.

How are you going to survive 48 hours of this?

*****

On shaky legs, you dry off as you leave the bathroom. You sit back down on the bed in your room. Anselm’s still not there.

He’d warned you not to wander around the place. Said he was worried about your safety.

There’s a glass of iced tea and note on the dresser.

Three doors on your left. -A

You drink the tea, the cool liquid and sweetness soothing your throat from earlier.

The top drawer of your side of the dresser is empty when you open it. You look in the next one. The next one.

Empty.

It must have happened during dinner.

Anselm’s things are still folded neatly in his drawers. His suits are hung up in the closet. For you, there’s only a white, silk robe. It’s short and trimmed with lace. You put it on, admiring the stitching and the fabric. You tie it shut with a double-knot and leave the room to see what Anselm and Nathan are up to now.

The third door on your left slides open as you approach.

It’s a big, dark room. The only light is from a bank of computer monitors facing the bed.

They’re talking about preserving native plants and animals on their lands. Something about progress versus nature.

Nathan’s sitting on the mattress in his boxers, leaning against the headboard, hands behind his head.

Anselm’s leaning against Nathan’s desk. You can tell he’s tense.

He’s taken off his jacket and tie, unbuttoned his shirt. He holds his glass out to you as you enter.

You think he’s offering you a drink, but then you see it’s empty. Anselm nods to the side table for you to get him a refill.

Your lips twitch. You can’t help it.

Subtle power moves that Anselm is so good at, but he’s never used on you. His eyes laugh slightly, crinkling at the corners. A flash of your Anselm, before his gaze goes serious again.

He shakes his glass lightly, the leftover ice tink-tink-tink-ing as he does.

You take the glass over to the table, turning your back to refill it.

A hand brushes up the back of your thigh and under your robe. You smell Nathan. His teeth graze along the back of your neck and his hand slides around the front of your hip. He presses his hard cock against you.

“Don’t bother with the drink,” Nathan says, his fingertips toying with your clit. “You taste better anyway.”

His fingers crawl down between your lips, where you feel yourself starting to get wet. He licks your neck, slow circles on your clean skin.

“Anselm says you can take two cocks like a champ,” Nathan says.

You shudder. You’ve done it before, but usually you have time to prepare. Anselm alone can stretch you to your limits.

Nathan pulls away from you, tugging your arm.

“Get on the bed,” he says.

Anselm’s taking off his clothes, unhurried. He reaches over to the nightstand and drops a silicone dildo next to you on the mattress.

“If I have you two, what’s this for?” You ask him.

Anselm remains expressionless, neatly laying his shirt over the back of Nathan’s desk chair.

“Giving you this is a kindness. I could make you use your own hand,” he says.

He sounds impatient.

“Now,” he says loudly, confirming your suspicions.

As you part your legs, resting the head of the cold material against yourself, you remember what Anselm had said. That he’d be different here. He certainly is.

Nathan sits on the bed, he gently takes the dildo away from you. “I don’t think you’re wet enough, sweetheart.” He looks up at Anselm, who’s taking off his pants.

“She should get wet or this is going to be very unpleasant for her,” Anselm says dismissively.

Nathan’s eyes narrow a tiny fraction. “Don’t try to be an asshole, just to make me go easier on your wife.”

“And I thought you didn’t want me to think of her as my wife,” Anselm snaps back, anger coating his words.

“Anselm-“ you start to say, but he cuts you off with a look.

He never has sex when he’s angry. Or at least, never with you. It’s not that he’s opposed to it, but honestly, Anselm turns into a puddle of love when he gets his hands on you. It melts away his anger.

So, whatever Nathan said before you got here, it must have been bad.

Nathan takes off his glasses, tosses them aside. He rubs a hand up and down your thigh. “Anselm and I had a little disagreement.”

Anselm turns away, his hand smoothing over his beard.

Nathan clears his throat. “I thought this was a no boundaries weekend, but you can probably tell already, I’m all about finding the limits. I had to find his.”

“Are you okay?” You ask Anselm.

Anselm’s back relaxes. He takes a deep breath and continues undressing, pushing his pants down over the swell of his ass and his thick thighs.

“I’m fine, my dear,” he says. “Nathan does have a way of being the most irritating person on the planet, though.”

Nathan grins. “I asked Anselm if he’d let me have you tonight. Alone. Just you and me while he slept down the hall.”

“I wouldn’t have agreed to that. My rule, not his,” you say.

“I asked him, not you. Trying to figure out who’s really in charge here,” Nathan says.

Your gut clenches as his eyes freeze you in place. Nathan’s face warms back up into the fake easy-going attitude you’re used to now. “I didn’t mean any of it. I just had to see where we were all at.”

Anselm shakes his head. “Don’t scare her.”

“Okay,” Nathan says. He looks at you. “I’m sorry. The truth is, I didn’t really buy this whole thing you have with Anselm until I saw it for myself.”

Anselm sits next to you, near the pillows. He wraps his arm around your waist and lays his forehead against yours. “Love and devotion aren’t in Nathan’s vocabulary.”

Nathan hums in agreement. “True. The way you described how you felt for her sounded like a psychotic break to me. This woman comes out of nowhere. Gets you to completely change your attitude toward relationships, and then takes over your entire family? I had to be suspicious.”

Your eyes track from Anselm’s to Nathan’s. “You were protecting him.”

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” Nathan says, his shoulders shifting uncomfortably.

You lay your hands on either side of Anselm’s face so you can look at him dead on. “Of all the weird people you know, this guy is definitely the weirdest.”

Anselm laughs, a deep chuckle from deep in his chest. He puts his hands over your shoulders, warming the chill off your skin.

He takes off his glasses and sets them next to Nathan’s on the nightstand. He takes your hands off of his face, holding them as he kisses you.

Really kisses you.

The kind where his lips are slotted deeply into yours, devouring you, tilting his head to drive his tongue into your mouth, mapping out everything he can touch and taste. Your breath catches and Anselm inhales it, sucking on your bottom lip, pulling it into the hot, soft cavern of his mouth. Your mouth chases his, eager for more.

“Jesus, okay,” Nathan says loudly, breaking the moment. “I get it. You really love her. Fucking hell, dude. Leave some for the rest of us.”

Anselm stops kissing you, with one last peck on your cheek. He gives you a teasing, wicked look. His hand cups your chin.

“Whenever you’re ready, my dear,” he says quietly.

Nathan looks amused. Intrigued. His confidence is back in place.

“She’s ready,” Nathan says. “Come here.”

You lean forward, meeting Nathan as he slides his hand up behind your head, bringing you in to kiss you himself.

You were right. Nathan’s beard is scratchy. His mouth is hot and wet, dominating on yours. Your hand bumps against his knee and you take the opportunity to follow the muscle of his thigh up and under the leg of his boxers.

He pulls back, grips your chin hard in his fingers. “Did I say you could do that?”

You shake your head.

“Words, slut,” he says, his voice low and hard.

“No, you didn’t,” you say.

Anselm’s hand runs over the crease of your hip and down between your legs. You hadn’t realized you’d been pressing them together until Anselm works his fingers down between them.

“You’re wet now,” Anselm almost purrs. “Soaking. Delightful.”

You turn, trying to get him to kiss you, but Anselm pulls back. He unties your robe deftly, almost ripping it off of you.

“Nathan’s going to lay down, and you’re going to ride him like a whore until I tell you to stop,” Anselm says. His eyes are bright. He’s back in his role now. Fully in control.

Your breath shakes as Nathan takes off his boxers and lays down. Anselm gives you a gentle push and you turn to Nathan. You straddle him, sitting on his cock, but not taking it inside of you just yet. You drag his length along the wet seam of your cunt. He’s so hard you could probably get off just like this.

Anselm rubs circles on your back. “What do you think of her?”

Nathan’s lips are parted. He raises his hands to play with your nipples. “Gorgeous. Fucking unreal.”

You slide forward enough to catch the soft head of him, readjusting to fill yourself with his cock. Nathan smiles, exhaling hard as you take him in one, smooth sitting motion.

“Oh fuck, honey, you’re a fucking professional aren’t you?” He grins.

You smile, slowly rising and lowering yourself as Nathan pulls your nipples a little too hard. You shudder on him.

“Make yourself come. I want to feel it,” he says.

You seat yourself on Nathan, resting your hands on the hard muscles of his chest. You tilt your hips forward and back, adjusting yourself to him, riding him slowly at first. Nathan bites his lower lip, his cheeks a little flushed already.

He’s thick. Not as big as Anselm, but he’s so hard it’s easy for you to rock against him, hitting all the places inside and out that you need to moan and squirm. Anselm’s hand reaches down to touch where you and Nathan meet. You come with a hot gush of liquid, squeezing Nathan’s pecs, and clenching down on him so hard, it almost hurts.

You haven’t come down all the way before Anselm’s hands push you down. Nathan captures your mouth as your chest presses onto his, coaxing your tongue out and sucking on it gently as you feel Anselm position himself behind you.

His fingers are already well-lubricated as he slips two into you, working you open with a groan.

“Stay still,” Nathan orders when your hips start to move.

It’s like torture. There’s nowhere for your pleasure to go, so you sit, clenching around Nathan while Anselm works your other hole open enough to finally give you just the tip of his enormous cock.

You moan, and you think they do too, as Anselm rubs a hand over one of your shoulders.

“You have to relax for us,” Anselm says.

You take a shaky breath and open your eyes. Nathan’s dark gaze is already on your face.

Anselm slides in a fraction more and you whine. Not from pain, but from the already too-full feeling of them inside of you.

Nathan almost smiles. You know he can feel Anselm at this point, the thin barrier of your body separating them.

“Take it,” Nathan says in a whisper. “Fucking take it all, sweetheart. Come on.”

Anselm’s body bends over yours as he slowly stretches his way inside of you. You’re panting.

Nathan’s hand grips your hair. “I bet your sweet little pussy’s never been tighter.”

You moan, your body relaxing, needing to feel as full as possible, needing the last few inches of Anselm’s cock deep inside of you.

“You’re a good girl,” Anselm growls in your ear, his tongue catching your earlobe. “We’re going to use you now. And you’re going to let us.”

He pulls halfway out and pushes back inside, stealing your breath and popping your eyes wide. Nathan pulls out a fraction, punching his hips up into yours.

“This what she wanted?” Nathan asks Anselm.

They’re fucking you hard already, in and out in tandem. You’d thought- oh fuck, who even knows- you’d thought it would start slow. But you already have tears in your eyes, their cocks dragging in and out of you. Your skin stretches and burns from the delicious way your body holds onto both of them.

Anselm grunts. “This is what she wanted, yes. It’s what she’s good for. Aren’t you?”

He slaps your ass hard, not even a stutter in his thrusts.

“Y-yes,” you choke on the word.

“Oh look at that,” Nathan groans, “fucked out already. Brainless little slut.”

You moan, your body moving forward against the relentless pounding, but Anselm pulls your shoulders, bringing you all the way down on both cocks again.

Anselm slows the pace, long strokes in and out of you. It should be a rest, but Anselm knows you better than that. Knows you can’t hold back when you can feel every ridge and vein in his cock.

Nathan takes his cue and pulls in and out as much as he can from below you. Letting you feel way he stretches you out.

“You’re cute like this,” Nathan says. “Look at me.”

Your eyes can’t even focus, but you open them. It feels so good you can’t even think. Like nothing exists but the pure ecstasy of being filled by these two men.

“Good girl,” Nathan says slowly. “You gonna come for us? Get off on being fucked like a dirty slut?”

His hand in your hair, he nods for you.

You’re moaning, unable to hold back as they fuck you back and forth between them.

“Nathan, pull out of her,” Anselm says.

You collapse onto Nathan when he pulls his cock out of you, but Anselm pulls your hair back so your head snaps up. He fucks his entire cock into your cunt and you squeeze your eyes shut, unable to process it. He pulls out. Nathan pushes in.

In and out, sharing your dripping wet cunt.

“She’s close,” Anselm says, his voice is strained.

He resumes his previous position, gently feeding his cock back into your asshole as Nathan fucks back up into your pussy.

Nathan pants in your ear. “You like this, don’t you? One load’s not enough for you. You need the two of us ruining your little holes.”

You scream when you come, your throat burns, your whole body burns, every single nerve sings as you go completely stiff. Coming so hard your eyes roll back in your head and they have to hold you up to keep fucking you. It’s never ending. You can’t stop your muscles from pulsing around them, which only makes them fuck you even harder.

You feel like you’re going to go insane from how it all makes you feel. Nathan starts coming deep inside of you, lodging his cock as far as it can go. Your fingers dig into his shoulders and he fills the air with filthy sounds and words. Anselm finally lets go, filling your ass with hot ropes of cum.

Your body shakes and you don’t realize you’re sobbing until Nathan’s arms are tight around you, his hand on the back of your head. 

“Shhh,” he says, still out of breath, “’s okay, honey. You’re alright.”

Anselm pulls out of you and you feel his arms around you too.

“She’ll be okay,” he says. Nathan must have given him a questioning look.

You sniffle, wiping Nathan’s shoulder where you’d cried a puddle of drool and tears.

Anselm turns your head and kisses you softly. “There, there,” he says. “You did beautifully. It was a lot for you, wasn’t it?”

You nod, not quite ready to speak.

Anselm’s face is worried. “Too much, perhaps.”

You shake your head.

He smiles, kisses your forehead. “Alright. I’m going to draw you a bath. Nathan will be right here with you.”

You sniffle. “I know. He’s still inside me.”

Nathan kisses your cheek. “Holy shit, you’re a dream. Making a fucking joke at a time like this.”

Anselm disappears into the bathroom and Nathan gingerly pulls out of you, going extra slow, knowing how sensitive you are.

He holds you close to him, rubbing your back.

“For real,” he says quietly, “you’ll be okay?”

You look at him, touched. “It was perfect. All of it. It was just intense.”

You reach up and scratch your fingers through his beard. Something Anselm likes. And apparently, so does Nathan. He looks almost relaxed.

Nathan looks down his nose at you, but for once, it’s not condescending. “You love Anselm as much as he loves you?”

“I do,” you say, smiling.

His eyes are dark pools that pull you in. “Good. But if-“

“Your bath is ready,” Anselm says from the doorway.

“I don’t think I can walk,” You flop back, out of Nathan’s arms.

“I got this, Vogelweide,” Nathan says. He kneels on the bed, pulling you to the edge so he can pick you up and carry you bridal-style to the bathroom.

Anselm’s already in the tub, which Nathan quirks a brow at, but he helps you in anyway. You sit between Anselm’s legs, reclining limply against him. He wraps his arms around you.

“I’m gonna use the shower in the other room. Give you two a minute,” Nathan says. He shuts the door as he leaves.

Anselm takes a big breath, holding you tightly. He kisses the side of your head. You sigh and sink down slightly, letting the water come up to the top of your chest.

“I think we should leave tomorrow, and not Monday,” Anselm says quietly.

You turn, your sore muscles protesting and water sloshing. “What? We just got here.”

Anselm scratches his neck, but you know his scars aren’t bothering him. It’s Nathan. He’s gotten under Anselm’s skin.

“You were completely in control out there,” you say, dipping your head down to wet your hair. “And I loved it. Every second.”

The corner of Anselm’s mouth stretches up. “Did you now?”

You turn back around to nestle in Anselm’s lap again. “I did.”

“Usually something that intense is just the two of us,” Anselm says.

“Jealousy isn't your style,” you remind him.

“Not normally. Jealously is useless and does nothing for me. Nathan is not normal.”

“He’s also not my husband and not the love of my life.” You reach up and cup your hand around the back of Anselm’s neck, rubbing it soothingly. “He’s completely full of himself, and totally insecure. He can show a girl a good time, but…”

Anselm grabs a bottle of shampoo and squirts some into one of his hands. He massages his fingers through your hair.

“You could fix him,” he says.

“Not my dog. Not my fight.”

“You like him, though.”

You sigh, leaning into Anselm’s scalp massage. “Surprisingly, yes, I do.”

“But you can’t live without me, can you, Birdie?”

Anselm’s tone is teasing, but something in it makes you twist around again, so you can look him in the eyes.

“No, Anselm. No one could ever come between us.”

Later, as you’re snuggled between Anselm and Nathan in Nathan’s bed, one last thought creeps into your brain.

Nathan has cameras everywhere. Anselm knew Nathan was listening while you were in the bath together.

Anselm didn’t need reassurances. He’d needed Nathan to know that some boundaries weren’t movable. Some things, Anselm would never negotiate for.

*****

Saturday Morning.

“You brought a gun,” you say, looking at Anselm’s underwear drawer.

You’d both gone back to your room to get ready for the day. Nathan had already been up for hours working. He never slept more than a few hours a night.

Anselm is putting his hair in place and you’re grabbing clothes for him. At the bottom of a pile of Anselm’s silk underwear is a matte, black pistol.

“You sound surprised,” Anselm says from his place in front of the bathroom mirror.

You look at the gun, then cover it again. Out of sight out of mind.

You’d thought the only thing dangerous here was Nathan. And Anselm would never shoot him. At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

He puts his suit on. You put the white silk robe from last night back on and you head out to breakfast on the back deck.

You’re sitting at the table with a cup of coffee, your feet up in Anselm’s lap when Nathan strides out. He pushes up the sleeves of his white sweater and sits down in the chair next to you.

He rests his hand on the back of your chair, his fingers just brushing over the thin fabric of your robe.

“Rested?” He asks you.

“Why?” You ask, suspicious.

He pushes up his glasses and pours himself a mug of coffee. “Calm down. I don’t have time to fuck you this morning.”

“Wow, my review of this place just went from four stars to three.”

Nathan rubs a hand over his heart. “After everything we shared last night? I’m heartbroken, honey.”

“Two and a half because of your whining.”

Nathan runs a hand over his head. “Anselm and I’ll have to switch places tonight, see if I can’t get myself back up to four.”

Anselm makes a sound in his throat. “The double penetration hasn't ever worked the other way around for her. I’m too large. It makes her uncomfortable.”

“Learn something new every day I guess.” Nathan toasts Anselm with his mug. “Anything you two haven’t tried that I can help you with?”

You and Anselm blink at each other. You shrug.

“Holy shit,” Nathan says, “you two are fucking depraved.”

He stands up and plants a kiss on the top of your head.

“I gotta go back to work. See you for lunch.”

“He was in a good mood,” you say as you watch Nathan grab a green shake from the refrigerator and disappear into the elevator.

Anselm picks at his thumbnail. “Of course he was. Things look very different from inside of you. You have a way of changing a man. I should know.”

“I don’t think anyone could change Nathan.” You sip your coffee. “And I’m not sure I’d want to.”

Anselm pats your feet. “I have some business calls to make on the satellite telephone. Perhaps you should go visit the lab. You can build Andre a friend.”

Twelve comes to clear the breakfast dishes.

“Hold on. I’m not done with that.” You pick a croissant off the plate. “Can I have a glass of orange juice, please?”

Twelve’s wide steps take it back to the kitchen.

“I’m going to draw eyes and a smile on that thing,” you say, taking a bite of croissant.

“Give it a mustache,” Anselm says.

You hold out the croissant for Anselm to take a bite of his own. “I prefer men with more facial hair than that.”

*****

You ask Twelve to take you to Nathan and it leads you down a level. You have no idea how far down you are. A long way, judging from the elevator ride.

You follow it down an unnervingly nondescript hallway and it opens a door.

The room is big, with bright, cold lights and electronic parts everywhere. A table at the center of the room has a partially-finished mechanical body in it. Nathan’s bent over, working on something in the chest cavity.

He glances up. “You’re fucking kidding me, right? Don’t try to bring orange juice in here. You’re gonna cost me ten million dollars when you spill it.”

You drain the glass and leave it with Twelve. “You can afford it,” you say, wandering inside.

“True. But it’s not about money. It’s about the time it would take me to rebuild.” Nathan pulls his hand back, flexing his fingers.

“What are you doing?” You stand next to him, peering down at the mess of wires and servos. 

“Giving the tin man a heart.”

“I thought you were the tin man.”

Nathan grins. “You would know. You’re married to the fucking Wizard of Oz.”

You laugh. Nathan slips his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to the table. “See that?” He points down at a bright red piece in the chest, covered in wires and soldering. “One of the most important pieces. It’s part of what separates this model from Twelve.”

“Is it the brain?”

Nathan’s hand brushes up and down your back. “No, although the brain was the hardest part of make. This is part of what’s going to allow this robot to be more than just a supercomputer. More like actual AI. It sends very specific sensory feedback to the brain.”

You look at him suspiciously.

Nathan turns to face you, so both his hands are around your waist. “It sits on the surface of the chest. When I stimulate it, and it’s going to send pleasure feedback for a more realistic sexual experience. The robot will have a good time, and I won't have to reach down all the way between its legs.”

You snort. “So, her clit is where her heart should be? Yeah, that sounds like the male view of female anatomy.”

Nathan’s head tips back and he laughs. It’s an actual laugh, deep, echoing in the lab. He wipes his eyes under his glasses.

He smiles as he speaks. “I can make a computer that will pass the Turing Test. For it to be human, though, it needs an anchor to the rest of the world. Needs to feel connected to humanity or it can do a lot of damage without realizing it."

You're not sure if he's still talking about the robot, or about himself.

"This robot," Nathan pushes up his glasses, "is going to test how much of the sexual experience makes a human tick. Your visit's good timing. Helped me rethink my approach."

“So, when I’m fucking you, it’s research? Like, we’re doing it for science?”

Nathan nods. “Sure, you can think of it that way. If I modeled it on Anselm, the entire world would be fucked or shot before the thing turned one year old.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh.

Nathan’s thumb rubs over your lower lip. He watches your mouth. “Love that sound.”

You pull back slowly. “I should go. Anselm’s working, and I should too, for a few hours at least.”

Nathan drops his hand. You can tell the wheels are still turning in his head. “Alright. See you later.”

He gives your waist a squeeze and sends you on your way. You feel his eyes on you as you leave.

*****

“But that wasn’t the end of it,” Anselm says as he tells stories over lunch, “the man had the audacity to try and borrow money from me a second time.”

Nathan shakes his head. “Idiot.”

“That’s what I said,” you say, pointing at him. “I told the guy ‘why would you come back here? Do you see the stain on the carpet? That’s blood. Idiot.’”

“Birdie, that stain by the lamp isn’t blood. It’s chocolate ice cream,” Anselm says.

“Seriously?” You look at him.

Anselm nods. “Louie dropped it during his birthday party four months ago.”

You shrug. “Well, potato tomato or whatever. You ended up killing the guy anyway.”

Anselm wipes his mouth with his napkin. “I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

He leans back in his chair, adjusting his tie.

“How’d he look?” Nathan says, taking a drink of juice.

“Disrespectfully, and I know that you catch my meaning,” Anselm says, looking at Nathan seriously from behind his yellowed lenses. “As someone who seems hell-bent on winning my wife’s affections, you should know that I never go anywhere unarmed.”

Nathan sets down his glass. He folds his hands in front of his beard. “And you should know that I’d never let you bring a fire-able weapon into this house.”

Silence settles over the table.

“How would you know if he did?” You ask.

“I assume he tried,” Nathan said, his dark eyes turning to you. “I have scanners at the entrances.”

“Metal detectors?” Anselm asks. He smiles, leaning back comfortably in his chair.

Nathan’s eyes narrow. “Twelve. Search his room.”

The robot, who’d been standing like a statue by the table, turns and strides away.

“I’m disappointed that you think you’d need a gun,” Nathan says.

“It’s not loaded,” Anselm says.

“Then why bring it at all?” Nathan pushes back from the table.

“For comfort. It’s like a teddy bear to me,” Anselm smiles enigmatically.

Nathan raises his eyebrows briefly. “You can keep it, as long as it’s not loaded. You won’t find any bullets here anyway.” His gaze sweeps over to you. “You bring a teddy bear, honey?”

You cock your head toward Anselm. “Yup.”

Nathan sighs impatiently, but there’s no annoyance. “You two are gross. Quit being so in love before I get jealous.”

“Jealousy isn’t your style,” Anselm says to Nathan.

You look at Anselm. You’d said the same thing to him last night.

From the cocky grin on Nathan’s face, he gets the reference. So he had been listening.

“You two are mind-fuck city,” you say. “How did you guys live out here for like, 3 months together?”

“We had early prototype robots that Nathan built. We found them suitable diversions. Along with each other.”

Nathan’s eyes spark. He rubs his knuckles over his bottom lip. “I still have that machine. The one you asked me to build, but we never got around to using.”

Anselm lets out a low groan. “I think I brought along the perfect test subject for that.”

-

-Part 2 here-

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anselm x reader x nathan- One Weekend (part 2)

Summary: Final part & aftermath of one weekend with Anselm & Nathan. (~7.3k)

Contents: 18+nsfw, sex machine, restraints, orgasm denial, impact play (only once, but fair warning it's Anselm on Birdie), mmf threesome, creampie eating, attempted kidnapping, voyeurism (what a fun group of content warnings, right, gang?)

Part 1 Here

-----

Nathan has you strapped face down on one of his lab tables.

The lights under the glass make it warm, but you feel like a dissection specimen.

Your wrists and ankles are secured with nylon web fabric and paracord.

Anselm bends over and smiles at you. “I had him add padding to the table. For your comfort.”

“That’s very sweet, Anselm, but you’re both still leaving me strapped to a dildo machine for the night,” you say, torn between wanting to thank him for being so thoughtful and wanting to beg to be set free because this was going to be torture.

Anselm pets your head. It’s soothing, even if it is demeaning. Along with the machine you can hear Nathan wheeling in behind you, it’s that’s kind of the whole weekend in a nutshell.

“Don’t worry, Birdie, Nathan and I are taking shifts watching over you. I’ve told him how we play. Let me feel your stop signal,” he says brusquely, putting his hand in yours.

You squeeze his hand three times in quick succession, a safety you and Anselm had set up a long time ago to mean stop. Just once meant everything was fine.

Anselm takes a leather bite gag out of his pants pocket. He shows you the strap, embossed with a flourishing ‘V.’

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” you say.

“Is it made out of the flesh of your enemies?” Nathan says, walking up toward your head to join you and Anselm.

“No. My enemies are useless, even in death,” Anselm says.

Nathan laughs under his breath. He runs his hand up your arm and over your shoulder.

He squats down, which actually brings him slightly lower than you. He has to look up at you over the gold rims of his glasses.

“You ready, sweetheart?” He says.

It almost sounds like he’s actually asking.

Nathan still has that intelligent, over-calculating look in his eyes, but his guard has gone down. Somewhat.

You can’t tell if it’s a move that’s designed to make you think he’s starting to soften up and has feelings, or if that’s how it’s actually starting to shake down.

“I’m ready,” you say in a confident voice.

Anselm gives you a kiss on the lips, soft and slow, before he fastens the rubber and leather strap into your mouth and around your head.

Both of them walk behind you, one on each side, until they disappear from view.

Your legs are spread already, strapped down the back side of the table while the rest of you lays flat. You feel fingers opening you up more, and you moan around your gag when a tongue flicks your clit, dives into you and starts slowly spearing in and out.

You can’t tell who it is.

You don’t know if you care. If you should care. If Anselm would care that you couldn’t tell his mouth and tongue and beard from someone else’s.

It’s almost distressing.

Then a hand lays on your thigh reassuringly and you feel the metal of Anselm’s wedding ring on your skin. The tinge of anxiety you had melts away and you let yourself relax and focus on, nothing, because Anselm stops.

You hear zippers, and you feel yourself get wetter, anticipating whatever they’re going to do with you.

But all you hear is the sound of skin, Nathan groaning faintly.

And then hot spurts of cum, aimed right at your hole. They hit with exact precision before dripping down the insides of your legs. Anselm comes too, adding to what Nathan started, making you more than wet enough for the machine.

Unsatisfied, empty, they leave you waiting until the liquid starts to cool. The hum of the equipment in the room is the only sound for a long stretch of seconds.

Then, you feel the silicone tip of the dildo nestle up against you, making you jump. Slowly, very slowly, it spears into you.

Both Anselm and Nathan are larger, but size isn’t the point.

It moves ever so slightly faster.

The smooth shaft warms quickly in your hungry cunt. You moan, feeling it fuck into you faster, a little faster, just enough to make your breath catch. Your muscles try to create more friction, squeezing around the silicone.

It slows down.

You make a frustrated sound, squeezing again.

It slows down more.

“Works perfectly. Told you,” you hear Nathan say.

“Your craftsmanship was never in question.”

The men walk up either side of the table, each with a white, plastic chair in hand. They set them in front of you, so you can see them and they can see you.

The machine picks up pace again and you let out short moans, trying to keep from letting it stimulate you to the point of contraction. But it feels so good. You bite down into the gag, almost screaming when you squeeze and the machine slows down.

They sit in their chairs. Anselm folds one leg neatly over the other. Nathan leans forward. He pushes up the sleeves of his sweater.

“You probably guessed how the machine works,” Nathan says with a smirk. “The harder you squeeze it, the slower it goes. Every second that goes by, it’s learning your body. It’ll come to a complete stop for as long as it takes to keep you from coming. Then, it’ll speed up until you’re almost there. Repeat, until one of us turns it off.”

“Although it’s meant to deny you what you need, we’re not completely heartless. It will let you orgasm eventually.” Anselm cocks his head at Nathan. “Won’t it?”

Nathan’s eyes never leave yours. “Maybe. Completely random chance. Odds are, you’ll come once tonight. I wouldn’t say your odds are good for more than one, though.”

You whine into the gag.

Nathan’s hooded eyes narrow slightly. “You want to give up? I’d be disappointed if you did.”

“We would be disappointed if you did,” Anselm says, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward to mirror Nathan’s body language. “Nathan built this for me years ago. A thing of beauty. Perfect, exquisite torture. We conceived this machine before I ever knew you, my dear. In the end, it was never meant for anyone but you. And since you’re mine, by law and rights, I have the pleasure of the first shift. Watching you try to squirm in your bonds, trying to come, but unable to reach your goal. I look forward to your tears.”

Anselm sits back in his chair. Nathan reaches over and squeezes Anselm’s thigh.

“I’m going to do some work, take a nap,” Nathan says as he stands. He brushes your cheek with his hand. “Have fun, beautiful.”

*****

Hours later, you’re drooling on Nathan’s fancy table. Every time you exhale, you moan.

He doesn’t seem bothered when he comes back in. Anselm certainly hasn't been, just sitting there, watching you with a smile. Adjusting himself occasionally.

“How’s it going in here?” Nathan asks as he surveys you with his hands on his hips.

“Entertainingly,” Anselm says. He hasn’t spoken to you since Nathan had left.

Your concept of time is nil. It could've been two hours or two days. You’ve given up on anything but being over-stimulated and unsatisfied.

Nathan puts his warm hand in yours and you squeeze it once. He waits, but you don’t repeat the action, you just hold onto him tightly before he lets go.

“Good girl,” he says running a hand over your shoulder.

He drops into his chair and you swing your glassy eyes up to look at him.

Your muscles have gone slack. The machine is stopped now, having gotten you so close, you'd started to feel that electric thrill, primed to come from where the dildo had been steadily fucking you.

And then nothing had happened. Ripped away, out of your grasp.

You whine at Nathan. You can’t help it.

“Fucking adorable.” He leans forward, looks at your pathetic face. His eyes are more engaged than you’ve seen them before, dilated and anticipatory. “I’m going to take off your gag.”

“Nathan,” Anselm warns him.

“What? I want to hear her moaning. I want my dick sucked. Why do you care?” Nathan’s hand reaches for you but Anselm slaps it away.

“A word.” Anselm rises stiffly and stalks out of the room.

For a second, you think Nathan’s going to take off the gag. Like even though you’d given him the okay signal, he’s not sure about this anymore.

You hear Anselm snap his fingers. Nathan’s eyes break reluctantly away from yours as he leaves.

The machine starts again.

*****

“You’re a terrible dom,” Anselm says to Nathan once they’re in the hallway alone.

Nathan crosses his arms. “The fuck machine that I built by hand means that my work speaks for itself.”

Anselm pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “It’s not about equipment and furniture. It’s about here.” He pokes his finger at Nathan’s chest. “You lack commitment. You’re a pushover. Trust me, my Birdie can tell.”

“Her brain’s leaking out her vagina as we speak. I don’t think-“

Anselm cuts him off. “You are wrapped around her finger. The balance of power shifted completely when you walked in. She’s dom’ing you and you don’t even realize it.”

Nathan leans his head back, offended. “It’s a fucked up thing to brag about, but manipulation is kind of my thing. I’d know if someone was trying to outsmart me.”

Anselm smiles cryptically at Nathan.

One of the reasons they’d made a good team was that Nathan suppressed all of his passions and Anselm let his run free. It made Anselm feel as if they were covering each others’ blind spots. Now, he wonders if he hasn’t been looking at this entire thing the wrong way.

“In so many ways, you’re a fool. I’ve always said so.” He tucks his hands in the pockets of his suit pants. “She’s not trying to outsmart you. She doesn’t have to do anything but exist. You’re the one trying to gain her approval, and therefore, you would have freed her before she’d even asked. Clever of her, to have lured you in like that. But give her an inch and she will take your entire soul.”

Nathan scratches his head. “You’re so fucking obsessed with this woman. I’m running a brain scan on you.”

Anselm laughs under his breath. “Run one on yourself while you’re at it.” He puts his arm around Nathan’s shoulders. “Let’s cut this portion of the evening short. Get her cleaned up and rested. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Nathan resists, but Anselm pulls him into a hug.

“Stop,” Nathan says, arms still folded as he stands like a statue. “Let me sit and watch her for a couple hours. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”

Anselm steps back, assessing Nathan from top to toe. “What will you do when left alone with her?”

“I don’t know,” Nathan shrugs.

“I thought you knew everything,” Anselm says with a half-smile.

Nathan doesn’t respond, but Anselm knows what he’s thinking.

Nathan Bateman’s always plotting something. Everyone is a means to an end. The fact that Nathan has no plan speaks volumes.

He’d only wanted to enjoy himself.

An attitude that Anselm admires, but one he’s sure is making Nathan rethink everything.

Twelve carries you back to Nathan’s room, while Nathan himself puts away the machine.

Anselm has Twelve lay you on the bed, not into the waiting bath. Not yet.

You’re half-awake, body exhausted. You’d been edged longer than this, but never so brutally. Anselm sits next to you, bending so his beard and lips kiss your neck.

“He’s as taken with you as I thought he’d be,” he whispers.

You only hum, rolling on your side so your hips can press against him. Anselm rubs your thigh.

“You want release, don’t you?” He says.

“Yes,” you say, the word coming out desperate and needy.

He clucks his tongue, fingertips curling toward your center. Your muscles shudder under his touch.

“Your jaw and joints ache from the restraints. Your cunt would come the very second my fingers entered you. Wouldn’t she? Tell me.”

“Yes, Anselm,” you chase his fingers with your pulsing heat.

“Be still,” Anselm says quietly, but firmly.

He brushes his knuckles across the sticky, wet mess between your thighs. You shiver. He cups between your legs, too softly. The warmth is tantalizing, but there’s not enough pressure or movement for your body to feel anything but more torture.

You know you shouldn't move, but your brain isn't in charge anymore. You can't think beyond what your body needs, as much as you'd like it to.

Your hips shift.

Anselm’s hand jerks away and cracks down on your thigh. You cry out, eyes opening.

“You will behave,” Anselm says, his tone telling you he’s not joking. “You can feel what you’re doing to Nathan. Your whimpering and begging almost spoiled our fun. Luckily for you, I’ve been doing this long enough to know when one’s tactics must switch.”

Anselm parts your legs and you lay on your back. He does nothing but look his fill, though. “I want to put myself inside you so much right now. It seems, however, that I’m the only one with any self control around here.”

“Anselm, please.” Your hand moves toward your cunt, out of your control. He hates whining, but you can't help it.

Anselm’s hand slaps across your cheek. Not hard enough to bruise, but it stings. It also brings you back to yourself. As he knew it would.

He gets off the bed, leaving you wanting, but at least able to think through the haze of arousal. He straightens his tie, then holds out his hand to help you up.

“Take a bath. Do not get off or you’ll spend the rest of the weekend with metal clamps on your most sensitive parts. I’d rather not have to actually hurt you,” Anselm says.

He pats your ass as you leave, your exhaustion rendering you quiet and polite.

Anselm looks at the camera mounted on top of Nathan’s bank of monitors. A little pin-prick of green light stares back.

He nods his head at it, as if to say, That’s how it’s done.

*****

Sunday morning

Anselm’s hands wake you. Appropriate since it's exactly what you’d been dreaming about.

He slides them over your sleepy, warm skin, dipping his fingers between your legs the moment you stir.

After yesterday, your body is still primed and ready to snap. All Anselm has to do is finger you, rub your clit gently with his thumb.

Your moans wake Nathan. You ride Anselm’s fingers as he sinks them deep inside of you. Nathan's at your back, kissing your neck. He wraps an arm around you to play with your nipples, twisting and pulling softly. His hard, naked cock rests in the crack of your ass and Nathan fucks himself against you steadily.

Anselm kisses you once he feels you start to tighten around him, so his tongue can lap at your open mouth when you come. You almost sob, your hands holding onto him, fingers digging into his skin.

Nathan shudders against your taut body. Hot cum coats your lower back, running down your skin and onto the sheets.

“Nathan, lay with your head near the end of the bed,” Anselm says, moving you so you lay over him, face-down the other direction, once he does.

You bend automatically to put Nathan’s softening cock in your mouth, but he pulls your hair hard to stop you. You’ve noticed he’s sensitive after he comes.

Nathan seems to know that you’re not in this position for a simple 69.

He raises his head so his tongue can reach between your legs, bury itself until you’re clutching the sheets. He sucks gently, then licks your clit.

He doesn’t stop licking you, even when Anselm lifts your hips slightly and you you feel the familiar push of his cock splitting you open. Your legs shake when Nathan licks gently where your skin is stretched around Anselm.

Once Anselm’s as deep as he can go, he pauses, letting Nathan bring you another orgasm with his mouth. You work yourself over Anselm, your body driven solely by the need to come again. You hear Nathan licking skin, but it isn’t you. The thought makes you so wet you're sure it's all over Nathan's face. Anselm’s hips roll against you.

Anselm moves faster, his head bending near your ear. “One more. Be a good girl. Take everything from me and then Nathan’s going to eat it straight out of you.”

Anselm’s chest is sweaty. It mixes with Nathan's cum on your back, a sticky, hot mess. Nathan’s mouth tries to keep up with Anselm pounding into you. You clench down hard around Anselm, practically screaming for him to come in you.

He does, holding your body tightly to him, praising you for doing so well, coming so beautifully, giving him so much pleasure. He fills you quickly, then pulls out abruptly and lets your hips drop to Nathan’s waiting mouth.

Nathan laps at you, groaning. His lips close around your cunt and he sucks gently. You sob and hold tightly onto the sheets, knowing better than to pull away, even though it feels like too much.

You can’t come again, but you know Nathan won’t stop until you do. You lay your head on his hip and relax just enough so that the next time Nathan’s tongue swipes inside of you and his facial hair grinds on your clit, your body goes over the edge one, last time. You feel like you hold your breath for an eternity, waiting for Nathan to finish eating you out, and for your body to come back down.

You’re both out of breath. You disentangle yourself from Nathan.

His head is almost off the end of the bed. He looks as fucked out as you feel. He licks his lips, but his beard and face are a mess.

“You okay?” You ask him.

He lays his forearm over his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Give me minute.”

You look at Anselm, but his eyes tell you not to worry.

You run your hand over Nathan’s shaved head, scratching it gently as Anselm opens the bedroom door. Twelve comes in with a tray of green smoothies and ice water.

Nathan watches it with one eye. “I’d tell you I don’t allow eating in the bedroom, but I’d be a hypocrite.”

“There’s a proper breakfast out on the deck when we’re ready,” Anselm says. He hands you a glass of ice water. “The whole thing, my love.”

You drink half, pausing to look at Anselm with a raised eyebrow. He seems distracted. You want to know what he's thinking.

He looks at you and Nathan, sprawled on the bed together. It’s then that you see Nathan’s eyes are open again. He’s staring at you.

“What?” You say, looking back and forth between them. “Neither of you can possibly be getting hard again for a least four to six hours, so why are you both looking at me like that?”

Anselm walks away toward the bathroom. He leaves the door open, but you hear the sink running.

Twelve hands Nathan a smoothie and he sits up to drink it. “Why don’t you and Twelve go out on the deck,” he says to you, but he’s looking at Anselm.

“No,” Anselm says decisively, the water shutting off, “I don’t make decisions without her. I’m insulted you would even ask.”

“Fucking relax,” Nathan says before downing the thick, green liquid in one long gulp. He gets up and tells Twelve to leave.

The room smells like sex, but the air is heavy with something else too.

Anselm dries himself with a towel as walks past Nathan. He picks up his clothes and starts to get dressed.

It's like they're avoiding each other.

Nathan grabs his glasses from the desk so he can focus on you. “If you’re as smart as I think you are, then you know we have a problem.”

Anselm’s hands rest on a console table, his back to the room. His head turns just a fraction, enough that you can tell what he’s thinking.

I told you so, he says.

“Stay the week,” Nathan says. He sounds logical, but you can tell he’s being gnawed by something. “Stay a month. Fuck. Stay.”

Your shoulders sag.

Nathan holds up a hand, like he’s negotiating as much with himself as with you. “Just until this can burn itself out.”

Anselm chuckles, deep and humorless. “An idiot and a fool.”

Nathan doesn’t appreciate that. His hand grips the edge of his desk so hard his fingertips are white. “Fine. She can stay. You can leave without her,” he snaps back.

The thing about Anselm is that for all of his homicidal temper tantrums, all his impatience and irritation, usually it only lasts long enough for him to shoot someone.

He gets mad. He gets over it.

But what you see on Anselm’s face and body language now isn’t blind rage. It’s cold and scary. Nothing you’ve seen before. Then again, no one but Nathan would ever have the balls to suggest separating you and Anselm.

When Anselm speaks, his voice is low and quiet, like a blade he wants to slice through Nathan’s neck. “If you imply anything like that again, I will kill you.”

Nathan, to his credit, doesn’t back down. He gets calmer actually. “Maybe she wants to stay.”

Anselm’s beard twitches. “This is not a game anymore, Nathan. She is not one of your robots, who only has the opinions you give her. Birdie, my love, please speak for yourself.”

“I’m sorry, Nathan,” you say as gently as you can.

Your heart breaks a little when you see the disappointment on Nathan’s face. He breathes out of his nose.

“I overestimated you two,” he says before he pivots and leaves the room, not bothering to put on clothes.

Before you can even cover your face with your hands, Anselm is there, putting his arms around you.

“This entire thing is my fault,” he says.

“No, I’m the one who made you come out here. I know you can’t say no to me.”

Anselm smiles good-naturedly, his earlier mood dissolving. “I’ve never seen Nathan make a mistake until now. He thought he could divide us.”

“He doesn't, though. He wants us both,” you say, not understanding.

“Yes, but you’ve caught him by the feelings and he’s not used to it. He knows he can’t convince us to stay, but he’ll try just about anything.”

“Yeah,” you agree slowly, “plus, you called him an idiot and a fool.”

Anselm’s brown eyes blink at you before he starts laughing.

“I’m fond of him. What can I say? Although, you do know that we’ll have to leave today, yes? As soon as we can pack our things.” His smile fades. “I arranged to have a helicopter touch down in the landing field at noon, yesterday and today, in case we needed to go home ahead of schedule. I’m sure Nathan knows, but we’ll still have to convince him to say goodbye early.”

“We? Uh-huh, sure,” you say, noting the look on his face, “and I’m guessing that’s my job?”

Anselm shrugs. “I think he likes you better.”

*****

Nathan’s in gym shorts doing deadlifts at an unhealthy pace. Sweat beads down his neck and soaks the top of his sleeveless t-shirt.

You knock on the open door of his weight room.

“I don’t want to fucking talk to you,” he grunts.

“I gave you a whole 30 minutes to be mad,” you say, breezing in and sitting down on a padded workout bench.

You and Anselm had packed your things and put them by the front door. Anselm’s sitting in the living room with Twelve.

The weights clank and slam together when Nathan drops them on the floor. He wipes his forehead with the hem of his shirt.

“You don’t want to leave right now,” Nathan says. “You might not think the sun shine’s out of my ass like you do with Anselm, but I know you’re not ready to give this up yet.”

“I don’t think the sun- well, okay, maybe I do a little,” you say honestly. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you too. I would stay for longer, but when it comes to safety, I trust Anselm more than I trust myself.”

Nathan puts his hands on his hips, his eyes like laser beams on your face.

You realize you shouldn’t have used the word ‘safety.’ It’s given him something to latch onto. Something to base an argument around.

“Don’t listen to Anselm. I’m not holding you here against your will,” Nathan says.

“He didn’t say that.”

Nathan walks toward you. “Maybe not with words, but half your conversations with him are nonverbal. He thinks I’d pull some shit and keep you locked up here. I'd fuck you so stupid you wouldn’t even try to leave.”

You sigh and look away from him.

“I know that I’m not a big believer in the law. It doesn’t adapt fast enough. It’s too conservative.” He pushes his glasses up. “Look, all of my crimes are white-collar. I’ve never kidnapped anyone, killed anyone. I didn’t build an empire on trafficking illegal goods.”

“Neither did Anselm,” you say angrily at him.

“Semantics,” Nathan says, rolling his eyes. “You know what I mean. Just because his hands are cleaner now, that doesn’t mean he wasn’t covered in some of the worst shit in the world back in the day.”

You try to stand, but Nathan’s hand presses down on your shoulder, pushing you back down to sit.

“If he was really worried about your safety, he would’ve sent you to me a long time ago. This is the safest fucking place in the world. The whole thing is a sandbox, technologically yes, but also physically. It’s so far removed from anything that could ever hurt you.”

You know he doesn’t want you to stay to keep you safe. He’s just trying to twist you in knots. Does he think you’re stupid enough to fall for it? Or is he so desperate he’s grasping at straws?

You shove his hand off of you. “I’m a criminal too. You do realize that, right? Being the head of the Vogelweide family isn’t just a figurehead title. And I killed Anselm’s ex-girlfriend because she cheated on him more than 10 years ago.”

“Claire?”

You look up at him. “What? You know her?”

“No, but Anselm came here not too long after that whole incident,” Nathan says, backing away. He rubs his face, calming down. His are still burning-hot, though. “You know that’s what you’re really doing here, right? He feels like he owes me for helping him put his life back together afterward. He wants me to know he’s not that guy I knew anymore. Maybe he’s trying to fix me too.”

You stand quickly, wrapping Nathan in a hug, even though he's a little sweaty. You know he needs it. It takes him a second to return it.

“He knows it’s not his job to fix you. You’re not broken,” you say.

Nathan’s big hands hold you tightly. He doesn’t want to let you go, ever. He kisses your neck softly, then along your jaw. You stop him from kissing your mouth though, drawing your line in his sandbox.

He lets you go, but keeps his hand in yours. He pulls you to the living room, where Anselm and Twelve are sitting on the couch having a one-sided, fruitless conversation.

Anselm’s trying to get the robot’s opinions on ties. Twelve has none. Ties or opinions. Also, no vocal response capabilities.

Anselm smiles from his seat. “All set, my love?”

You squeeze Nathan’s hand. “Yes, but maybe we can come back some time?”

“I look forward to it,” Anselm says, wiggling his eyebrows. “Although with all the extra rooms in this place, I’m very disappointed that you don’t have at least the basic themes set up.”

Nathan shrugs. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Prison cell, classroom, doctor’s office, apocalypse, vampires,” Anselm frowns. “But I’ll send you a longer list. We do expect great things from our next visit.”

“Yeah, about that,” Nathan says slowly. He lets go of your hand with a regretful look. “Twelve?”

The robot stands stiffly and marches over to the security panel by the front door. He pokes a metal finger in the side. It blinks two words: lockdown mode. Mechanical clicks echo in the living room. You see the lights in the elevator flash red.

Anselm’s face is still friendly and smiley, but your hand raises automatically to slap the back of Nathan’s head. He stops it easily with his arm.

“Cut that shit out. Violence is never the answer,” Nathan says.

“Oh, you are cruising for a bruising, Bateman.”

He looks at you patiently. “Give me 3 days. You’ll start to see things my way. You both will.”

You clench your fists tightly, trying to hold back your temper. “If you don’t unlock this house-“

“What?” Nathan says, his voice cutting and intimidatingly loud. “You can’t do anything about it. No one knows you’re here. No one knows I’m here. I promise, I won’t keep you forever, but I need this. I need you.”

“This isn’t the way to do it.” Your hands relax and you reach for him, but he backs away.

Nathan runs a hand over his head. “I know. I'm sorry, but I already decided.”

Click

You look over and Anselm’s gun is resting on his thigh, pointed at Nathan.

“It’s not loaded,” Nathan says.

“Are you sure?” Anselm says smoothly. “Your reliance on technology is a weakness, Nathan. You think it can predict everyone’s next move, that it knows everything. But if it did, then it would have told you: compared to the things I’ve already done to keep this woman happy and safe, shooting you would be like handing her a tissue for a nosebleed. Something easily done, to remedy a minor inconvenience, and soon forgotten.

“So, my friend, do you really think your technology can out think me? Because I’ve been predicting human nature without assistance for decades now.”

Anselm leans forward, the metal of his brace squeaking loudly.

You look at it, then at him.

Nathan folds his hands under his biceps. He stares at Anselm for a few seconds.

“Twelve, release,” Nathan says quietly.

Twelve leaves the security panel and the house goes back to its normal, peaceful state. Anselm decocks his gun.

“I had to try,” Nathan says, like nothing happened.

“No, you didn’t. You were just being a dick.” You shove his shoulder.

The corners of his mouth lift. “I won’t do it the next time you visit.”

He looks at you from over the frames of his glasses. You don’t respond. He raises an eyebrow.

“I’m pissed at you,” you say, looking away.

“You’ll be back,” Nathan says with authority.

He reaches out a hand to help Anselm off the couch and they hug, Anselm giving Nathan’s ass a squeeze. A kiss on the cheek and a few quiet words.

“Come here, honey. Let me say goodbye to you,” Nathan says to you, a grin ghosting on his lips.

You don’t move a goddamn muscle.

Anselm holds out his hand. “Don’t be rude, my dear.”

You give them both a dirty look.

Nathan gives Anselm an ‘I got this,’ look. He walks over and rests his face against yours. His hands are like iron manacles on your arms.

“You think I showed you a softer side this weekend, but I knew what I was doing. I know you have a weakness for men who have a weakness for you.” He brushes his beard against your cheek. “If Anselm wasn’t here, I’d have Twelve drag you down to my bedroom and you wouldn’t see sunlight for four weeks. That’s how long I figured it would take me condition you to be my drooling, stupid, fuck hole. I’d keep you in a cage and Anselm could come visit you like you were an animal at a petting zoo.”

You lean back a fraction, just enough to look Nathan in his eyes.

He’s not someone who makes empty threats, but you’ve also learned that most of what he say isn’t threatening. It’s a test. Or, it was.

Now, you get the feeling that he’s testing himself. Getting a feel for whatever actual emotions he’s letting himself have. That he’s saying things to get a reaction from you, so that he can react in turn. Not just studying and analyzing, but letting himself have actual, human connection. A messed up one, sure, but a connection nonetheless.

“That could be fun,” you say with a smile.

Nathan huffs out a laugh. “Such a pervert. Unfortunately for me, it turns out, I think you’re interesting. I think you’re worth keeping just like this.” His fingers touch your face. “Don’t make me regret letting you go. Or next time, I won’t.”

He hugs you hard and you hug him too, tucking your face into his neck, smelling that mix of fresh air, sweat, and metal that’s uniquely Nathan.

You wonder if you chartered a helicopter to bring you out here next month, if it would all be gone. The house, the underground bunker, Nathan. If it would be nothing but virgin forest. Deer drinking out of the river that used to run under the house. Not a scrap of refined metal or plastic for hundreds of miles.

It makes you not want to leave.

Anselm’s hand wraps around your waist. “I promise both of you, we’ll come back.”

You turn your head to look at Anselm, resting it on Nathan’s muscled shoulder. “Once a fiscal year?”

Anselm smiles. “Yes, my love. If that’s what you wish. Oh,” he says quietly, the knuckles of his other hand brushing a tear away from your cheek, “this must be the first time anyone’s cried in anything but gratitude for leaving Nathan’s presence.”

You almost laugh, pulling away from Nathan.

Nathan just shakes his head at Anselm. “Okay, asshole, take your wife and leave already.”

He walks you to the front door.

As soon as you and Anselm cross the threshold outside, he shuts it behind you. You hear it lock.

As Twelve drives the truck away, taking you back to the empty field where the helicopter waits, you’re sad that Nathan isn’t at any of the big windows. You’d wanted one, last glimpse of him.

Anselm holds your hand on the drive.

The unmanned helicopter sits in the field. Twelve loads the bags and you breathe in the fresh air as much as you can.

Twelve stands next to Anselm as he helps you climb into the helicopter.

“Bye, Twelve,” you say to the blank, robot face. “I’m going to miss you.”

Twelve shifts, putting a mechanical hand on the side of the helicopter. Like it’s asking you not to leave. Its other hand is on the doorway. The fingers dig in. The slight sound of denting metal hits your ears.

Anselm reaches into his jacket and pulls out his gun. He shoots Twelve in the head. Twice.

Your ears ring and you look down at the still body on the ground. Fluid leaks out of the orb that was Twelve’s head.

Anselm signals the helicopter to start and hops inside next to you.

“Nothing is a simple robot with Nathan. He’s been trying to get me to bring Twelve home with us ever since we arrived. It’s too advanced. I fear what Nathan would do by proxy. He has impulse control issues about certain things,” he says to you through the microphone once you both have your ear protection on.

“Poor Twelve,” you say.

“Please don’t anthropomorphize the machines, Birdie. It doesn’t feel suffering. I’m sure Nathan will fix it for our next visit.”

He puts his arm around you and pulls you close.

“How did you get bullets into the house?” You ask him.

Anselm shrugs. “I always have bullets in my brace. Emergency back-up. It’s why I wear it even on days when I don’t need it. I thought you knew that.”

You look down at his leg. “What? No, I didn’t know that. What else do you have on there?”

“Not much. A bottle opener, knife, garrote. I thought if I had to wear it, then it should at least be multi-task,” Anselm says.

“Is that why you won’t let me put stickers on it?”

“Yes, the glitter hearts and skulls were charming, but they would have hindered its functionality.”

The helicopter takes off, lifting you high above the beautiful landscape.

Anselm had said spending time with Nathan would be spectacular. He was right. Your body’s exhausted, but happy. No permanent marks on the outside, but Nathan Bateman has left plenty of them on your heart.

You snuggle closer to Anselm, happy to be heading home.

*****

Anselm’s been in his office all morning. You’re in yours.

The mansion has been quiet. You and Anselm had done nothing but kiss this morning.

Post-vacation blues have hit hard in the days since your weekend with Nathan.

There’s a knock on the door and Anselm walks in

“Mid-afternoon snack, my dear?” Anselm says.

“If you’re the snack, then yes. Oooh, is that a tie with flowers? That’s romantic,” you say.

You get up and join Anselm on the small sofa in your office. He smooths a hand down the pretty patterned fabric of his tie.

“I felt I had to compete in some small way. Nathan hasn’t stopped sending you gifts.” He gestures to the elaborate bouquet of ferns and flowers that had arrived this morning. A tiny, plastic version of Twelve had been stuck inside of it (complete with two fake bullet holes in the head). It’s sitting on your desk now, after you’d had Godzilla check it for a camera.

Yesterday Nathan had sent bedsheets like the ones he has in his room and a thousand sticky notes. In case you wanted to recreate his bedroom at your house, his e-mail had said.

Andre rolls in with his tray, two ice cream sundaes with long-handled silver spoons sticking out of the top.

You hand Anselm his and then take yours, petting Andre’s head lightly. Anselm gives you a look.

“He’s like a pet, so let me pet him,” you say. You dig your spoon into the ice cream. “Nathan’s using Andre to spy on us, right?”

“Most definitely,” Anselm agrees. “But Andre’s capabilities are limited to serving.”

You lick your spoon and tap it on his head.

“Hey, Andre,” you say to the screen that shows Andre’s pixel eyes and smile. “Maybe next time I go visit your maker, we can limit his capabilities to just serving. What do you think?”

Andre’s face blinks out, then reappears with a winky face. “Yes, Birdie, man,” the mechanical voice states.

“Ma’am,” you correct him. “Now that I know Nathan’s so involved in Andre’s life here, I’m a kind of peeved that he’s so glitchy. It took 3 tries for his name to even show up right on the little screen. And for him to stop calling me Birbie, with 2 B’s.” You look at Andre.

Andre’s face blinks back to its vacant stare. There’s a bit of white-noise from the speaker at the front of his body.

“Anselm won’t let me fix him,” Nathan’s voice says from Andre’s body.

You inhale, mouth wide open. You look at Andre, then at Anselm. Back and forth.

Anselm’s studying his sundae carefully. “Nathan, we agreed-“

“Yeah, but now that I know her, you can’t expect me to stay quiet.” Nathan’s voice is tinny and strange.

Anselm looks at you apologetically. “Andre’s camera is always on. Nathan’s computer system scans constantly for potential threats to your safety. Of course, I knew Nathan himself could control Andre, but we had a gentleman’s agreement that he wouldn’t use it for anything inappropriate.”

You hear Nathan snort. “I’m not a gentleman and you haven’t been appropriate a day in your life.”

“He’s got you there,” you say to Anselm, eating your sundae and thinking it over.

“You mad, sweetheart?” Nathan asks.

“I guess it’s okay,” you say with a sigh. “It’s only fair. You’re out there all alone. If you want a snuggle or a fuck, you have to build a machine yourself. I don’t mind you watching if Anselm doesn’t.”

He licks a drop off ice cream off his thumb. “Now that you know Andre is actually Nathan, perhaps you won’t make him leave the room during our various activities. Perhaps you’d let me slather the rest of this sundae over your breasts and lick it off. Eat the cherry from the inside of your delicious cunt.” Anselm gazes lovingly at your body. “And if Nathan can agree that you are, indeed, perfect, then he can stay and watch.”

You roll your eyes. “He doesn’t have to say that. This isn’t a cult.”

Anselm frowns. “You know I don’t like to disagree with you, my love, but I’d never let someone enjoy you who doesn’t truly appreciate the gift they’re being given.” He pokes Andre’s white, plastic body with the toe of his shoe. “Say it.”

A gigantic sigh resonates through the speaker. “I don’t believe in perfection. It doesn’t leave any room for improvement.”

Anselm raises an eyebrow. “If you’re suggesting there’s room for improvement in my dear Birdie, then the next time we visit, I’ll shoot you first thing. Perhaps you think she’d look better bathed in a mixture of your blood and soft tissues.”

“Yikes,” you mutter, “he’s really mad.”

Nathan growls in frustration. “Okay. Look, how about this? Other than that thing at the end where I went all crazy… last weekend was perfect. I’d kind of made my peace with spearheading the destruction of humanity, but if you two come out once or twice a year, I think I’ll have to slow down the inevitable.”

“Hooray, we’ve saved the human race with sex,” you throw up your hands in a sarcastic celebration.

“I said delayed,” Nathan grumps. “Now, take off your clothes and lay down. I don’t want to see Anselm lick ice cream off your boobs. I want to see you squirm when you get brain freeze through your clit.”

“Is that a thing?” You start to undress.

“I guess we’ll find out,” Nathan says. “Oh, and I fixed Twelve. A few improvements. He’s gonna look that guy from that TV show you like. Or. Guys, I guess. You’ve streamed the thing like, three hundred times, so I guessed you had a thing for him.”

Anselm looks at you from under his dark eyebrows.

You’d truly thought being with Anselm had cured you of ever being embarrassed again. But Nathan looking into your internet activity is apparently still a little mortifying.

“I don’t know if I can make him fly," Nathan continues, "but I can definitely do the costume thing with the cape, and the mask with the glowing eyes-“

“Stop talking,” you say to Nathan.

“I refuse to give him a Cubs hat though, just on principle.”

Anselm folds his arms. “How fascinating.”

You redo the clothes that you'd started taking off. “You know what? I’m going downstairs for awhile.”

Anselm nods. “That’s fine. I think I’ll stay here with Nathan. I’d like a hand in plotting whatever this is. You naughty girl, I had no idea you harbored a fantasy that you hadn’t told me about.”

“I didn’t. It’s not- I’m really not- It's nothing,“ you say, flustered. “Forget it. Bye Nathan. Anselm, I’ll see you at dinner.”

You leave them in your office, Anselm and Andre/Nathan, cackling like old women over a fictional man. You try to be irritated, but you can’t.

They’re just too adorable, the two of them.

And you’re very interested in how their little project turns out.

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NOT gentle reminder that Abed Nadir’s father is canonically Palestinian, his grandfather lived in the Gaza strip, and his cousin Abra visits from Gaza in season one. You can not be a Community fan and a supporter of Israel.

Foaming at the mouth. Genuinely

hi ivy!!!!

congratulations on the anniversary, I think you’re doing amazing and I’m really impressed with the frequency at which you put out stories

Could you please write me some thing super soft with Santi? That’s my baby. Maybe something smut but loving and communication, ys know, LaL style

love you

When You Come Back Home

"But on really good days, you get a picture of him."

Awww hey bb, you are so sweet. ILY! The muse has been kind lately - you know it ebbs and flows, so it's always nice to catch up. (Until I went on vacation, that is)

Yes ofc Santi is your baby, I'm so honored you trust me to write something soft, especially mentioning the amazing LAL! Leather and Lace is sooo good and you're a genius at world building.

Word Count: 3.9k

Santiago x f!reader, fluff, married life, flirting, dirty talk, lingerie, oral, fingering, p in v, language, absolute smitten husband!Santiago

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Gazing listlessly out the window, you idly pass your off day, waiting for word from your husband. Despite the ease electronic communication provides you, Santiago writes you letters, and sends polaroids. It may be the thing you love about him most - he wants you to have something tangible when he's not there to hold you, kiss you and gaze into your eyes.

Your collection of polaroids covers the side of the fridge, top to bottom, the bulletin board behind your bedroom door, you have a few on the bathroom mirror and even a couple in your car. Most of them tell the story, through scenery, of each and every place he's visited or worked.

But on really good days, you get a picture of him.

Santiago practically vibrates with energy - always on the move, ready for a mission or an adventure. When he's home, he inevitably takes on a project, hosts an entertaining barbecue, whisks you away to a special trip, and his stamina is no less vigorous when he gets you alone, between the sheets.

The mail truck rumbles around the corner onto your street, nudging you out of idleness. You rise to your feet, ready to collect the mail the moment the truck pulls up to the next driveway. Your bare feet hit the sizzling Florida pavement, hurrying you toward your destination.

But there is no letter, not today.

Slightly deflated, you rush back inside, grateful as the air conditioning kisses your skin. That's the thing about snail mail: it's unpredictable, which makes receiving it such a delight. Oh well, at least you'll be able to see your husband's face later when he calls.

Shuffling to the kitchen, you pour yourself some fruit infused water, rolling your eyes at how quickly the Florida heat can parch your throat.

Then you hear the front door open. The voice of your husband almost makes you drop your glass.

"Oh my god, Santi!" You screech, rounding the corner and flying into his waiting arms.

"Heyyy, mi cielo," he breathes against your ear as he holds you close. He's not a tall man, but he's a solid wall of strength - his forearms flexing along the curve of your back as he molds your body to his.

"How...are you here?" You gasp, sinking your fingers into the thickness of his salt and pepper curls.

"Home early," he states the obvious. "Missed you too much." His mouth chases after yours, tasting your soft lips one at a time. The heat of his breath melts you in his embrace, and it occurs to you that this experience far surpasses a new Polaroid.

"Let me take you out tonight, bebécita," he hums against your mouth between kisses. "Got you something pretty to wear."

You assume he's brought you a dress, but it's something much more...shiny.

"Don't ask me where it came from. I don't think you want to know," he cryptically warns, earthy eyes sparkling with a playful glimmer.

"Please tell me there were no drug lords involved," you half joke as he fastens a gorgeous diamond bracelet around your wrist. "Florida is way too close to all that shit."

"No drug lords. I promise." He grins, kissing your mouth for good measure.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Music pulses, colorful lights flash - the tang of alcohol fills the air. Santiago's hips move expertly to a familiar tune, the Spanish lyrics energizing the delicious Bachata he leads. You gladly follow, feeling success as a dancer, simply by matching his movement and energy.

Spinning you a few extra times to show you off, Santi grins as you laugh delightedly. You tend to recharge with alone time, but your husband needs this - friends, fun and some sort of action. You gladly give it to him, knowing that when he gets you home, you will have him all to yourself for days on end, with no one to disrupt your bubble.

“Mi cielo," he cinches you tightly against him, the shift of his hips pulsing against yours, urging you to drag him by the collar to a dark corner. "Ready to go?"

You know he's not ready. But he checks in with you, just to be sure, to give you an out.

"Already tired after one dance, Garcia?" You tease, syncing the movement of his body with your own, the motion honestly a tad scandalous for the dance floor. "Thought you wanted to show me off tonight. Me and this mysterious bracelet."

He smiles brightly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with delight as he dips you and finishes the song with a flourish - trumpets wailing as the bongos boom out a fantastic finale.

"They're good," you huff out breathlessly, motioning toward the live band on the stage.

He nods, leading you by the hand toward the bar as the band eases into the next dance - a merengue.

The night goes on this way, with a generous amount of alcohol, a group of your best friends and a few sensational slow dances that have you desperate to get him alone.

During one particularly smooth Rumba, he kisses a trail down the side of your neck, the tequila lowering his inhibitions to a scandalous level. "Ready now, Señora Garcia?" He smoothly husks, working his lips over yours and stealing your breath as his hips once again swirl into yours.

"Si, mi amor," you gush back to him, noticing the sparkle of your bracelet as he leads you outside by the hand.

A ride share carries you safely home, but Santi's long, dextrous fingers have already temptingly edged under the hem of your shirt, anxious for the caress you both crave.

"Behave yourself," you teasingly admonish, swatting his hand away even as he nibbles on your neck, his breath ghosting your skin.

"Can't wait to get you out of this and underneath me," he rumbles on your ear, linking his fingers with yours, simply because there is nowhere else he can put them without earning another stare from the rearview mirror.

"Hey," you whisper, returning the favor by breathing hotly, making him shiver with want. "What makes you think I won't be on top?"

He growls, gripping your chin with his free hand and opening his mouth over yours - the heat of his tongue setting you on fire. You forget, for a few heavenly moments, that you're in the car with a complete stranger.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Stumbling through the front door like teenagers, your husband can't help but manhandle you, shutting the door dramatically before pushing you up against it - his strong hands gripping your hips as he touches his forehead to yours.

"How uncomfortable did we make that driver?" He jokes between lingering kisses to your lips.

"Don't worry, I gave him a good tip," You remind him, locking your wrists behind his neck and arching against him temptingly.

You carry on this way, endlessly kissing, caressing, bodies craving contact at every point. Santi hooks your thigh around his own, thrusting slowly up into the center of you as his free hand slips back underneath your top. “You really wanna do this here, bebécita?” He whispers between kisses.

Santiago is in amazing shape and you’re stupidly in love with him, but gone are the years of sneaking around for wild quickies against doors. Still…it’s tempting.

“Maybe not,” you smile against his lips. “Got something new for you too. Why don’t I go change?”

“Mmm, okay.” Although he agrees, he squeezes your hips, shifting up to rock against you with renewed vigor, lips trailing across your jaw to suck a mark into the flesh of your neck.

“God, baby…” you pant, meeting his thrusts eagerly, dizzy and euphoric from the alcohol and the dancing…and him.

“Missed you so much.” He clambers through the fog of his own lust and pulls you into a protective embrace, helping you stand up straight, so he can take you upstairs, as you requested.

But the world has spun off its axis tonight, and as he takes you by the hand once more, the way he loves to do, you find yourself stumbling down with him on the staircase, giggling like you did when you were younger - when he took your virginity and made you fall in love with him.

“Shit, sorry,” he half apologizes, his legs falling open as you drape your body over his, your thighs spreading wide across his lap.

“Told you I’d be on top,” you cheekily toy with him, shifting your aching core to rub over his obvious erection.

“Fuck…honey,” he growls, done with all the teasing and flirting. He pushes hungry hands under your shirt, feeling you up as his lips chase yours. As his tongue rolls over yours, he moans into your mouth when he feels the softness of your bra. You wore his favorite - the black lace with touches of emerald green satin. He bought it for you overseas - the biggest surprise of all being that he got the right size in a beautiful bra that’s actually comfortable and supportive.

But that’s how Santiago is: observant, beautiful, comfortable, supportive and sexy. Weird to have a bra remind you of your stunning husband but well…

He all but tears the shirt over your head, restraining himself only enough to keep from pulling or otherwise messing up your hair. Santiago is an expert at you. He knows when to push or pull or lead or follow - when to be rough or test your boundaries, and when to protect you and love you softly.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he rumbles, hands reverently steadying you on top of him by your soft shoulders, before he drags them down to cup your lace covered tits. You arch into his expert touch, slowly rocking in his lap, putting on a little show for him.

You’ve changed over the years. Your body naturally isn’t what it was the first time he took you. But Santiago never ceases to make you feel prized and adored and so beautiful. He makes you believe it somehow, even when you silently criticize yourself in the mirror.

So you let him adore you - you’re safe with him as he touches you all over, worshipping your curves and soft, plush places.

“I love you so much,” you breathe out as he nudges at your stomach, attempting to get you to lift up so he can take off your pants.

“Love you too, baby. But I’ll love you more when you’re naked.”

You snort at his cheesy forwardness, realizing he’s a bit more horny while you’re swooning with romance. You are on the stairs, after all. But he’s determined, rolling you beside him and yanking at fabric until you’re bare from the waist down. So much for the matching cheeky panties.

You forget to care that he didn’t mention them when he spreads your legs wide and drags his knuckles through your wet heat. The overexposure you feel dwindles away as he leans over to brush open-mouthed kisses against your stomach. Steadying yourself, you push your fingers through his curls. “This isn’t fair, babe. You’re still completely dressed.”

Peering up at you through endlessly long lashes, he smirks. “I don’t need to be naked to eat you out.”

“Santi,” you gasp in mock surprise, as he quickly and tauntingly kisses a trail down to your core. “What has gotten into you?”

He grins. "That a trick question? Oh shit - "

You watch him wince in pain. "Knees?"

He groans, nodding. "Knees."

"Come here, Papacito," you tease, climbing to your feet and offering him your hand.

The sight of you standing above him on the stairs, naked except for your bra and a sparkling bracelet quickly convinces him to follow.

You rush ahead of him to your bedroom, feeling a dizzy, freeing rush after a night of dancing and foreplay, but so ready to get this man of yours on your familiar, comfortable bed. After ordering him to lie down, you slip into the silky little number you ordered specifically for his next homecoming.

Slithering on top of him, you yank at his belt buckle.

“Just tell me what to do, mi reina. Make it easy for me.” He grins in self-satisfaction.

"I just want you out of these clothes," you fire back, wordlessly working him free enough for you to take hold of.

He groans out something incoherent as you tease the hot, heavy length of him, gliding your hand up and down his shaft.

"Just like that," he pants, his hips involuntarily bucking as you lean over and swirl your tongue all over his tip. "Fuck, I missed that." Slipping his hand around the nape of your neck, he has to restrain himself from thrusting up into your hot, wet mouth.

Santiago knows there's not another woman like you, anywhere. He's traveled over half the world, a couple dozen times over, so he knows. It's not just that you're beautiful. You radiate beauty. The trust you place in him and the freedom you give him to be who he is, to pursue his career, is as much a siren call, luring him back to you every chance he can manage, as it is a steady anchor for him.

As you take him deeper, his breath quickens at the thought of coming down your throat, but somehow, he's distracted by a need to reclaim you. To take possession of your body the way he dreamed of doing on the dance floor. As your lithe body swayed, matching his rhythm, following his lead, he noticed the men devouring you with their eyes.

He would grip your hips tighter, grind against you possessively and trail his lips down the side of your neck, marking you as his own.

But before he can claw his way out of the haze you're literally sucking him into, you pull off his cock with a pop, lips wet and pouting.

"Take these off," you whine, yanking at the waistband of his pants, attempting to pull them down over his thick thighs. "Can't reach all of you."

He surprises you by climbing off the bed to undress completely. With only moonlight spilling in through the bedroom window, he wears the vigor of his last mission on his skin, darker from days in the sun. His toned muscles flex with every motion, fresh bruises and old scars telling the story of his adventurous life.

You're way past giving him a lecture every time he returns home with a new piece of the story etched onto his skin.

Sitting up on the edge of the bed, you stretch out your fingers, tracing a healing bruise just under his ribs, situated beside a small, angry cut. Your eyes lock with his and he nods, letting you know that whoever inflicted this pain is taken care of. You press your lips there, learning the new marks of him, claiming this new part of him as your own.

"Show me where else," you plead, but he's shaking his head, easing down to hover you, his body flexing deliciously as he rolls you underneath him and covers your lips with his.

You moan into his mouth as his hands roam all over the shape of you, just like while you were out dancing, but wilder, more possessive. His tongue licks deeper as he grips your hips, positioning you underneath the hungry thrust of his hips against your thigh.

Your fingers slip around his neck, tenderly fingering the scar from his surgery before sliding into his hair, yanking hard enough to pull his mouth free of yours and earn you an appreciative moan. You yank again, harder, the leverage enabling you to pull your silk-covered breasts flush against the bare heat of his chest.

Slinging one leg around the back of his thigh, you meet his steady grinding eagerly, already panting as he smirks against your cheek.

"You've been wet all night, haven't you?" He teases, tugging your earlobe into his mouth. "All those men watching you dancing, but no one's touching my wife but me."

He sucks a mark into your neck, pushing one hand up your inner thigh, kneading the soft flesh, but stopping short of your aching, wet core.

"Wanted to touch you right here, make you come, soak those pretty panties," he taunts, tracing one finger over your puffy folds.

"Why didn't you?" A pout escapes your lips as you desperately attempt to shift your hips, to chase his fingers for any sort of friction. "Wanna come for you, Santi, show them I'm yours."

At that confession, he slides two thick fingers inside you, curling them forward into your spongy softness, beckoning your hips forward.

"Want me to finger you next time we dance, baby?" He huffs against your lips, rubbing the heavy length of his cock against the slick on your thigh, already dripping from your sopping core. "Wear a pretty dress for me and let me feel you up? You would be louder than the music when you come. Dirty girl.”

Your back arches off the bed at the sound of his voice goading you - something he does often during long distance sex. Your mind briefly drifts to the half dozen times he’s nearly taken you over the edge with his voice alone, uttering filthy things, finally allowing you to touch yourself for some gratification, or at least relief.

Before you can beg him to keep talking, he swipes his thumb over your clit, working a third finger into your hole, expertly coaxing your first orgasm out of you. Your thighs shake, chest heaving as you tremble and shudder around his fingers. “Oh fuck, Santi…so good,” you pant. “Missed you so much.”

Chasing after his lips with your own, you press a tempting kiss to his mouth, licking it open even as he strokes you past overstimulation, smiling into your kiss as you squirm to get away from him.

“Too much?” he grins, nibbling your bottom lip, swirling his middle finger like a cyclone inside you, just because he can.

“No. Want your cock.” You bite his lip and he hisses as you wrap smooth fingers around his hard, leaking length, pushing your thumb roughly over his tip.

Shimmying your hips closer to what you really want, you beckon him forward, rubbing his tip between your folds. But he resists you.

“Say that again,” he murmurs, biting gently on your jaw, then your throat, his hot breath making you tremble with desire.

Twisting your wrist, you work your hand up and down the length of his aching dick. “Want your cock. Want you inside me so bad.” Your tongue swirls inside his ear and he stutters out a gasp, shifting his hips to push his fat tip into your dripping hole.

He moans out your name, thrusting all the way inside. Your warm, wet walls hug him perfectly and he settles in that spot he knows you love. The stimulation and warmth of feeling him flush against you has you desperately rutting against him.

His hand grips your luscious thigh, pushing it up, folding you and opening you wider for him. Shifting his hips, he pumps into you faster, this angle hitting you so deep your head drops to the pillow as you whimper, overcome with how delicious it is to feel your husband, home, in your arms, in your bed, deep inside you where he belongs.

Grunts of pleasure pass his lips as he makes you his again, after weeks of nothing but a blurry, in-and-out video or sometimes, a crackly voice over a satellite phone.

“Don’t know how I ever leave this pussy,” he huffs, his body rolling over yours, spearing you open, molding you to the shape of his cock after so long without it. “That’s it. I fucking quit. I’m gonna spend the next month inside you.”

You know he’s not serious. Not yet anyway, but you love to hear it when he reclaims you like this. How he’ll forget everything else just to spend all his time coming inside you. And oh, does he make up for being gone when he’s home.

"This feels good," he sighs, hands tracing the shape of you through the silky lingerie you're wearing for him. His fingers drag and push the soft fabric until he's taking it over your head, licking his lips at the way your tits bounce as he fucks into you. "You feel better, though."

"Come here," you plead, luring him down all the way on top of you, kissing him wildly as his chest settles against yours. A light sheen of sweat forms between you, slick and hot as you sling your legs all the way around his waist, pulling him harder and deeper, if it's possible.

The thrusting of his tongue inside your mouth almost seems to match his hips and you grip onto him for dear life, holding him so tightly, your bodies rutting faster and harder in one deliciously fluid movement, so in sync you move as one.

The friction against your clit has you on the edge. You're unable to meet his hungry kiss with anything more than a long, breathy moan.

"Come on, baby, I'm so fuckin' close," he rumbles, his rhythm faltering as your walls hug his shaft, fluttering and pulsing, soaking his cock before you shriek in pleasure. Gripping him tighter, so wet and so tight he comes with you, filling you with his warmth, dragging his lips across your shoulder to bury his strangled cry in your neck.

You cradle his head, kissing his cheek, his ear, carding your fingers through his damp curls and whispering how much you adore him as he comes back to himself, finally going still, safe in your arms.

You rest there together, mouths fusing for a languid kiss, bodies joined and sated, sharing one another's breath. Santi holds you so close and you know he needs this. Needs to stay inside you, connected to you, wrapped up together, the heat of your bodies, your sweat and the slick between your legs raw and real and grounding for a man who has seen too much and is gone too often.

This is when Santiago is his most vulnerable, and inevitably makes his way to the question voicing his deepest fear. "Don't let me go."

"Never," you swear, wrapping your arms and legs around him tighter and squeezing him fiercely. "I'll always be right here, you know that."

He feels the slight scrape of your new diamond bracelet against the nape of his neck, toying with the scar from his operation. He knows diamonds won't make up for the fact that he's not here, and he doesn't want to pretend that it means something deep - such as he's with you whenever you wear it.

You're both years past that bullshit now. It's a beautiful piece and it belongs on his beautiful wife - it's that simple.

He asks you every time he comes home, if it's too much. Makes you promise you'll tell him if doubt has crept into the back of your mind. He does it now, and you know what he means.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He kisses you again, his body finally relaxing completely.

"Besides," you tease, "You're going to be inside me for the next month, remember? So neither of us are going anywhere."

He was teasing about that. You know it and he knows it. But now that you say it out loud...

"Yes ma'am." The next mission can wait.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

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