is this a taglist?

he pets you the way animals make a kinship, nuzzling his nose into your face, combing the knots in your hair with his thick fingers. it starts off innocent, but he warms up to you as the days weigh in. his hands explore different places, make marks on your soft skin; knead and scratch your thighs and chest. it was clear what his intentions were as his fingers ghost along your ass and further between your legs. his growls intensifying as your hot breath catches in your throat. he chuckles at your surprise, but he never advanced, only peering down at you with dark eyes, pressing your small body to his broad chest. finding comfort in the warm between your legs, his erection pulsing against your leg.

anything was better than the torture. and morbid curiousity gets the better of you.

eventually you answer his mating rituals, presenting yourself with open legs, bracing yourself for what he had in store. his eyes light up with desire, amused grunts panting out of him as he fumbles with his belt. his cock springs and aligns along your stomach, and all you can think is oh, fuck.

he fucks you like it's mating. stretching your hole with his thick cock, smirking at your fussing. the only goal he has in his primitive mind is to fill you with his load. thrusts hard and slow as his hands pinch your waist, groaning at the feeling of your nails digging into his arms. his cock is deep inside you and there is little chance of release as he ruts into you. his hot breath beating against your body drenched in sweat. his thrusts quicken in pace, alerting you of his climax, until a slick, hot warmth fills your swollen entrance.

Nubbins liked to think the basement was a barn, rooms sectioned for the meat. But one room had more than just meat. Inside was Nubbins’ new best friend.

Sonny flinched as Nubbins entered unannounced, the clank of chains haunting his ears and Nubbins locked the door behind him. Sonny sensed every move they made, tracking their whereabouts. The last few days – no, weeks? Sonny has noticed the wiry guy that caught him in a trap only visits him. As his friends rot in cells, or on meathooks – the man visits him with gifts, food, and a shit eating grin. At least once a day, without fail. But Sonny still cowards in the corner when he enters, unequipped for the day he decides to take him to the slaughter.

“Hey!” Nubbins had all the confidence until he was faced with Sonny. Then he shrivels back into his shell, twitching smirks on his face that he cannot control. Sonny saw he had a lot of tics; face tics mostly. But sometimes he swings his hands too close to his pockets. Where he keeps the knife…

When Sonny didn’t answer, Nubbins lowered himself to his level on the ground, slowly approaching him like wounded prey. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya. I ain’t hurted ya yet, have I?”

You caught me in a trap, asshole. Sonny wanted to say. His ankle still ached, but the guy patched him up before it got infected. Said something about not wanting to spoil prime meat. Sonny levelled to reason with him as best he could. He noticed he’s more calm – even excited when he’s nice to him. Anything to keep him alive, I guess.

Sonny watched his hands carefully as he dug into his furry pouch, pulling out a bone bracelet with a flat hand. Nubbins presented it to Sonny like a peace offering, his twitching smirk spreading into a wide smile.

“I made this for ya,” Nubbins giggled, “Do ya like it?”

Sonny hesitantly took it from his sweaty palm, examining it with careful eyes. His callous, bruised fingers traced along the dry bone. Its fragments were too small to make out where the bones came from. God forbid if it’s–

“You didn’t have to do that,” Sonny forced a smile, finally having the courage to make eye contact with him. Nubbins witnessed the glint in his eye, his brown eyes dark in the lightless room; still shining like they do in the Texan dawn. Nubbins scratched the heat crawling up his neck, averting his eyes in a sheepish manner.

“Sure I did. It- It will go nice with ya other bracelet. Oh – and the necklace!” Nubbins said, “I made it small since you got small wrists. Like me.”

Sonny slid the bracelet along his wrist, feeling the grooves of the bones scrape against his skin. It was true to size, like Nubbins said, and if it wasn’t for the circumstances Sonny would feel flattered.

“Thanks, man,” Sonny slightly choked on his words, replacing the uncertainty with a slight smile.

He liked it. He really did like it. Nubbins was pleased, fiddling with his fingers, filled with so much joy that his body began to rock back and forth like a giddy school girl. Ever since Robert went to Vietnam, Nubbins has been awfully lonely. Like a part was missing from him. For the first time in years, he feels that has been filled. He now has Sonny, who likes his bracelet, and vicariously can like him too. Nubbins sure hopes he likes him like he does.

From the rush, there was no time to survey if the wardrobe could fit you both – with a little legroom for good measure. The door could shut completely, but your body was tightly pressed against Danny’s. His hands rested against either side of the small walls, his hot breath flush against your neck. As your chest rises and falls, you feel Danny’s chest meet your rhythm and bear down your back. His shirt clinging to your top, drenched in sweat. You shuffle your feet as they tremble, threatening to buckle under you, your legs pressing against Danny’s. Your ass brushing along his crotch.

Danny conceals a low groan in the pit of his throat. His fingers claw the wardrobe, fighting the urge to straddle your hips, grind against you – kiss the glistening crook of your neck. Now’s not the goddamn time. I gotta focus…

“Danny, I’m scared,” Your voice was so low the words barely came out. Danny hears you, his shaky breath sending shivers down your spine.

“It’s gonna be alright, sweetheart. Just stay quiet, ok?”

You nod, closing your eyes as your body subconsciously leans into the safety of Danny. The warmth rising between your bodies makes Danny grit his teeth, as he also feels his jeans tighten from the bulge growing between his legs.

You jump out of your skin when the bedroom door is flung open. Danny wraps his arms around you, embracing your panicked state. His hand clasps your mouth to conceal your scream, his callous hands crazing on your face. Even with his heavy-handedness, you relax under his touch, finding the ability to steady your breathing. Watching through the crack, you see the wiry figure of one of the family members sweep into the room – knife in hand.

“Come on, lil piggy, come on.”

Too quick and eager to go digging, the Hitchhiker only does a fast sweep before moving on to the next room, slamming the door on his way out. Danny’s hold on you loosens, resting one hand on your shoulder and the other on your waist.

“That was a close one,” he sighed in relief.

“You think it’s safe to come out?” You ask.

Danny thinks for a moment before nodding. You open the wardrobe doors slowly, cringing at the creak from the rusty hinges. You place one foot onto the floor, another creak echoing through the room as you shift your weight. You come out completely, listening for the noise of the Hitchhiker approaching. Silence, until bustling footsteps grow louder and closer.

You jump back into the wardrobe, throwing Danny back in and shutting the doors. You look him in the eyes, your stare pleading for safety, and Danny rests his hands on your waist. With your bodies now pressed together from the front, it is only now you realise what the friction between you has caused.

With the footsteps descending downstairs, and no one in sight, Danny says, “I think we’re safe now.”

“Danny . . .”

“We gotta find the others. We gotta stick together. Are you ready to go back out?”

“Danny.”

His breath hitches as your body moves against his, the darkness inside concealing your hands reaching towards the waistband of his jeans. Another low groan, this time he cannot conceal, emanates from his gasping mouth. You rub your hand against his clothed erection, staring up at his darkening eyes.

“I- I don’t think we should-”

More noise from outside the room threatens to enter. Danny’s grip on your waist tightens, his hips bucking into your touch sheepishly. Your hands are light and slow. In the heat of panic, you think of the escape plan, to find your friends. But you cannot stop touching him, letting his hands guide your hips against his and grind up and down his leg.

“We gotta stay hidden. They’re still out there,” you whisper an excuse. Anything – anything to keep doing this.

Danny’s hot breath basks your mouth, “Yeah, we should stay put . . .”

He purses your lips between his. His fingers ghost along your bare skin, silencing your breathy moans with each kiss.

Your hand reaches into his boxers, cusping his hardened dick into your hand. Danny swallows back a groan, hissing against your lips.

the reason why julie is not wanting to date is because she comes to the realisation of her sexuality. she realises she likes men because, men tend to like her first, and it's easy to love someone who loves you back (typical fire sign move). and she's never picky, she says she doesn't care about looks; it's more the personality. and that is true but, for a guy if he has good style and funny -- she's settled. then she will see a lassie and think "she is the most ethereal thing i've laid eyes on". the intensity of her love for women compared to men hits her overnight. she lets her love for women shine through her platonic relationships; connie, maria and ana are her first priorities (especially connie). she likes sleepovers, having the illusion of living with a s/o while sharing a bed and making breakfast in the morning. she loves showering her friends in compliments, giving them makeovers, taking any excuse to be close to them and show her adoration. her subconscious desire to be in a relationship with a woman lives vicariously through the platonic relationships she has with her feminine peers.

“Johnny-” you fussed in confusion, “is everything okay?”

“Don’t talk,” he muttered. His face buried in your neck, hands roaming your body.

His hurried state prompted you to ask, “You’re not in trouble are you?”

“I said don’t talk,” it was like a growl, putting you in your place. You stood still, resting your hands on his shoulders, resigning to soothe his tense muscles. He smelled like sand dust and tarmac, out on the road for days, the sun catching his exposed skin that radiated a warmth on your own. You relaxed, feeling the stiffness of his body and accustoming to the firm hold he had on you. He let you read him in that moment, his hands firm on your sides. He inhaled heavily to catch your scent, a sigh in his exhale. It had a twinge of relief. He missed you deeply.

Johnny kissed your neck, meeting your gaze, his stare pouring in your travelling eyes. Your body bends under him as he kisses you. His lips deep within your own, beckoning your tongue to meet his. He backed you up towards the bed, laying you down slowly as his arms caressed your fall. You broke the kiss, shuffling further back into the covers, your eyes still searching him. For meaning on all of this. He was more . . . passionate than usual.

A wave of sadness filled Johnny’s core. He gazed at your features, the angles and curves of your body, landing finally on your eyes. He wanted to smile as his heart beat faster. He wanted to get down on one knee. He could see your adoration as it radiated from you, your arm outstretched to bring him into an embrace. You brought your lips to his ear, a smirk curled on your lips. You thought if you said it as quietly as possible, it cannot count as talking.

“Did you miss me?”

Johnny had one rule. Never fall in love. If he does, he has to deal with it. Forgetting you wasn’t enough. That’s why tonight will be the last night you spend with him. It is why Johnny came prepared. He checked the items in the truck before entering. Knife, rope, gag, gloves, body bag.

he'll sweet-talk you all night at first meeting, not hiding the fact his eyes are wandering in places they shouldn't be. y'know when you wear a tight outfit and the tummy/ass is lined by the clothing? you hate it, but your friends psyched you up, saying how good you look. you're anxious the whole time, thinking everyone is judging you. but johnny can't get enough of it. the way it hugs your figure, showing every curve and dip. he knew right then he's not leaving the bar until he gets a chance to talk to you.

and god does he have a way with words. calling you sweet thing, darling, trying every pet name to see which one makes you blush the most. you like the way he looks at you, but you can't muster the courage to look back, adverting your eyes from bashfulness. johnny feeds off your shyness, but rests his hand on your thigh and gives the skin a gentle squeeze before caressing the side with his thumb.

on the days it's hard to convince you of your worth, danny takes the day slow. he cleans the house, runs you a bath, makes sure you drink water. sometimes on his hard days, he will just sink lower into the bed, arm stretched over you. giving you space, but reminding you of his presence. he is willing to fight the pain and numbness to see to you. he doesn't realise it makes you feel guilty, that he denies his own struggle to see to you. you start to feel like a burden, and your aloofness is apparent. but danny is patient, he knows the feeling all to well.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Either gets sleepy or can go another round, there is no in-between. On the times he doesn’t pass out (and makes you cum multiple times), he takes a piss, runs you a bath and carries you around the house. When he passes out, he invites you to sleep in his arms. His head anchors your chest, snuggled into you like you’re a pillow, and you're trapped in that position until the morning. 

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Tits or ass man? Why not both? This man fucks like his life depends on it. He worships your body and has perfect access to every inch of you when you’re sitting on his lap. His hands grabbing your ass, his mouth kissing, biting, licking your chest and neck. The most taboo body part he likes is the armpits. Inhaling your scent and kissing down your sides, tasting your sweat, the nasty fucker can’t get enough of it.

The most obvious answer for his favourite body part of himself may be obvious, but I don’t think it’s his dick. I say this because he didn’t act smug when Deadshot commented on it. He wasn’t aware it was above average until later in life when he began having sexual partners. He thinks people are overreacting. His favourite part of himself is his chest and arms, mostly due to his tattoos. He’s proud of them and the story they tell. The way to win his heart is by stroking his arms and palming his chest.

But may I suggest your favourite body part on Digger? His nose – riding on it. That’s all I’ll say.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He can shoot a load. It’s thick and white and comes in large quantities. He likes tasting his cum too, especially when kissing you or eating you out after finishing in/on you. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Pantie sniffer!!! It’s an addiction at this point, and his ‘dirty secret’ was outed very early in your relationship. He is not so discreet about it, sometimes asking you directly for your underwear after sex or when you undress for a shower. Bonus points if he can make you cum in them and keep them afterwards.

Another one is that he fantasises about being a swinger. Fucking multiple people at the one time, not knowing who he’s fucking or who is pleasuring him. He was close to doing it during his bachelor days but chickened out at the last minute. He is too afraid to bring it up to you in case you think it’s him saying he’s not interested in you anymore. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Digger has had his fair share of sexual encounters, most of the body count accumulating in his twenties. During his time in Arkham, his sex life fizzled out, but his drive was unrelenting. Being with you is his way of unleashing the desires pent up in him, and he can get a little carried away. He fucks you fast with long, hard strokes, hands taking fistfuls of your hair or imprinting your skin. His endurance is unwithering. Do you think he’s out of breath or needs to slow down? You thought wrong. You have to remind him not to get carried away at the moment, and just one look at you brings him back to humanity. Sorry, love, ‘couldn’t help myself.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Digger is into anything that involves you sprawled out on a surface. That being a kitchen counter, desk, etc. He also likes fucking you against a wall with one of your legs hooked around his arm. Mostly positions that have you facing towards him and beneath him, so your body can take him fully and cling onto him.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

He is not deliberately humorous, but sometimes his Aussie slang gives you the ick, especially when he refers to his balls as ‘goolies’ or calls his dick a ‘donger’ or ‘old fella’. He tries to avoid them while having sex, but he slips up now and then. 

If you think goolies is bad, we also call ‘em jazz crackers.

Please, just shut up.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He is in the in-between when it comes to hairiness. Like this chest hair, the rest of his body hair is light and sparse, giving the illusion he has none at all. His pubic and ass hair is where it’s the most coarse, fading up into a snail trail and light flicks on his ass cheeks. He doesn’t pay much attention to grooming. Since his hair is light, he prefers keeping what is there.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

He’s no Mr Romantic, but with the right person, he can go slow and steady, take a break from the ‘fucking’ for ‘lovemaking’, and remind himself he is capable of love if he allows himself to. That is only if he can muster it. Growing up in an unloving family, he struggles with displaying affection. When you are intimate with him, it’s as if he forgets how to move or talk. The feeling of his heart growing heavy is alien, and he recoils at first until he feels the warmth of your body, the light kisses on his face. No longer is he driven by a primal sex drive, this time the feeling is everlasting. He slowly eased himself into your nurture, soothed by your words. All you do is repeat, I love you, I love you, but it’s enough to move him to tears. So simple, it’s the bare minimum, but it means the world to him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

It is second nature to Digger, and it was his only form of pleasure in the Arkham years. One day his hand was not doing it for him, growing so used to it that it became useless. He looked around his cell, thinking about humping the pillow, until he spotted Pinky perched next to him. He lifts his beloved plushie and takes a while to debate his idea. Then eventually said, Fuck it. He only did it one time, and he couldn’t sleep with his beloved unicorn for a week after out of guilt. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He probably has plenty of kinks, but here are the main contenders. Digger gets off at the thought of getting caught. Touching you in public areas where someone can spot you at any time is his dream scenario. If you do get caught, he performs to the peeping tom, teasing you with his words. Looks like someone else thinks you’re hot stuff. 

Digger is a bordering alcoholic and has been known to take drugs. Intoxicated sex isn’t somewhat of a voluntary kink but it comes with being with him. He knows what certain things to take to make sex feel good, and what to avoid that kills his libido.

Dare I say he is probably into roleplaying as well? He loves seeing you in costume, something skimpy and showing your best physical qualities. He doesn’t always commit to the scenario but will always relish how good you look in certain types of clothing. He particularly likes maid dresses, watching you bend over and clean as a form of foreplay.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

He loves car sex. The clumsiness, the restricted space, and having the car parked on a busy street. The steamy windows hide you from the public, but Digger will tease about wiping the condensation for everyone to see you (and do it if you consent). He also likes alleyways. If you go out for a drink and he’s dying to get in your pants, he will pull you into the dark, dingy lane because he can’t help himself. Bonus points if it’s raining, seeing you wet and bothered while he licks the raindrops dripping from your jawline. Getting you on your knees to suck his dick, your body concealed by a trashcan so you’re not seen by passers-by. The dirtier, the better.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Digger knows he is really into someone he likes their smell. He appreciates perfumes and colognes, but it is natural scents that turn him on. An artificial scent mixed with your musk, sweetening it for his pleasure. It urges him to taste you, bury his face into the crook of your neck and suffocate his senses.

He will also be turned on at the mere fact that someone is into him. If he can sense you getting flustered around him he will hound you like a dog. Face it, you want to see what old Digger’s all about. If you are submissive, he will be persistent, doing anything to push you over the edge and admit your feelings for him. He will take enjoyment out of how shy you get, showering you with compliments and become aroused as you unwind beneath him. He is also partial to being a power bottom, toying with your sexual confidence, and doing anything to get your attention. No matter his stance, if he’s turned on, he will always have that shit-eating grin on his face.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Digger outright refuses to hurt you, even if he has his loopholes. He likes spanking, biting, and roughhousing, but he will not slap, punch or tie you up. This is deep-rooted into his childhood, and some of the abuse has embedded into his kinks, but there are still actions that cause flashes of bad memories. He also doesn’t like to see you cry. If you don’t give him the safe word, he will continue but go slow and soothe you, kissing the tears and stroking your face. It’s alright, love, I’ve got ya. Cheer up for me, lemmie see that pretty smile.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He finds enjoyment on both sides. Giving is when he can have you at his mercy, liking the way you flush and squirm in his mouth and hands. He gets a kick out of making you orgasm and holds it against you, being all smug about it. Receiving is when all the attention is on him and he gives you all the praise, letting you know how well you take his cock, and how good you make him feel. He loves training your mouth for his massive size, encouraging you to take as much as you can, holding your face in place as he drools at the cock-hungry look in your fluttering eyes. That alone is enough to have him finish in your mouth, letting his hot cum stream down your throat and swallow every last drop.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Fast and rough, for sure. His roughness bleeds through depending on the day. If he’s had a rough time, or a robbery goes wrong, or he hasn’t seen you in months, he fucks you like it’s his last day on earth.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He pretends it’s not his thing, but it is definitely his thing. He is sex-driven, especially when you are in range. It is very common for both of you to disappear from a mission or a social setting just to release tension. Stroking his bulge or flashing a part of your body is enough for him to pull you aside and fuck his cum into you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

Consider Digger a ‘Yes Man’ when it comes to experimenting. This man will try anything that doesn’t exceed his limits. He is the one to suggest more than you are. Some of his suggestions you’re convinced he has invented himself, and some are so bizarre you don’t know if he is joking or not. Better to try everything at least once, is his motto.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

If you make it certain you are one hundred per cent into him, Digger can last a whole night. There have been times were he exceeds you in rounds and (depending on your mood) you let him fuck you on the brink of sleep. He has Superman levels of sexual stamina and it can be difficult to match his energy, but he is more than satisfied to have another orgasm at the mere sight of you.

T = Toys (do they own toys? Do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Digger is partial to a cock ring, more for convenience. It comes in handy for days when he wants to edge himself and make the orgasm more pleasurable. If you have toys, he is more than happy to use them. He would be very invested in which ones you own, and give you new ones to try out.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Digger is the teasing master when it comes to words, taunting you with anything dirty that comes to his mind. In action, he gets too excited and wants to make you cum when you’re ready to, and fuck another one out of you. When you are teasing him, he acts like it's torture, but he is so into it. If you pull your hand away from his dick just as he is about to finish, he is almost screaming but gets too turned on. He loves the feeling of the build-up and will treat you like a brat or plead with you to keep touching him. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Certified grunter. He sounds like an animal. His voice grows hoarse matched with heavy breathing. In downtime moments like oral, his sounds are more like groans with sly chuckles.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

On more than one occasion Digger has suggested a gangbang or cucking with the other members of the suicide squad. He has a plan in his head of the routine and how it would go down. If it was you and Harley, he wants to cuck and watch you fuck. If it’s with Deadshot or King Shark, he would want a threesome/gangbang. When Digger brings this up he passes it off as a joke, but you can tell it’s something he wants to do.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

The canon speaks for itself. In my opinion, however, Digger is just above average, around 6-7 inches. He makes up the rest in girth. Also, the canon suggests he is not a ‘grower, not show-er’ type. What you see is what you get.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Inhumanly high. The man needs to be sterilised.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

You knock gently at first and wait for a minute. No answer. A week. A whole week of this bullshit. Impatience clouds your sympathy, and you knock on the door harder. You hear a thud, a clank of glass, and a curse on the other side of the door. You knock again, calling up a groan of annoyance and an “I’m coming!”

The door opens, and you’re greeted by your neighbour for the first time since you moved here. He is shirtless, showing off a collection of tattoos. His mop of hair hadn’t met a comb yet; still scuffled by sleep. You could tell he was older, and you were taken aback by how attractive he was. Given in a rugged way. You half-expected a balding divorcee with a beer belly.

“You’re George, right? I live next door,” You introduce.

Eyes squint and bloodshot, he looks you up and down before nodding. “You know what time it is, sunshine? Too bloody early to be knocking on people’s doors.” He said, fighting through a hangover to communicate. The twang of an Aussie accent was the second thing to surprise you. Even with the twang of annoyance in his tone, you bite your cheek to fight off a flattered smile.

Your bashfulness forces you to ditch the defiant speech you prepared. “I’m aware of that- but I’ve tried to get a hold of you all week, but you seem to not be in during the afternoon.” You shuffle to your open door, grab one of the packages and gesture it to George, “There’s a ton of packages here for you.”

George’s annoyed face began to soften, and he let out an idle chuckle. “Shiiiiit, I forgot about those!”

He opened his door wider and began collecting the parcels from you. You got a peek inside his apartment. Your suspicions of his home were accurate, resembling what all men living alone succumb themself to; their own squaller.

“Thanks for holding onto them for me. And sorry for being cranky, hangovers, y’know?” George said, his tone now different, one more pleasant. You smile, feeling pleased that you have the chance to converse with a neighbour and know who lives next door.

“Hope you had a good night so it’s worth it,” you chuckle, taking a stack of the packages and shuffling to his door. George takes them from your hands swiftly. This left you standing by his door, looking around the living room, stumped on the small talk. You were never really good at this.

“I mean- it was alright. They just hit you more when you get older,” he dropped the remaining boxes by his door, rubbing his temples as he stretched. His abdomen extended, shifting the waistband of his pants, making you look away and stand in silence. George scratches the back of his neck as he looks at you, feeling the interaction fade to a farewell.

“I better get going, you’ve got a lot to unbox,” you say, slowly backing away.

George gets to the door, nodding and shooting you a smile. “Thanks again for keeping them safe.” You could have sworn he looked you up and down, in a different way this time. Sizing you up, for other means. Maybe it was your imagination.

You meekly wave before retreating to your apartment. With the packages gone, your eyes adjust to the clear space, and the lingering images of your neighbour hot in your thoughts.

The washing machine was stuck again, and no matter how hard you hit it, it was still broken. Today is not going well, and you were on the edge, especially since the only other machine in the block has an ‘out of order’ sign on it. You rub your hands along your face, the skin already flushed from anger. A shuffle of footsteps approaches the entrance, and you reveal yourself to see who is witnessing your self-pity.

“Useless fucking thing, ain’t it?” It was George, the first time you’ve seen him in clothes that weren’t pyjama pants with socks and slides. He looks like he’s back from work, or the gym, it is hard to tell. You did wonder what he did for a living.

“I’m lucky it broke before I put my laundry in,” You look at the bright side with heavy eyes and a half-assed smile.

“Well, I don’t wanna brag, but I do have a machine. Wouldn’t mind ya using it until they fix it,” George shrugs with a ‘no big deal’ attitude. Suddenly your neighbour was a beacon of hope, and the stress left you with a sigh of relief.

“That would be really helpful, thanks,” you pick up your laundry basket, following up the stairs. He hunched the duffle bags over his shoulder. Reaching the top of the stairs, he unlocks his front door and lets you in first, taking a look at his living room and huffing. “Sorry about the mess.”

Beer bottles and cans littering the coffee table, clothes on the floor or hanging from the couch and chairs. You take one breath and smell the stale air, keeping a straight face. “It’s okay,” You smile through it, not wanting to place judgment. Maybe he’s just a busy guy.

George quickly shows you the settings on the machine (which he wasn’t so sure about) before excusing himself to the shower. Before you could ask questions, he was dashing to the bathroom, leaving you to your own devices. You load the machine, press the button and hope for the best.

Alone in his apartment was daunting and you begin to explore. Mostly focused on the messiness, the environment nagging at your senses. Clean space, clean mind, as they say. You pick up the trash and throw it out, starting with the beer cans. Luckily you didn’t find anything too disgusting, with the odd dirty plate you could place in the sink. You open the curtains, coughing from the dust and open the window to release the smell of stale pizza and beer. Your mind is clearer, you go to wash your hands until you spot George standing by the entrance of the living room in awe. He is still in his towel, his right hand clenching the side to keep it in place, his hair wet and slicked back. You turn away immediately, looking anywhere but him, a kick of adrenaline overtaking your insides.

“Wasn’t aware I ordered room service,” he joked, amused by your embarrassment.

“I’m sorry- I should have just left and come back later for the laundry. But- I don’t know- your place looked like it needed a tidy-up. I can’t help myself, it’s a habit. God- I’m so stupid-”

“Don’t get your undies in a twist, it’s fine. I appreciate it,” George reassures, rubbing the back of his neck, “As you can see, I don’t get many visitors.”

When he closes the bedroom door to change, it’s safe for you to look again. That feeling in your stomach didn’t go away, it still brewed in the pit and crawled its way up your core. It makes you think about him again, like those sleepless nights after your first encounter, and your cheeks grow hot. Maybe this is a good time to slip out and avoid him like the plague. But what else would you be doing? Watching TV? Playing video games? All alone in your apartment, like you always are. That’s how your life has been, work, home, bed; absent of social life, of anything remotely adventurous. You keep your feet firmly on the ground, chewing your lip in thought. There was a time when you lived life on the edge, out every weekend, hooked up with people. Letting your old self come out to play wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

“Where do you keep your cleaning supplies? I could do the rest for you if you want,” you call, inching towards the bedroom door so he can hear you. He opens the door quickly, startling you, wearing casual grey sweatpants and a white tee.

“Are you like a freelance maid or something? This how you get clients?” He leaned an arm on the door frame, looking down at you. He becomes the only thing in eyesight and you freeze, giving a shy smile.

“No, I just like cleaning, that's all. You seem like you need it, being a busy guy and all.” You study his eyes, wondering if he sees right through you.

George slowly nods, then snaps his fingers, heading towards the front door and sliding his shoes on. “Tell you what, love. I have to run a few errands, while I’m out I’ll leave you to it.”

You frown, crossing your arms. “You’re just gonna leave me, your neighbour you’ve met like once, in your house alone? You trust me like that?”

He shrugs, taking one of the duffle bags full of… something. “I’ve got many weapons I can pull on you if you try anything. Plus, you’re young and don’t look that strong, so I think I can take you on.” You weren’t sure if he was joking, but there was a cheeky look in his eye that allowed you to chuckle.

“That would do it. You can trust me.”

George gives a little salute, exiting the door. “Stuff’s under the kitchen sink. Good luck!”

You look at his limited supply, an empty bottle of bleach and a mysterious liquid in a spray bottle. You decide to use your supplies, grab them from your apartment, and come back to start the work.

You collapse on the couch gasping for air. People underestimate how much energy it takes to clean, especially when cleaning George’s house. Within an hour you cleaned the living room and kitchen and hung up your laundry to dry in your apartment. The worst part was the vacuuming, as like not owning cleaning supplies, he also didn’t have a vacuum. Go figure.

George eventually returned, greeted by your efforts and your limp body sprawled on his couch. You quickly got up, hoping he didn’t mind. Heck, this guy doesn’t have a vacuum, he can’t be the judge. “So, what do you think?” You anticipate.

“You did a bloody good job, I’ll tell ya that,” a smile on his face, making you smile too. “And since ya the best neighbour on this side of Metropolis, I got ya a lil payment to say thanks.”

George pulls out a crate of beers and takeaway pizza, presenting them to you. Your eyebrows knit in confusion, but you smile at the thought. “Thanks, George.”

“Please, call me Digger, everyone calls me that,” he said, “Thought we could have a couple of beers and I’d feed ya, but I’m no chef, hence the pizza.”

“So, Digger… is this you inviting me over for dinner?” You ask, pursing your lips. He thought about it and then nodded his head. “I guess I am,” he smirks.

Pizza crusts and beer cans decorate the coffee table, the television musing low music. You laugh at a joke Digger told you, hiding your mouth to not spit all over the place. He sits low on the couch, his hands resting between his legs with a beer. With your legs close to your chest, you take a sip of beer when a silence falls between you.

“Thanks for having me, I’m having a lovely time.” You confess, a little tipsy. You get shy admitting that, focusing on the music, unaware of Digger’s eyes not leaving your sight.

“I didn’t have a college kid cleaning my house on my bingo card,” he muses teasingly, smirking at your bashful smile.

“I am not a college kid! I graduated ages ago.”

“And by ages ago you mean in the last five years?”

He chuckles at your look of defeat. “Says the guy who’s five years off getting a pension,” you tease in defence.

“I’m not that old!” He defended back, “Nowhere near it!”

“Well, you’re at least old enough to clean your own house and have a vacuum.”

“You got me there…” he says into his beer.

The silence fell between you once again, but surprisingly it was not awkward. The air was thick, and not with stale air like before. You convince yourself it’s one-sided, keeping yourself together. You had an idea, but it was juvenile. When he doesn't say anything to keep the conversation going, you go on and suggest it.

“How about we play truth or drink?”

“How old are you? Five?” He scoffs.

“We already established my age, remember? C’mon, it’ll be a good icebreaker. Don’t you wanna get to know your friendly neighbour?” You nudge his arm playfully, realising you’ve been going that a lot since you had a drink. Mostly when he told a joke. You try not to cringe, realising your inferiority. He probably thinks you’re immature, and you suddenly see yourself as a fool. But when he turns his body towards you, giving you his full attention while cracking open another beer, you feel a little better about yourself.

“Who’s asking first?” He asks.

You volunteered since you suggested playing. You turn towards him, fighting through a fit of giggles, liking the way his eyes smile at you. He has nice eyes, light in colour, a mix of blue and grey with crow's feet winging the sides.

“Okay, let’s start easy. How long have you lived on the block?” You ask.

“‘Bout five months, I’d say,” he says.

“Do you move around a lot?”

“Oi, thought you ask one question at a time?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just curious,” you dart your eyes to his smirking lips before looking away.

“To answer your other question, I do move around a bit. It’s a job thing.”

You look back at him, catching his stare, the one that never seems to fade from you. You like the way he stares at you, so attentive like he refuses to have you out of his sight. It’s the type of stare that makes someone feel special.

“My turn,” he chirps, “are you always this shy around people?”

“What? I’m not shy,” you scoff.

“Really? You’re not shy?”

“What happened to starting easy?”

“No, you said that. I didn’t. I never start easy,” he says haughtily.

You roll your eyes, taking the beer can to your lips and taking a sip. Digger scoffs in shock, “No way are you drinking to that.”

“It’s a ridiculous question, plus I technically did answer the question. I’m not shy.”

Digger shakes his head in disappointment, breaking eye contact to chuckle into his hand. You narrow your eyes, readying the next question.

“Do you have a wife and kids?” You ask.

Digger didn’t act like you struck a nerve, but he wasn’t laughing anymore. He shook his head, and you take that as an answer, not wanting to press further. Yet, he begins to speak, in a tone softer than the one you’ve been getting used to;

“I know at my age I probably should, but it’s never worked out, y’know? The whole love thing I’ve never gotten the hang of.”

You resonate with him, meekly returning a smile. “Me either.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Digger said.

“Really?”

“Yeah, you’re good-looking. Woulda bet somebody snagged ya by now.”

You can’t help but chuckle, hearing how wrong his words are. “I guess I’ve gotten close before, but it was never meant to be.”

Digger nods in agreement like he is in the same boat. You had a strong urge to move closer to him, but resort to fidgeting with a thread on the coach. “Who’s turn is it?”

“Mine,” Digger returns his gaze to you. It was more intense, and you feel him all over you. As you grow the courage to meet his eyes, you see them trailing from your lips to meet you, his icy eyes darkening and lips parting as he readies his words.

“How would you feel about kissing me?”

Your stillness speaks volumes to him, and from the look of shock in your eyes, Digger’s smile fades and turns sour. He hides his face in his hands, cursing under his breath.

“Fuck- Just drink to that, it was bloody stupid,” his self-depreciation eats at you and you try and find the words to explain yourself. He was right, you were shy, and it got in the way of your feelings. So much for being the big flirt like you planned.

“No, it’s fine, honestly-”

He cuts you off, “I just thought- why else would wanna hang out with an old fuck like me? Keep my packages, clean my house,” he groans out a sigh, “and the way you look at me, fuck, it’s been driving me insane all day.”

“Digger-” you catch his attention, softening your face, and placing your beer on the coffee table. You shift your body closer to his, your movement swift but gentle. “I’d like it if you kissed me.”

He blinks, adjusting his eyes to the proximity, noticing the small details of your features, the softness of your lips. He swallows back his nerves, “Nah- you’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

There is only one way to prove him wrong, and you did it by making the first move. You press your lips against him, and you're struck with his immediate touch as he engulfs you in his arms. Your hands snake up his chest to the back of his neck, deepening the kiss as he beckons you to press your body against him with his firm hold. He grins into the kiss at the sound of your whimpers, holding the small of your waist and guiding you to his lap. You go with the motion, swinging your leg around and straddling him, enamoured by the hold he has on you. The makeout was sloppy, tipsy on beer and getting more drunk on each other’s lips. Digger’s kisses were firm and deep, his chapped lips coated in your sweet spot as he glided his tongue along yours. His hands lay haven on your asses, rubbing his callous palm around the fabric of your pants, enchanting your hips to move ever so slightly.

“Ain’t so shy now, are ya?” He grunts into your ear, migrating his lips down your neck, sucking and nibbling on your faint skin. You see stars, closing your eyes in bliss, your fingers tugging at his shirt and fighting off the urge to rip it off. He takes the time to remove his t-shirt with your eager assistance, latching onto you once you discard it.

“Please, I need you,” you plead. You gaze down at him, your stare both close and far. His bucking hips invite your crotch to feel his length, the tip of his bulge grinding against your thigh.

He whispers to you, “Tell me what you want.”

 “Use me, I know you want to,” you taunt, enjoying the light that ignites in his eyes, his grip tighter on your skin.

“You’ll regret saying that, but I bet you can handle it,” he jesters, pulling your hair to expose your neck, his lips latching back onto your sweet skin. His other hand pushes your top over your breasts, exposing your hardening nipples. Licking towards your nipples, sucking on them gently and cupping your tits in his hands, grazing his teeth when you grind down on his erection.

Digger, hungry for more of you, lays you down on the couch. His eyes demand your attention, taking time to pull down your pants and underwear, drenched in your arousal. He lowers his head to your cunt, prying your legs open as you try to hide how wet you were.

“Don’t hide from me, love, show me how pretty you are,” he muses, admiring your glistening walls, lapping them tenderly with the tip of his fingers. Relishing in your squirms, he gazes at you under his lashes. “Fuck, you’re drenched.”

Your hands grip his hair when his tongue makes contact with your sensitive walls, his prominent nose snug on your clit as he eats you out. His movements are deep and steady, keeping himself in place between your quivering thighs, refusing to come up for breath as a rising feeling of release fills your insides. Shifting his tongue from your walls to your clit, his nose taking place not to neglect your pleasure, his eyes checking your reactions as his pride swelled from your raptured state. He takes a breath to tease you in between, his hoarse voice wavering against your heat, “Look at you, getting so worked up for me.”

“’m so close,” that was music to Digger’s ears, egging him on to keep up the pace.

Your whimpers rise into moans, and your thighs shiver under his grip and come undone. Digger doesn’t stop, pressing a firm hand on your stomach, keeping you in place so he rides out your high. You’re flushed in humility, but fuck it feels amazing. You break a sweat, shivering at the cooling of your hot skin, sighing in relief when Digger finally relaxes his hold on you. His face meets yours, your arousal coating the stubble on his chin and spreading to his chops. He is ferocious and light-headed – as if drunk on the taste of you.

“Hope you’ve still got some spunk in ya,” he pants, “I’m as stiff as a board here.”

Digger invites your hand to feel his erection. You didn’t think he could be harder than he was before, but he comes full of surprises. He slings the waistband of his trousers down and his cock springs free, twitching at the touch of your flinching fingers.

“Jesus fucking Christ-” Blessed by the man himself, his size was insane. You straighten in intimidation.

“I’ll go slow, okay? Just- fuck- I’m bursting at the seams here,” he begs, cupping your cheek with a reassuring hand.

You nod with a morbid curiosity, unable to deny the instinct to have him inside you, to feel every inch of him. Digger litters you in kisses, sloppy and idle as he dampens your cheeks and lips. Opening your legs wide, sucking in a breath, you watch as he lines his cock to your entrance. There was no fuss in sliding inside you, your dripping cunt lubing his tip and coating his shaft, the feeling of him inside you more filling than painful. It sets a spark in your mind, your eyes distant, the twitch of his cock against your walls melting your senses.

An unexpected moan escapes Digger’s lips, but he is attentive enough to coo for your attention, holding your face and bringing you back to earth.

“You still with me, hun?” He chuckles at your dazed look, trying to keep himself together as you tighten around him. You blink back to reality and wrap your legs around him, mewling at the slow thrusts coming into you. You eventually nod a reply, straining your neck to witness his cock buried inside you to train your hole for his massive size. He takes advantage of your position, locking a hand behind your head and picking up the pace. He is smitten by your squeaks. His rough hand clenches your hip, setting out to fuck you good. As you will soon learn, Digger has a habit of getting carried away. You learn a lot of dirty things about him that both shock you and fill you with sweetly sick lust.

Digger has you bent over the arm of the couch, his cock pummelling in and out of your abused cunt, muffling your feral moans with a hand clasped over your mouth. He arches your back and presses his lips against your ear, reminding you that he can see right through you.

“Is this what you wanted? To fuck you; get you drunk on my fat dick. Bet you didn’t think I had it in me.”

“You’re so good, so ‘fucking good,” you moan, your eyes glued to him with lust, a sly smile across your face. Digger sticks two fingers into your mouth, teasing your tongue to swirl around them, smirking at your eagerness.

“Shit, that’s enough to make me finish,” he says in a low voice, “And you wouldn’t want me cumming inside you, would ya?”

The way you clench around his dick and the sidious look in the dim light suggest the opposite. “No, come inside me,” you seal the deal.

“You’re so bloody dirty.” Digger’s eyes turn dark, his hand wrapping around your neck, rutting into you faster and harder than before. You see stars, giving into the numbing pleasure you succumb to. A dumbfound smile stretches across your lips once you feel the warmth of Digger’s seed filling your cunt, hitting against your womb. His weight falls on you momentarily, leaving kisses along your back while his energy is slowly sucked out of him. His cock slips out and before his heavy eyes close over, he gazes at the cum dripping from your slit, groping your ass for a better view.

Digger gathers his senses, only noticing you struggling to get up from your stiff knees. He brings you onto his lap, soothing your legs and resting your head on his shoulder.

“Well, that was something…” He chuckles, “Ya think we got a little carried away?”

“I think I’ll never be able to walk again,” you joke, yet anticipated the next few days entailing leg pain.

He felt guilty, knowing to make up for it he would need more than pizza and beer. He continues to sooth your legs, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

“How’s about I run you a bath?” He suggests.

Digger gave you the nickname “Birdie” because well . . . You’re a jailbird. He is in prison for heinous crimes, after all! Oh, is he touched-starved when you’re standing there, pretty face to the phone, separated by glass and talking in your voice that melts him like butter. His eyes are eating you up, desperate to have his hands on you. He’ll do all the suicide missions going to shred off the jail time, to get closer to the day his lips are kissing yours. Blackmailing Amanda to get you the best of the best, pay off college debt, holidays abroad, and spoil you when he cannot. “Oh, Birdie, when I get out of here I’m not letting you out of my sight, you’re stuck with me.” He groans, drunk on love. All you do is smile, sliding a pack of Polaroids under the screen when the guards aren’t looking. “Have these to tide you over in the meantime,” you tease. Digger rushes back to his cell, flipping through the photos. First were of you in dresses that were his favourites, the type of ones that are flowy and floral, framing you so delicately. They get more desirable as he flips them over, and his eyes lull in lust.

He insisted that you spend the night with him like this. His truck parked between dark woodlands, a diner’s neon light ambient through the tree leaves, where your eyes fluttered from lightheadedness. The lights blurred a visual glow of blue and red coursing through your body. Letting Johnny have his way with you, to give physicality to all those sly stares. Giving into his rough hands, groping your thighs under the table during dinner, the rough kisses in the parking lot, barely making it back to the truck before ripping your clothes off. It’s what you owe him since he took you out for a nice meal and was such a gentleman.

Granting you two orgasms was tactical on Johnny’s part. He wanted you completely numb, prepped for the growing hunger inside him. His jeans were tight, the bulge big enough to break the zip. As you mewled under his frame, he pinched the hem of his shirt between his teeth, unbuckling his belt and releasing his cock from the scraping restraint of his jeans. He sighs in relief, beckoning your hands to wrap around his cock.

“You want this inside you, sweetheart?” He growled, smirking at your rapid nods. “Want me to fill you up real nice, uh?”

He pushed his shirt to one side, exposing the jagged curves of his abdomen, his nipples hard from the outside air. He flipped you onto your front without warning, earning a gasp from you that was snuffed out by his hand wrapping around your neck. He aligns his cock up to your glistening cunt, entering with one swift thrust. Your breath hitches.

“Johnny fuck- It’s too big,” You were close to screaming, your fussing mixed with moans. You attempt to retreat, realising he isn’t entirely inside you yet. Your eyes widen.

“C’mon baby, you can take it,” Johnny teasingly cooed, “Arch your back for me, now. That’s it, good girl.”

Johnny pins your hips to the truck floor, keeping your arched back in place. His cock drilled deeper inside you with every thrust. You feel tears building up and dangling around your water line, and it breaks the waterworks when Johnny’s tip hits your sweet spot harshly.

“Fuck, please- I- I can’t take it,” You sob. Your cries intensify as Johnny smacks your ass, fixing his cock deep into your cunt and keeping it in place.

“Yes, you can, darlin’. You’re taking me so well,” Johnny's grip around your neck tightens, “You had your fun – don’t ruin mine.”

The tears kept falling as he fucked you, your body bracing his hench body leaning its weight down on you. His cock stretches you out, sending shots of pain and pleasure up your spine. Your sobs faded into quiet whimpers, but Johnny could still hear you.

"Fucking cry all you want, I'll keep fucking this tight cunt until I’m done,” Johnny taunted, grunting into your ear, “I want every motherfucker in that diner to hear you, see how much of a slut you are.”

He drills faster into you, gripping the soft flesh of your ass and digging his fingers hard enough to break the skin. Only near his climax were you beginning to adjust to his length, the drenched walls of your cunt tightening around his cock. Your mouth hangs open, and Johnny takes the chance to slide his fingers along your tongue, forcing them deep and making you choke. You suck on them hard, linking your gaze with his, catching a glimpse of that wild look in his eye.

“Fuck, I’m close baby. Fuck, fu-”