older!simon who absolutely adores how much smaller petite!reader is than him. well, typically everyone is smaller than you when you're six-foot-three and counting. doorframes are smaller, airplane seats, ceilingsâyou get the gist. simon is used to maneuvering the world with his eye-level far above crowds since he was in middle-school by now, but it's with you that he suddenly doesn't know what to do with himself. feels like his huge, lumbering hands are too big for your body, like he'll snap your limbs in half when he takes both of your wrists in just one of his own and pins them above your head. it's like handling fine china, two meaty fingers awkwardly pinching the entire handle of a too-tiny teacup. simon isn't particularly good with metaphors, but i digress.
he always swears he can't fit inside you, but well, you do fit like a gem in the backseat of his car and the opportunity is too good to pass up. it almost feels cruel, you're so small and he's too big, but how could he not? fold you up nice and easy under him, et voila. you're so brave for him, and it just takes a bit of pushing past the initial resistance to bury his oversized cock inside you. you're tight as a fist around the head of his cock, just at first.
you're easy to manhandle, a real-life ball-jointed doll that even a brute like simon can bend to his whim, or bounce up-and-down on his cock. fun-sized, he'd call it, you're made for the fun stuff. it's a little reductive, maybe, but you inevitably bat your lashes and reply that you were made just for him. he can do whatever wants with you.
(from your fellow 5ft tall writer)
â a/n: based on a conversation i had minutes ago, except i immediately started thinking of ghost bc simon riley is better than any real life man. <3
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
â cockwarming simon whilst heâs watching a football match
âstay still, love.â his gravelly voice tickles the shell of your ear. ââm watching âere. canât focus if yâr bouncing on my cock, can i?â
a hiccup leaves your lips, body too full to have room for anything other than his veiny cock. âsorry, si. just feels too -mm- good.âÂ
you were supposed to behave today. heâd warned you long before the two of you ever got together: game day is sacred. simon has never missed one â he couldnât, not when itâs the only real reprieve from the weight of his missions. and you were planning to listen. you swear!Â
intending to give him his space, you were just going to make some snacks, ready a pack of beer, and leave him to it. but then, you saw his spread legs, the way they looked so thick and sturdy in his sweats, and salivated. heâd pavloved you. itâs really his fault, now that you think about it. especially considering that he had chosen to forgo boxers, leaving the long length of his soft cock visible in his pant leg for you to ogle.
simon cocked a brow when you came crawling, eyes focused on one thing and one thing only. he patted your head as you rested it on his lap, lips grazing the tip of his dick through the material. âwhatâd i say, woman? hmm? told you not to be botherinâ me, didnât I? needy little thing can't follow simple instructions, can ya?â he tuts.
âplease, si? i wonât distract you, promise. you wonât even notice iâm here.â
he sighed, hand dragging down his face. âgo on then. sit yer ass down. can't just stand there, blocking my view.â
of course, he wonât admit that heâd been waiting for your resolve to snap, that heâd been eyeing you from across the room all this time, and that the fact you lasted till half-time had him damn near ready to stalk across the room and pin you against the nearest wall, ramming the reminder that youâre his no matter what into you. Â
thatâs how you ended up here, with the commentatorsâ discussion going through one ear and out the other, droning on in the background whilst filthy squelches are wrung out from where youâre connected. youâre leaning against his chest, holding tight to the sinewy arm he has draped over your hips. it pins you down, keeping you from grinding in tight circles like an iron bar.Â
âthirsty, love?â simon grips your jaw, turning your head towards him so you can see him pour beer into his mouth. he doesnât swallow. you know that look in his blue eyes â without needing him to say the word, you open up. tangy, wheaty alcohol pools inside, dripping down from his lips onto your awaiting tongue, mixed with the distinct taste of him. calloused, he palms your throat, making sure you swallow every drop. âgood girl. stay just like this, alright? ah, who knows, maybe youâll be my lucky charm.â
giggling like youâre already drunk, whether from the beer or the delicious way his cock is stretching your gummy wall you canât tell, you wonder, âsi? what if iâm bad luck? what if your team loses?â
the deep rumble of his chuckle vibrates against your back.
âbetter hope that doesnât happen, lovie.â the pads of his fingers seek out your pulsing clit, not rubbing but the mere threat sends your back arching and your pussy clamping down on him. you moan. âfor every goal the other team scores, thatâs an orgasm your poor cuntâll be missing out on.â
simon teaches inexperienced!reader how to ride him. ⥠cw age gap. all characters are 18+.
TRAINING WHEELS.
fully undressed, no training wheels left for you / i'll pull them off for you.*
(reupload from lackadaisies, this is my fic! i'm not a thief!)
Embarrassment takes root somewhere deep in your belly at the proposition, a low-grade tingle spreading up your neck and your ears. A nervous laughâthat sound Simon loves so much, though he'd never say out loudâslips past your Berrylicious ChapStick lips. You can scarcely meet his gaze, the silver of his watch glinting out of the corner of your downturned eyes in the gauzy light. Simon, on the other hand, has never had any problem laying out his needs for you in that unhurried, plain-spoken way of his, like he's been deciding on this longer than you know.
The room is spartan, tucked corners and pine furniture. All businessâsave for your bra hanging off the bedpost, a pack of gum spilling onto his nightstand, your little sandals kicked off by the door. Heat shimmers off the gravel lot out front, the silhouette of his truck baking in the sun visible through the half-drawn blinds. You can hear the sound of the cicadas starting up over the distant drone of a lawnmower and the neighbors dogs.
âLet's get these off, then.â Simon gestures for you to lift your hips, his hands already finding the lace trim of your panties before bundling it down, down. Your denim cut-offs had been the first to go, and now even the loss of that thin, barely-there barrier of cotton makes all the difference.
âI'm not so sure 'bout this...â Your hands instinctively fly to his broad shoulders for support, your balance teetering on the mattress as the panties bunch around one knee. His grip on your hips tightens ever so slightly, tongue probing the inside of his cheek as he tries to ignore the stirring in his groin with your heat hovering right over him. You can see the vein in his forearm, the set of his jaw.
âI'm no good,â you pout.
You swear Simon rolls his eyes, vaguely. Just enough for you to catch a flash of it beneath that heavy, half-lidded look he gets.
âAll I'm hearin' are excuses, lazy girl.â He raps his fingers against your hips in an off handed rhythm, his weight shifting under you expectantly.
âIt's not like that! I wanna make you feel goodâreal good. I just haven't done this before. I told you, Si.â
âEveryoneâs gotta start somewhere. Iâll teach ya. Now go on, undo âem.â
You know he's right, but you like your comfort zoneâno chance of disappointment or embarrassing yourself. Your lips pinch together as you lower your gaze to the straining bulge in the front of his pants, the denim scratchy against your inner thighs. His silver belt buckle is worn at the edges, possibly almost as old as you.
Belt first, you hear his deep voice murmur and your fingers fumble at the clasp, your knuckles brushing against the warm flat of his stomach and flinching back like you've been burned. You can feel him watching you, patient, and it makes you clumsier. You hesitate at the button next, your breath shallow, aware of how still he's gone beneath your handsâhow much restraint it's taking him to let you do this at your own pace, to not just take over and show you.
When you finally get his jeans undone, he lifts his hips just enough to shuck them down his thighs, and you try not to look at the thatch-colored hair trailing from his navel, the jut of his hipbone, the outline of him through his boxers. It's nothing you haven't seen before, but you've never had to take matters into your own hands up until now.
Simon's calloused palm is on the back of your hand, guiding it down the front of his boxers with a slow exhale, his muscles seeming to uncoil beneath you. Your painted fingernails stick out between his fingers like little jewels, your palm pressing flat against the cotton.
âFeel that?â His offhand grips the back of your hair, the prominent bridge of his nose bumping against yours before your lips touch, murmuring into your mouth. âThatâs what you do to me. So go on, thenâdo summat about it.â He pulls his boxers down just enough, and you feel him spring free against your thigh, the sudden relief making him hiss.
You shift forward on your knees awkwardly, and he steadies you with a hand on your hip, warm and familiar. The position is strangeâyou hovering over him, his length pressed between your bellies, the head of his cock nudging against your softness. Your thighs tremble with the effort of holding yourself up, and you're distinctly aware that you're hardly as spry as you should be, while Simon has been the exact opposite in that department despite the years.
âEasy.â His hands settle under your ribs. âGo on. You heard me. Sit yourself down.â
His head tips back against the headboard, his voice unexpectedly hoarse as he notches himself at your entrance, and you gasp as the head of his oversized cock stretches you out.
âNow,â he says. âNice and slow.â
Your nails dig into his shoulders. You sink down inch by inch, your breath coming in short, punched-out little gasps, and he doesn't intervene as you find your own pace. You feel the shape of him in your belly, and you're painfully aware of the way your body resists, then gives, the way his jaw tightens as you take him incrementally.
âUpâthatâs it. Slow. Now, move your hips into it. No, donât just bounce, sweetheart. Youâre not a bloody jackrabbit. Roll âem.â A small adjustment, thumbs pressing into your waist with pedagogical indifference to your whimpers as he impales you on his cock, maneuvering you along the slight curve of his cock. âYeah. Thatâs it. Like that.â
Sparks shoot up the base of your spine as your clit grinds against him with each pass, palms braced against his stomach. You feel the sweaty muscle flex under your fingers in time with your hips, the wet squelch of each rise and fall making your cheeks burn, leaving a shining trail down his length before you sink back down with a gasp.
His voice remains low and evenâthe Lieutenant guiding instead of commanding for once. Praise is rare with Simonâonly the occasional murmur of goodâbut the approval is there all the same.
You stop but once to huff and tell him your legs are tired, and while Simon does consider that perhaps he's spoilt you too much, you turn out to be a surprisingly quick study once you've had your fill of pouting. You're too accustomed to letting him take control, perhaps, to the point that you'll even be on top if that's what he wants.
Move your ear away from the wooden door and take light steps toward your bedroom, promptly forgetting whatever it is you heard.
But you canât.
Your feet are planted, unwilling to move as you listen just outside your roommate Simon's door.
Inside, you hear his soft groans, and the wet sounds of him stroking his cock travel under the door, shooting straight into your ears.
You feel like a fucking creep.
And, unfortunately, this wasnât the first time.
Ever since your dad pushed Simon into your house some weeks ago to be your bodyguard while he campaigns state to state for reelection, you have partaken in some questionable escapades.
Like stealing one of Simonâs work shirts and laying it over your face, his scent still fresh as it floods your nose as your work at your aching cunt with your fingers. Your fresh arousal meshing with the soft cotton of your panties leaving a large wet spot in its wake.
Or when you sat in the living room, watching him through the large glass sliding door as you peered into the backyard. With only a blanket covering you, you grounded yourself against a small pillow while watching him work out.
Shirtless, sweating, and with bulging biceps, he did curl-ups with a heavy set of weights. You had coaxed an orgasm so intense that you had forgotten your surroundings, and didnât smother a loud yell.
Simon sprinted in, throwing open the sliding door. His hand rested on the gun tucked in its holster at his side.
âEverything alright?â he asked, his voice breathy yet firm.
Your skin burned, but you managed to issue a quick yes before your eyes drifted to his sweaty bare chest.
His light chest hair was matted, and his shorts rode low on his hips, revealing a strip of light hair that extended from his belly button to his pubic area.
âYou need me to put a shirt on, cupcake?â he taunts with a quipped brow.
You had almost passed out, but it was harmless.
Weird, but harmless.
But, this.
This was completely different territory.
You were intruding on something so profoundly personal, intimate.
And yet, that fact didnât stop you from slipping your cold fingers into your panties. Your pointer finger slipping inside your soaked cunt without much force.
A curse slips off his tongue as you hear the slick sounds pace increase. You can almost imagine him behind the door.
Lying in his bed, his body tight and itching for relief. Head tilted back against his headboard, as he strokes himself lazily, eyes hazy and teeth digging into his lip.
Your slip another finger inside your cunt, grinding your clit as you lean against the wall just next to his door.
Your start to think of what he would do with you if you were inside his room, bare knees pressing into the vinyl flooring as you took his cock inside you mouth, his fingers threading through your hair.
âSo fuckinâ good, cupcake,â he mumbles, pushing himself deeper into your mouth. He lets out a rough noise as he comes in your mouth, eyes darkening when he sees you swallow his come on your tongue.
He pulls you up, setting you in his lap, teeth nipping at your lips and lips sucking yours. He presses his finger against your clit as you grind yourself on his thigh.
âYou were squirminâ down there, huh? Need it that bad?â he grunts, his warm breath fanning your cheek. âNeedy fuckinâ girl.â
Your hand presses over your mouth as you feel your body convulse around your fingers and you hear him sputter a choked noise.
You hear the soft creak of the bed as he gets off, and with your chest still heaving, you spin on your heels and pad back to your room.
After you reach your room, your body tingling, your phone chimes. You take it out, the screen glowing, and see a single text from Simon.
âShould have come in, sweet girl. Had your picture in my hand.â
imagine police officer! simon stopping seemingly drunk y/n near the end of his late night patrol shift.
he tells you to blow into the police breathalyzer test, but you end up blowing him differently.
that's how you got into this... situation...
kneeling in front of him between his muscular thighs as you look up at him, admiring his uniform and the way his face twisted in pleasure when the tip of your tongue slides up the vein of his shaft, slowly swirling around his precum-seeping tip.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
I have a little thought, virgin!reader getting her first hickey from Simon?đ đ«¶
PRETTY BRUISES
đđ the one where simon gives you your first ever hickey
đđ pairing: simon "ghost" riley x virgin!gn!reader
đđ cw: soft smut (minorsâDNI), slight!dom!simon, biting, hickeys, slight dumbification? (if you squint hard enough)
the thought of being spread out across simonâs lap, one of his massive hands gripping at your hip and the other tilting your head up and to the side for him.
âstill doinâ okay?â simon purrs softly as he trails his aquiline nose down the side of your throat, eyes fluttering closed at the way your scent hits him. the urge to rock his hips up, to grind his fattening cock up against your barely clothed cunt is maddening, near driving simon up the wall.
but he knows to take things slow. he doesnât wanna scare you off, doesnât want you fleeing too quicklyâat least not until he sinks his canines into you.
you offer him a broken whine in response, fingers fisting at the fabric of the black henley hanging off of his muscled torso as a shuddered breath leaves your lungs. youâre sure youâve never been this on edge, never felt like one sudden movement and youâd melt through the floorboards like ice cream in the sun, never felt so hot, so desperate.
âjusâ relax fer me, baby,â simon breathes softly against your throat before pressing soft kisses down its column, fingers trailing up your sides and dragging your body closer. âpromise it wonât hurtâmight leave a little bruise, but sâokay, yeah?â
and you find yourself nodding dumbly, nails scratching and pawing uselessly at the base of simonâs neck in an attempt to make him move faster, to make his teeth dig into your flesh quicker, to somehow will his cock out of his boxers and make him fit it all inside of you in one go. but all it does is make his jaw unhinge the slightest amount to suck part of your neck between his teeth slightly, groaning softly as he nibbled at the sucked flesh.
simon doesnât expect the lewd noise that falls brokenly from your mouth, doesnât expect the way your body is already nearly boneless in his lap, but it makes him chuckle softly against your throat nonetheless. his thumbs press gentle circles against your hips as he pulls his lips away with an audible and wet pop.
âsee? wasnât bad, was it? ând you already have a pretty little red mark showinâ up. yâgonna let me add some more? yeah, âcourse you are. come âere, thenâiâll even let ya grind against my fingers while i do it.â
cw: (MDNI-18+ ONLY) explicit sexual content, dark themes, allusions to stalking, manipulation/coercion, dubcon
mdni banner: @cafekitsune
-
You were just trying to be nice to the guy, show him a little customer appreciation. You should've known better.
Whenever the big blonde Manc showed up at your shop, he always ordered a hot cuppa and a slice of lemon pound cake. Didn't matter what was on special that day or what was in the display case, he always asked for the pound cake. Nothing else would do.
You hadn't seen him in a couple of months, which over the past year or so you had learned was sort of his MO. He'd stop in every day for several weeks in a row, then poof! He'd vanish until, months later, he'd just suddenly reappear again. You never asked why; it wasn't that kind of relationship. He never was much of a talker, that one.
So, yesterday he showed up againâjust suddenly out of the blue, like alwaysâand wouldn't ya know it, you were completely sold out of the pound cake. Usually you wouldn't be, but it just so happened that an old bird had popped in before lunch and bought the last of what you had for an afternoon tea she was hosting for her knitting circle.
You obviously had no way of knowing that would happen, but still you felt bad because you could tell he was disappointed. You even offered him some free macarons to make up for it, but he just grunted and shook his head, then paid for his tea and left.
Well, of course, you wanted to make it up to him, him being one of your regulars and all. It's simply good business, you told yourself, looking after your loyal customers and what not.
So, the next day you were ready for him. You even went so far as to set out the tin of his favorite brand of earl grey in anticipation of his arrival. You then fretted for hours, keeping a close eye out for him, until he finally showed up. You were all smiles as he approached the counter.
"Got any uh tha' pound cake left t'day?" he'd asked in that grumbly, gruff way of his.
"I do!" you told him, giving him a coy smirk.
"Gimma a slice then, an' my usual brew."
You were on pins and needles while making his tea, giddy with nerves as you slid the green-and-white striped cake box across to him with his to-go cup. You were keen to see his reaction. His dark eyes squinted at it, darting back and forth between you and the box.
"Wha's this, then? I asked fer a slice, not a whole bloomin' cake, ya muppet." He scoffed and pushed the cake box back towards you.
Well! Not exactly the reaction you were hoping for. Feeling a bit peeved, you pushed it back. When he glared, you shrugged, trying to be nonchalant about it.
"I felt bad that you left empty-handed yesterday, so I wanted to make it up to you. That's an entire lemon pound cake, made just for you."
He blinked, his pale brows furrowing into a bothered little frown. He eyed the cake box, looking a bit perturbed, then reached for his wallet.
"No no!" you blurted out, waving him off. You gave him a sheepish look, suddenly feeling put on the spot. "It's umâIt's on the house." You scratched at the back of your burning neck, eyes sliding off to the side. "Gotta take care of my loyal customers, don't I? Wouldn't want to lose ya."
And he just stared at you. Didn't say a word in response.
In fact, he stared at you for so long, you started to fidget. Sweat began gathering in your pits, your body tense and overheated. Had you overstepped, offended him somehow? Your mouth fell open, but nothing came out of it. You weren't quite sure what to say to him, so you just gaped up at him like a stupid, daft cow.
He tilted his head, eyes hooded and lazy. "Ya sayin' ya made this especially f'me, pet?" he finally asked.
The situation was growing more uncomfortable by the minute. "Um... Well... Y-Yes, I suppose I did."
Planting his hands on the counter, he leaned forward, his dark, glinting eyes raking over you as he hummed in consideration. Just when you thought you might spontaneously combust from embarrassment, he straightened to his full height and the corners of his mouth curled up into a wicked little smirk.
"Wha' time do ya usually get outta here?"
Your breath gusted out in a rush, and you realized you'd been holding it the whole time. "Around seven," you croaked, then cleared your throat. "S-Seven o'clock..."
"Christ," he grunted, making your eyes bug when he reached down and shamelessly adjusted himself. "Olright then. I'll be back 'round seven f'ya." His eyes bore into yours as he took his tea and cake from the counter. "I'll walk ya home."
Then out the door he went.
Your mind was in a daze for the remainder of the day, the passing hours little more than a blur. He's coming back; he's walking me home, your mind kept repeating.
Your anxiety eventually got the best of you. You'd pretty much talked yourself into nicking out early to avoid him, but your plan of escape went completely awry when he walked back into the shop at six-thirty.
Oh, dear God...
"You're early," you squeaked.
He rolled his massive shoulders, then took a seat at one of the tables. He stretched his long, tree trunk legs out and crossed them at the ankles. "Figured I'd wait while ya finished closin' up. Care t'make me a brew first, though?"
Your body went on autopilot, making him a tea while your mind screamed into the void. Then you shuffled off to finish closing up for the night while he sipped his tea. He helped you turn up the chairs to speed things along, and was right on your heels when you finally locked up for the night.
It was all you could do to keep up with him as he led you by the hand a few streets over to your flat. You were so flustered, it didn't even occur to you at the time that he somehow already knew the way.
The next thing you knew, he was herding you up the stairs to your floor, taking the keys from your trembling hand to unlock the door himself. Maybe it was an attempt at self-preservation that gave you the courage to balk at the threshold and turn to face him.
"Thank you for walking me home, Mister..." Your lashes fluttered and a nervous titter bubbled out. "I'm sorry. I never even asked for your name."
Heavy hands landed on your shoulders, sliding down to your biceps as he smirked a wicked grin and walked you backwards through the doorway.
"Name's Simon, lovie. Simon Riley."
The gravel in his voice sent a chill shuddering down your spine. He laughed low and wicked when you jumped after he kicked the door shut behind him.
"'S olright, li'l girlie. 'M gonna take real good care uh ya. Jus' relax an' let it happen, yeah?"
That was the extent of your conversation for the next few hours. You really weren't capable of speech during that time, and he mainly just growled out orders at you.
"Get yer knickers off an' spread those pretty thighs, doll."
"Fuck. Tha's it, lovie. Keep suckin' it just like tha'. Told ya you could take more."
"Quit squirmin' an' keep them legs open. Can't eat properly wiff ya squeezin' my head."
"Just breathe, sweet'art. You can take it all. I'll make it fit."
"On yer belly, arse up, princess. 'M not done wiff ya yet."
"Quit yer whingin' an' come f'me again."
That's not to say he wasn't generous with the praise too, though...
"Ya look s'pretty wiff my cock in yer mouth. Like a fuckin' angel."
"Mmm... Never tasted a pussy this good. Could eat ya all night."
"Bloody hell, 's tight. Feels like heaven."
"Good. Fuckin'. Girl. Nngh! Knew ya could take it all."
"Christ... 'Got me 'bout t'come olready, lovie."
"Look bloody gorgeous sittin' on my cock, lass. An' lookit how yer tits bounce. Fuck... FUCK!"
"Not gonna lastâfeel too bloody good. Gonna fill this pussy up!"
And he did. He filled you up to the brim and left you a boneless, quivering mess. Then he cleaned you up and tucked you into his side. Best sex ever, you thought before drifting off to sleep.
It was so good, in fact, that you didn't even get mad when he ghosted a kiss on your cheek and slipped out of your bed then out of your flat before dawn. He never was much for chatting anyway, so you figured he'd rather skip the awkward goodbye the next morning. It was a bit disappointing to know you'd probably lost a good customer, though.
And yeah, maybe you were a little sad when he didn't stop in for his usual slice and cuppa the next day, but honestly, it was probably for the best. He always did strike you as a little too intense, maybe even slightly unhinged. Yet it was probably that hint of danger that drew you to him in the first place, like a moth to a flame.
It might be fun to dance in the flames on occasion, but his brand of fire would consume you if you stayed too close for too long. Ah well. At least he left you with some good memories to keep you warm at night.
By six that evening the store is dead, your last customer having departed a half hour ago. Deciding to close up early, you flip the sign on the door and turn the lock, then head to the back to clean. You're already planning on a long soak in the tub with a glass of wine once you get home. Simon left you with sore muscles and a bone-deep ache between your thighs. You swear you could still feel the shape of him impressed into your inner walls.
You're in the process of shelving a stack of loaf pans, dithering over Chinese or pizza for dinner, when you hear the telltale jingle of the bell above the door. Startled, you gasp and loaf pans go scattering across the floor, making a terrible racket. Hissing a curse, you toss your hands up in frustration before stomping back to the front.
"Sorry! We're closed," you call out as you shove through the kitchen door, then come to an abrupt halt.
Wait. Didn't you lock the door?
"'Ello, lovie."
Simon's leaning against the counter, a devilish little quirk on his lips.
"How did you get in here?" is all you can think to say.
"Took yer spare set uh keys before I left this mornin'. Needed the key t'yer flat, but didn't wanna wake ya, so I helped myself. What was oll tha' racket?"
"I dropped the loaf pans," you mutter, in a daze.
He huffs a dry laugh. "Sorry if I startled ya. Was gonna call, but figured ya'd be busy closin' up the shop." He starts flipping the chairs up onto the tables. "Ya almost done? 'M ready t'go home an' relax. Been movin' house all day."
"Moving house?" you parrot, a sense of dread settling like a stone in your gut.
"Yeah. Figured I'd move tuh yers since yer flat's bigger than mine. Nicer, too." He smirks. "But don't worry. I didn't toss any uh yer shit. Got rid uh mine instead. 'S all secondhand junk, anyway."
You feel like you're in some sort of surreal dreamscape, where up is down and right is wrong and nothing makes sense anymore. Alice taking a header right down the old rabbit hole.
"You... You moved into my flat? But... Butâwhy?!"
He rounds the counter, steps slow and steady, a predator stalking his prey. Scared little rabbit that you are, you tremble but don't move, some deep-rooted, primal instinct warning you to stay very, very still. Your head tilts back, eyes wide and unblinking, fearful of what you see smoldering in the dark depths of his eyes. Hellfire. Damnation.
"Shh..." he shushes you, placing a rough palm against your cheek. "We both know why. Yer just scared 'cause now ya know that I can see ya. But I've always seen ya, lovie. Always knew what ya wanted, what ya needed. Was just waitin' f'ya tuh figure it out."
Wrapping his fingers around your throat he draws you close, licks into your mouth like it's his to possess, like you're his to claim. He then spins you around and swats your bum to get you moving.
"Go grab yer stuff. We'll take care uh the rest uh this in the mornin'. 'S time t'go home."
You stumble to the back to get your things, mind numb, thoughts empty.
Later that night, eyes staring blindly up at the shifting shadows on the ceiling, you quake as he sinks slowly between your thighs, listen to the filthy praise he mumbles against your lips. His breath tastes sweet, like pound cake, and you swallow it down, make it your own.
You were just trying to be nice, but you should've known better. You can't feed a feral stray like him without consequences. Because a beast like him is bound to follow you home.
