First of all, Siri, thanks for the ask. NOT thanks for making me think of it and ruining my brain (and making my 🕳️ ache for attention) !!
Biker Steve is very controlled, as we know. Not in a sense of delaying gratification and taking things really slowly. No, no. He takes what he wants and doesn't prioritise others over his gain. But he isn't impatient in it, or impulsive. Which is scary on its own.
When he's needy, you will know it anyway, without him going all beastly caveman. His gaze lingers on you with intensity that warns you about all the explicit awful things he'd inevitably do to you.
(under the cut because this Steve filthy and it got long-ish 🤭)
Hardening off *
*refers to acclimatising plants that used to grow in a protective environment to harsher conditions
dark biker Steve Rogers x female reader
warnings: Dark Steve. Explicit. Forced relationship. Oral (m receiving). Penetration. Anal. Unprotected sex. Dirty talk. Smidge of humiliation and degradation. Semi-public sex.
word count: 1.4k
Cornflower Masterlist
Main Masterlist
You sit there in the clubhouse, sipping alcohol-free beer and doing notes for work, while Steve talks with some of his bikers. It’s become almost a routine now to come to the Dark Avengers’ pub after work on Fridays. Other days appear more normal, more domestic, but only on the veneer because your new home isn’t the one you lived in for the past years. Your new home is full of Steve’s presence and your blooming attempts to grow your own roots there.
You refuse to call it acceptance, because you hate how it all came to be and you're still afraid, but you’re adjusting. Learning yourself anew, as well as learning Steve.
By now you know his tells enough to recognize the shift in him that day. Something’s under his skin, though it doesn’t appear to be anger. It takes you a few minutes of glancing his way from the corner of your eye and focusing on the way his thumb presses into your thigh, to realize he’s horny.
Though that expression seems so bland and unfitting for the intensity of Steve’s arousal.
He’s not handsy, he doesn’t make innuendos or flirts you up. He strategizes, building his need to a point where he can spend hours unleashing it.
Steve's attention is masterfully divided. He runs the conversation with Sam so smoothly, yet keeps looking at you in a way that betrays he's planning every single position he will take you in.
His hand rests on your thigh. A possessive brand. He doesn't need to move it under your skirt to give you a sign that in a few minutes you're going to be wrecked and screaming. By now, your body reacts to his touch eagerly.
You’d prefer to say you were conditioned, but the way he made you fall apart that first time he took you is proof enough of how naturally responsive you are to his dark, filthy tricks.
Steve simply finishes his discussion, then places a hand on top of yours - stopping you mid writing a sentence in your notepad. He stands up and you know you should too. It's his graciousness that he allows you to go upstairs to the spare guest bedroom and fuck without people watching.
However, if you take too long to comply, he will do it right there on the table.
Not a quick, brutal thing either. Oh no, he'd deliberately make you feel so good, stretch it out, make you beg for all the filthy pleasure in front of all of the present Dark Avengers.
So it's best to follow his lead and go upstairs. He might suddenly pick you up and carry you, simply out of the fact he really wants to feel you in his arms, against his body.
You never admit it out loud, but a zap of thrill shoots through you whenever he does that. Your husband showed you appreciation and worship in his own ways, but was never able to carry or manhandle you so easily.
Not rushing things like a wild animal doesn't mean Steve fucks you gently and tenderly. His commands grow harsher, urging you to take off your clothes before he rips them off.
He sits on the edge of the bed and makes you kneel before him. His hand is heavy and ruthless in the way he holds your head down as you try to swallow as much of his fat cock as possible; drooling and choking and tearing up. And hating how your core ignites with pleasure from the dirty act.
Steve watches it all in the mirrored wardrobe that's opposite of the bed. He notices the occasional rocking of your hips as you fight the growing need to be filled.
He rips you off of him and yanks you up to straddle his thighs. Makes you slide down on his cock in one stinging stretch. He urges you to ride him, giving you a spank every time he wants you to move faster.
Mouth on your breasts, sucking and biting until you're clenching so desperately. One hand in your hair, either pulling your head back when he wants to leave bite marks on your neck, or forcing you to look at him and hold his hungry gaze as you take it all like an obedient fucktoy.
He makes you look at him when you shatter with a soft scream. Fucks harder up into you, making you make those little whimpering noises.
"That's it, Cornflower. Such a beautiful fucktoy coming all over my cock."
Then the hand that was spanking and groping your ass slides down, gathers the sticky evidence of your orgasm on his fingers. The pressure of those wet fingers against your rim makes you tense, but you know better than to stop rolling your hips and meeting his hard thrusts.
He finishes inside you right after you come for the second time, with two of his fingers deep in your ass. But Steve's not done. His need runs too deep, too hot.
He'll spread you out on the bed and kiss and maul all over your body, savoring the way you moan and desperately clutch at your surroundings - the bed sheets, your own hair, him. When you cry out futile protests as his mouth descends on your cunt and he sees the mess leaking out of your fluttering hole, Steve's dick stands to full attention again.
He gets off the bed for a moment. Satisfied conqueror that’s still not fully sated. He towers over you and watches your trembling body with dark pride. And more hunger.
Purposely, he walks to the door and opens it a fraction.
Then he's back to you, rolling you onto your side so that you're facing the door. He slides behind you, pulls one of your legs up and over his thigh. Then slowly - a mercy from him, truly - starts pushing his cock into your ass.
“Nnhhh-” you tense, toes curling as the pressure grows nearly unbearable.
"Be a good fucktoy." Steve commands in a low, breathy voice, curling his other hand around your neck.
When he's halfway in and you feel like he might split you open, the hand that was around your neck drifts lower. He starts playing with your clit, making your whole body shudder.
"That's it, Cornflower." He coos, petting your cunt. "You're going to take it all. And my sweet pussy is going to prove to me how much you like having your ass full of cock."
Your gaze flicks toward the ajar door, but your focus blurs. There's too much overwhelming sensation. Which Steve increases with every slide of his fingers, every inch forced into your tight hole, every word he rasps.
"Come on it like a good cockslut and I'll fill you up." His rhythm quickens. Faster. Harder. "Then I'll take you home and fuck my pussy some more. Have you bloated with my seed until morning."
A floorboard creaks somewhere. You can't even be sure that anyone's walking this way. But the rush of fear and potential humiliation pairs with the onslaught of sensations.
You clench down hard, creaming all over Steve's fingers. Your cry is pitched high, choked with breathlessness from the forceful thrusts brutally stretching your ass as he mercilessly chases his own peak.
Your pussy tightens even harder when you feel the warm spurts filling you.
"My perfect cumdump." Steve's dirty words are spoken so softly, and paired with a gentle kiss to your shoulder.
A contrast to the way he just fucked you.
He wraps both arms around you, holding you tight and intimately. While his cock is still throbbing in your ass and your used holes are still on display for anyone who might appear in the hallway.
No amount of makeup will cover the marks on your neck and chest, and Steve won't allow you to wear a scarf or turtleneck. He wants everyone to know you're his. Most of all, loves that you are reminded of his ownership with every glance in the mirror, every curious look from others, every movement that flares with the imprint of his cock inside you.
Sometimes you wonder, if you’re teaching yourself to enjoy his savage ways, or if Steve shows you it was always a part of you and you were meant to be a flower that thrives in a crack of hard concrete.
A round of 😈 monstrous love for your event! How about Ari + orc + huuuge creampie 😏😶🌫️
Thanks for hosting ❤️
so stuffed full
pairing: orc!ari levinson x female reader
summary: your orc makes sure to breed you.
warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, monsterfucking and teratophilia, piv sex, unprotected sex, huge creampie, breeding kink (with the aim of getting pregnant), come inflation, come play, multiple orgasms, cockwarming, vaginal fingering, size kink/size difference, check-ins, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names (little one), aftercare, established relationship
word count: 900
a/n: ahh thank you for sending in this prompt, Siri!!! this fic ended up being a little softer/sweeter than i initially thought it'd be, but it's still very, very smutty 😈 and i had fun writing it, so i hope you enjoy!!
sweethearts sleepover masterlist
“You can take more, can’t you, little one?” your big orc, Ari Levinson, asked, grinning.
But you were too lost in a haze of pleasure, swaying in his lap and marveling at the way Ari’s tusks dug appealingly into his bearded cheeks. You had to marvel at how the handsome monster had chosen you to be his.
Since you didn’t respond, Ari’s grin dimmed, and he cupped your face in his big hand, cooing urgently, “Little one?”
“More,” you rasped, your voice husky with need, blinking through the clouds in your mind to meet Ari’s crystal blue gaze. You offered him a weak smile. “I can always take more for you, my love.”
Another grin stole across Ari’s handsome face, dawning like the sun on a summer’s day. He ducked down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss, careful of his tusks as he worshipped your mouth with his own. You adored the way he held you, the reverence in his hands and lips.
“You’re going to look so beautiful swelling with my young, little one,” Ari murmured against your mouth, his palms skimming appreciatively down your body to settle on your hips.
Your thighs were spread wide across his lap, your body already impaled on his big cock, but he managed to pull you down another inch, making you cry out, your head lolling back as pleasure suffused your body in a growing warmth, one that was building to a decimating climax.
Ari lifted your body up with his strong, careful grip, until only the tip of his impossibly thick cock remained inside your tight cunt. He gave you a mere second to prepare before he yanked you down roughly on his cock, making you scream as he split you open, shoving even deeper into your body.
The tip of his cock bullied to your cervix, and the sharp sting of pain mixing with overwhelming pleasure had your body clenching tight around him. You sobbed as he shoved you mercilessly toward your release, your body shaking in his hands.
“Oh fuck,” Ari grunted, his thick arms bulging, his muscles tensing. His face was contorted with exquisite ecstacy, and he groaned so loudly, you felt it down to your toes. “Feels like you’re suckling my cock, little one—like your body’s begging for my seed.”
“Please, Ari,” you gasped, fingers clinging to the curves where his wide neck met his broad shoulders. You lifted your head just enough to catch his eye. “Fuck me—fill me. I can take it. Give it to me, please!”
“As you wish, little one,” Ari growled, smirking before he tightened his grip on your body and lifted you up again, pulling you back down on his cock in a brutal thrust.
His strength rattled you down to your bones, but he was careful—always careful—so he didn’t hurt you beyond what you enjoyed. And you enjoyed it immensely to be split open on his cock, your body an instrument for pleasure.
Your orc set a merciless pace, using your body like it was his own personal fuck doll, pounding into you until you were screaming your release. Ari let out a vicious roar, overcome by the way your pussy clasped his cock so tightly, and he rutted into you harder, fucking you through your peak.
A moment later, he choked out a grunt, shoving his dick into your pussy, the tip bullying deep into your body, and he growled his pleasure as he came. His thick cock pumped rope after rope of seed into your body, filling your womb until you felt the pressure of fullness in your lower belly.
Still hazy from your own release, you looked down between your bodies, finding your belly bloated with your orc’s cum. You rubbed your hand reverently over the bump, and Ari grunted, his cock twitching inside you as he emptied one last load into your body.
Ari’s large, green hand settled over yours on your belly, and he practically purred at the sight.
“So pretty, little one, so stuffed full of my cum,” he cooed, capturing your lips in a kiss, his tusks shifting in a smile. “Soon it will be my young in here,” he murmured, pressing your hands tighter to your stomach, making you squirm restlessly in his lap. “It’s the greatest honor of my life to breed you, my love, and raise our child together.”
At those words, you melted into Ari’s arms, letting out a soft sigh of contentment. Your bloated belly pressed against his, and you felt his cum begin to leak from your body.
Not wanting it to go to waste, Ari fingered his cum back into your pussy, pressing his thick digits in alongside his softening shaft. Desire bloomed once again in your core, and you rocked your hips instinctively on his thrusting fingers, coaxing his cock back to full hardness.
You rode your orc’s cock until you both came again, Ari pulling out and painting you with his cum. He cleaned you up with his fingers, shoving them into your mouth or your well-used pussy, filling you with his seed until you were so drunk on pleasure, you couldn’t move.
Later, you fell asleep in Ari Levinson’s arms, your body so stuffed full and wrapped safely in his hold. You looked forward to your future with your orc, and the family you would build together.
thank you for reading!! comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡
🧚🏻♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe thot about: CE!babe + “Er is it supposed to make that noise?” 🤣
Not Fast, Possibly Furious
Pairing: Boyfriend! Ransom Drysdale x Reader
Summary: All you want to do is treat your boyfriend to a nice trip, but things aren’t going your way. Ransom thinks he knows just what to do to clear your mind.
Word count: 1,564
Content/warnings: MINORS DNI - 18+ ONLY, smut, swears, kissing, a little bit of an argument and frustrated behavior, probably poor handling of emotions but let’s be real a lot of us would do the same thing, brief depictions of unprotected p in v sex, semi-public car sex, surprisingly soft Ranny, independent reader, me not knowing anything about cars
A/N: It’s been a long time coming! Thank you so much for this prompt, Siri! Comments, likes, reblogs, and asks are so appreciated. Thank you for reading!!
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
Main Masterlist
At least the weather was nice. That’s what you had to keep reminding yourself, and Ransom, from where you were pulled off on the side of the road, scrambling under the hood of your old SUV.
After several attempts of pleading with your puppy dog eyes, you had finally convinced your boyfriend to let you surprise him with a weekend getaway to a place unknown. And boy, was that quite the difficult feat. Especially since he kept pushing back, saying he’d drive, even though you knew that was his sly attempt to figure out the destination. Ransom could never stand being left out of the loop, even when it was for something planned specifically with his pleasure in mind. The way he was going about it now was fun and playful at first, but then the smoke billowing from the engine of your car quickly put an end to that mood.
As you pulled over, you expected to see Ransom’s annoyed, told-you-so face, but instead, his brows were knitted together, mostly with concern. Before he could even open his mouth to suggest a solution, you were already out of the vehicle and investigating the issue.
At this point you’d lost track of how long you’d been working and finally believed you figured out what was wrong. At least you hoped so. A couple more failed attempts and you were about ready to have a conniption.
You peered out from behind the hood and looked at Ransom where he now sat in the driver’s seat.
“Okay, give it a go.”
As Ransom turned the key in the ignition, your hands flew to your hears. Loud chugs and sputtering were followed by a high-pitched screech of something, and then nothing. The engine reached a halt with a hiss.
In frustration, you groaned and looked up at the sky and then over at your boyfriend whose emotions were evidently feeding off of yours. Even through all of this, though, Ransom was trying so hard to make sure he kept his sass in check as to not offend you. He really appreciated the gesture of what you were trying to do this weekend and didn’t want to appear ungrateful or as if he didn’t believe in your capabilities, but before he could even think, the words just slipped out.
“Er, is it supposed to make that noise?”
What a mistake. All he heard was a clank of metal as you threw down a socket wrench onto the asphalt and stomped toward the grassy treeline just off the side of the road. When he got out of the driver’s seat and came around the hood to look at you, your hands were on your head, eyes squeezed shut in frustration, with the faintest glimmer, from what he could only assume were tears, running down your cheeks. Your wet lashes fluttered open and Ransom swore that look could kill.
“Of course it’s fucking not, Hugh!”
The last thing on Ransom’s mind right now was the mud underneath his loafers as he rushed towards you in an attempt to placate and plead for a tow truck.
“Sweetheart, I… didn’t mean it like that. I just mean that we’ve been at this for the better part of an hour and I don’t see your car going anywhere. Physically or repair-wise.”
His hands gently held your arms.
“Let me call a tow truck. I went to school with a kid whose family owned a company. We’ll get a good deal if you insist on paying for it.”
You scowled at him and swatted his hands away.
“I’m independent, Drysdale, not stupid. And I have insurance, anyway. But you touch that phone and you’re a dead man.”
You began storming back to the car.
“But if you just let me-“
Ransom attempted to reach for your hand but you shook it off, whipped around, and pointed a cautionary finger at him.
“Listen to me. This car, I paid for by myself. School, I got into by myself. And this trip, is something I planned on my own. So you saying for me to hand the problems, ones not unlike what I’ve faced my entire life, to somebody else, is not the way I operate. I never had that luxury and I don’t need it. You’re acting like I don’t have this under control and that you don’t believe in me. And that’s the last thing I need from my boyfriend when I’m doing my best.”
Ransom bit the inside of his lower lip and thought for a second, carefully choosing the right words to proceed. If you were anyone else, he would’ve thrown it right back just as hard. He knows you’ve worked for everything you have and he knows he had it easy his whole life. He had to go about this the right way.
“Sweetheart.”
His voice was low, genuine.
“I’m offering to make it easier on you. Not because I don’t believe in your capabilities, it’s just that I want to make sure a moment together for us isn’t wasted. Especially not with you cursing out an old engine when instead, we can be pressed close in bed. Okay?”
Before you could even protest, he had you wrapped up tight against him in his arms. He held you firmly, one hand bracing your head, the other rubbing up and down on your back. You could feel your shoulders relaxing just barely before he tilted your heads back and his eyes searched yours.
“So how about this: you get one more try to fix this, and if that doesn’t work, then I’ll call AAA, have them give us a tow back to my place, and we’ll figure out essentials and take the Beamer. Deal?”
You sighed in his hold, pressing your forehead against his for a second as you thought. When you tilted your head back up, Ransom took inventory of your face, the look of contemplation, still with a hint of frustration running through it. He pressed a warm, tender kiss to your lips that he realized was far too chaste for your liking when you chased his lips and whined as he pulled away.
A gentle thumb brushed your cheek while a smirk slowly took over his face. His eyes darkened, and he smiled with mischief that you knew all too well, but your brain was quickly growing fuzzy, dazed.
“Ah, is that what you need? A little something to work out this pent-up frustration?”
You panted lightly through parted lips and nodded, looking urgently into his eyes as you let out the breathiest affirmation to his question. He nodded in acknowledgment.
“I should’ve recognized it sooner. Get in the back seat.”
Your fingers tangled in his hair, nails running up the back of his scalp until you reached the longer patch of the quiff on the top of Ransom’s head. You gripped firmly and yanked him upwards, met with him face-to-face after pulling him out from where the condensation was gathering against your neck.
His pupils were blown, lips parted in a groan that quickly grew into that smarmy smirk. His one hand continued its work between your bodies, the other bracing him against the seat to hold him above you. You could feel his thrusts growing sloppy, yet holding no less power. He was pushing himself to give you what you needed and it was paying off. He could tell by the way your knees squeezed his sides, making his smile grow even more. He could feel the way you gripped him tighter, your whole body pulling his into it.
“You close?”
All you could do was nod, words eluding you as you used your hold on him to shove his lips to yours in a fervent kiss. Like that display of affection was the final nudge, you tipped over the edge, orgasm ripping through your body with a wave of warmth, your body convulsing as Ransom pushed for a final few thrusts and came with you. The lip lock was broken with the groans of you both coming down from the high, but small pecks kept you close as you pet your fingers over the back of his hair.
You smiled up at Ransom, having almost forgotten your worries in the pleasure he was able to give you. But instead of being in a post orgasmic haze, it was like the storm of anger that had previously clouded your judgement had cleared and your gaze shot wide.
In concern, your boyfriend looked between your eyes, worry etching into his features as he brushed strands of sweaty hair out of your face.
“What? What is it, sweetheart?”
Snapped out of the moment of intimacy, you pushed his shoulders back, finding your shorts to shimmy them back on your body, still partially underneath your boyfriend’s.
Ransom sat there paralyzed on his knees, watching you pull yourself together just enough to go back outside the car, ignoring his inquisition. His bare ass was still in the breeze as you slipped your shoes on, trying not to lose the light bulb that went off in your head, and opened the car door.
You quickly turned back to him for a peck and paused for a second where he thought you might realize how quickly you just left him there, but all you said was, “It’s gotta be the spark plugs!”
Bonus a/n: heheheheh😈 we love a babe who likes to distract you to clear your mind. And when the rich brat gets a good head on his shoulders.
So 👀 How could you see some toxic soft degradation going with Ransom? 🫠 I feel like Andy and Steve would be shoe ins for that trait, but Ransom is making my brain go brrrr 🫥
Siri. SIRI!! Take my hand and come with me on this journey. I give you
Literature! Professor! Ransom!!!!!!!!!
You're getting your masters in 19th century French literature and just can't believe your luck that he's accepted you as his TA and agreed to be your advisor.
You love talking to him about the books in your course. He's just so smart. And yes, startlingly handsome, but honestly, you admire his intellect the most. And he makes you feel so smart too! Like you're worthy of having a conversation with him.
He always has a lot to say about your lectures. Most of it is good! But when he corrects your analysis of the works you're trying to teach, you think about it for days. It's so much louder in your ears than any of his praise.
After one lecture, he pulls you aside, making sure to tell you in private that the pretty new blouse you just got was see-through under the florescent classroom lights. You're so embarrassed and he doesn't exactly reassure you. "You don't want your students thinking you're a whore, do you? I know how smart you are, but everyone else might not if you keep dressing that way."
When you dress extra conservatively over the next few weeks, he confuses you when he tells you that he misses your pretty sundresses. You don't know what to do. You almost wish he'd just tell you what to wear.
He schedules a meeting about your thesis after dark on a Friday evening, telling you it was the only time he could fit it into his schedule. He's so busy. You're lucky to get any of his time.
The whole building is dark, the only light coming from his office.
He sits down on his leather couch next to you, your thesis in his hand. You're surprised when you can see with just a glance that it's covered in red ink.
"I have to be honest," he says, his voice soft but firm, "I'm very disappointed by your effort here." Your heart sinks as he scoots closer. "Your arguments are shockingly facile. It's clear that you didn't think any of this through."
You hate yourself when you can't stop the tears gathering in your eyes. "Really? I thought if I explored it from a different angle-"
He shakes his head. "It just exposes the fact that you don't understand the work at all."
The tears are falling freely now and he coos at you. "Oh sweetheart, it's alright. I'll help you. I'll explain everything. We'll work together to make you sound like a real scholar. No matter how long it takes. I'm happy to take my time with you."
And then, just as you think that all your academic dreams are falling apart, he places his hand just above your knee, exposed by the sundress you secretly wore just for him, and you're shocked by how grounded it makes you feel.
Thank goodness for Professor Drysdale. You really don't know what you’d do without him.
How is Lloyd when it comes to gross heat and humidity? 🤭
Okay listen. Heat and humidity are awful, full stop. (The humidity finally lifted here after what’s felt like forever 😩)
Lloyd’s such a simple guy when it comes to life: he just wants to be comfortable. And if he can’t be comfortable you bet your ass he’s gonna buy that comfort.
So I imagine him in the morning laying out by the pool, drinking some fruity drink with a leopard print Speedo. He tends to enjoy the early morning more, because neither the heat nor the humidity have settled in yet.
Just as you’re about to call him in for a mid morning snack, he comes stomping into the kitchen, sweat dripping down his chest.
“Who ordered all this fucking heat?”
You’d simply shrug and offer him some lemonade, because he did the same thing every day. A small smile on your lips as you turned to the fridge and you mouthed his next words.
“I swear to God I’m getting a place in Siberia so we don’t have to deal with this shit anymore.”
When you turn around you’ll have already schooled your features and you’ll reply, just like you did the day before. “But I love seeing you in your bathing suit.” The extra little pout may be a bit much, but Lloyd loves it.
His chest will puff out, and he’ll shoot you a wink before going to pull you into his arms.
“Lloyd, no! You’re sweaty and gross, go take a shower!”
That’s when a spark lights up his eye, “I’ll give you the count of three Pumpkin, better hope I don’t catch you.”
You don’t even wait for him to start counting before you’re bounding away, you hear him yell “Three!” From the kitchen before you know he’s tracking you through the house.
You both know it won’t take him long to find you, but pretending was half the fun. In almost no time he has you cornered in the laundry room, a smirk pulling at his features.
“Well…I guess we’re both sweaty and gross now. Let’s go have a shower.”
With that he tosses you over his shoulder and carries you to the master bathroom a swat to your ass as you squeal with mirth.
***
I think it’s a great way to spend a hot humid day, don’t you? Thanks for the fun ask Siri! ❤️
This was meant to be a campy joke of a fic continuing all the minotaur shenanigans we've had this year. But, I let the feral writer part of my brain out of its box where it promptly grabbed me by the throat and said "I am the Captain now" and made me watch as a whole world complete with a map, bios, and lore unfurled. And now I'm in love with a stupid cow man. I hope you're happy @stargazingfangirl18 Oh, and happy birthday! 😘😂
Author's Note: I deserve all the applause for getting this down to exactly 5000 words. I'm quite proud. I also deserve all the censure for writing and formatting it entirely on mobile. Gods help you desktop viewers.
With a heavy sigh, you tore yourself back to reality, having just devoured the sequel of your new obsession. Honestly—why were fictional alien men so much better than the real thing? Who wouldn’t want a seven-foot blue Adonis fated mate‽ And why did the MCs always fight it? Oh nooooo. A devoted mate and guaranteed orgasms? Run awaaaaaay! Idiots. Ugh. As much as you wanted to dive straight into the third one, you needed sleep before work. A solid—4 a.m.‽ Well, crap. That was maybe two hours of sleep if you were lucky. You really shouldn’t have stayed up…but you did. Should you risk a nap? Or just embrace your fate and power through?
Andy woke early and got ready for the day. He wasn’t looking forward to the coming month. He hated visiting the mortal realm and dealing with humans.
And yet, he didn’t trust anyone else to do it. Who could he send? Jake had volunteered a couple of times, but that birdbrain would get distracted and forget half the list. Natasha could handle it, but making her deal with human men would be needlessly cruel—whether more to her or to them, Andy wasn’t entirely sure. The Spartoi twins might manage, but they’d never shown interest in humans and would likely get swindled. Maybe he’d bring them along anyway, a trial run in case they ever had to take over. But then Steve had mentioned renovations while Andy was away. Bah. He’d figure it out later.
Andy met the others at the agora just as the sun hit the dial. Pleasantries exchanged, they got right to it. The Lamia Brothers had a couple of add-on requests—mostly from Lloyd—but nothing Andy couldn’t handle. Once the final version of the list was approved, Maria and Ransom helped Andy glamor to appear human. Ransom scoffed at the apparel. “This is what men of means wear now? How boring.” Andy stretched, testing the fit. “It’s not the worst contrivance they’ve come up with.” Maria and Ransom nodded and turned to rejoin the others. Maria lingered. “I know you hate these trips more than you let on. Thank you for shouldering the burden.” They shared a nod. Natasha and Ari opened the gateway and Andy stepped forward. “This trip’s list is larger than usual. Please clear the portal apotheke as soon as supplies arrive. I’ll be done in a month or so.” With that, he entered the portal and stepped into the human world.
You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you shouldn’t have. An energy drink, maybe a workout—you could’ve powered through. But no. Now you were an hour late, felt like hot garbage, and your manager was glaring like you were the most irritating creature alive. To be fair, you were feeling low enough that you believed it. “I’m so sorry, London. I’ve just had a rough morning. I’ll shake it off and get those orders processed.” “You’d better. Mr. Pronge is bringing a VIP this afternoon, and I don’t need him seeing whatever this shitshow is.” With that she stormed off leaving you wanting to cry at your desk. Shitshow indeed.
Andy’s contact, Robert Pronge, was utterly repulsive, yet he knew his business. The sooner Andy finished, the better. With Pronge’s help he'd have eighty percent of the list done in three weeks. Human logistics had improved enough that Andy might finish entirely in said three weeks instead of a month, especially if he collected the forge equipment directly from China. That detail, unfortunately, drew Pronge’s attention. The insufferable man pressed further about Andy’s operations, fishing for future ventures. “Yeah, sure,” Andy mused. Next time Natasha could deal with Pronge. Hard to be presumptive when you’re statuary. He chuckled at the thought—then a commotion from the offices had both men jumping.
This had to be the worst day of your life. Toner cartridges don’t just explode. And if they somehow did, not all over the user. You were covered in toner powder, holding ruined documents over a smoking printer, when everyone converged at once. London was livid. “What is the matter with you? What did you do‽” She would’ve torn into you further, but Mr. Pronge—and arguably the most handsome man you’d ever seen—stepped in. “You always go around breaking my equipment?” Pronge asked. You wanted to vanish on the spot. The handsome man studied you, head tilted, gaze lingering. Somehow, it felt worse than all the other eyes on you. How it made you forget Pronge’s sneering presence was mystifying in itself. “Well! Nothing to say? Fine—we’re docking the replacement from your pay, and you’ll spend the rest of your shift cleaning this shit up!” You did everything physically possible not to burst into tears.
Andy stayed back, though every aspect disgusted him. The human, smeared with unpleasant ichor had probably done it to herself, but the reaction around her was needlessly cruel. The malice of humans still managed to surprise him. Didn’t they care for their women anymore? As Pronge continued his tirade, Andy studied you. At first, he dismissed you as just another human. But then his eyes lingered longer than they should have. And when he realized he’d tilted his head, he recoiled. What? No. Absolutely not.
Andy told himself it was nothing. A flicker of pity, that was all. He was a good male—responsible, dutiful. That human, though… covered in soot, trembling under the weight of sharp words, and left to clean the mess alone. It was intolerable. He wasn’t interested—of course not—he only cared because it reflected poorly on Pronge to leave a worker broken down like that. And because… well, because he was raised better. A good male looked after the vulnerable. That was all.
By the time the humans dispersed from the chaos, Andy had already excused himself. He drifted toward the cluster of cafés he’d noticed earlier. Food was a universal balm. If he brought something back—something thoughtful—it would balance the scales. A kind gesture and nothing more.
The café was bright, scented with sugar and something bitter he didn’t recognize. A woman behind the counter lit up when she saw him, leaning forward with practiced charm. “Well, hello there. What can I get you?” Andy glanced at the boards overhead and frowned. Too many options, none familiar. “I need… a pick-me-up for a woman,” he said at last. “I don’t know what she’d like.” The barista blinked, her smile faltering. She’d expected him to order for himself, maybe linger, flirt back. Instead, she gave a tight laugh, brushing off her disappointment as she busied herself at the register. “Well… our blueberry scones are really good. And this drink’s been popular lately—light, fruity, colorful. Very popular on Insta.” He nodded. “That will do.”
She moved through the motions quickly, sliding the scone into a bag and pouring the drink, stealing little glances at him. When she handed them over, her smile had shifted—less playful, more gentle. “Whoever she is,” she murmured, “she’s lucky.” Andy didn’t even react, just gave a curt nod and turned away, repeating his mantra in silence as he left:
Food. A gesture. A transaction of decency. Then she will be out of mind.
The barista watched him go, sighing as she wiped the counter wistfully lamenting that all the good men were taken.
You were still wiping up toner when something landed on your desk with a soft thud. You startled, turning, and saw a neat little paper bag and a bright, summery drink. The man from before stood there, posture loose but eyes unreadable. “Extras,” he said shortly, as if that explained anything.
You blinked. “For me?”
He inclined his head once.
You opened the bag and found your favorite blueberry scone, the familiar scent a comforting contrast to the toner tang clinging to you. Your throat tightened. “Thank you,” you said softly. “Really. I… needed this more than I'd realized.”
He shifted, gaze flicking away as though the words unsettled him. “It’s nothing.”
With a small lift of your chin, you offered your name.
His gaze returned to you, steady, unreadable. “Andy Barber.”
“Andy,” you echoed, the name soft on your tongue.
For a moment, it felt like the world had gone still. Then you broke the scone in half, laughter bubbling up—light, a little breathless—because the powdered sugar dusted your already-ruined shirt like some cruel cosmic joke. You laughed anyway, shoulders shaking.
Andy froze. His head tilted, just slightly, as he listened—drawn in by the sound before he even realized he was doing it. Something in him leaned toward you, unthinking, instinctive. By the time he straightened, his jaw was tight, as though the gesture had betrayed him.
The moment fractured when London swept in, her heels clicking like punctuation. She eyed the scone, then the drink, then you, her smile softening into something so sweet it had to be fake. “Well, aren’t you spoiled,” she said smoothly. “Some of us go months without such little indulgences.” Her gaze slid toward Andy, lingering there with a practiced ease. “Not that I mind. It’s nice to be treated—over dinner, perhaps, Mr…?”
She let the question hang like an open door.
Andy didn’t even seem to notice. He gave his name politely, but his focus was already back on you. “Enjoy.”
Your heart skipped. London wasn’t the one he answered. He hadn’t taken her bait, hadn’t given her even a scrap of acknowledgment beyond basic manners. Instead, his gaze settled on you again—steady, undiscernable, and yet… there was something in it. Something that made heat creep up your neck.
London’s smile twitched, just a little, the edges sharp where she meant them soft. She had expected him to notice her. To want her. But his attention had already gone back to you. And unless you were imagining it, his head tilted the faintest degree as he studied you.
You took a small bite of the scone just to cover your nerves as you studied him in return. You were reminded of the seven-foot blue aliens you'd been pining over just that morning. Andy was, simply put, huge—broad shouldered, towering, striking in a way that made your stomach flutter in spite of yourself.
When Andy inclined his head once more and left, you were left in stunned silence. You almost felt bad seeing London’s brittle smile. Almost.
Andy told himself the distraction was over. The scone, the laugh, the foolish tilt of his head—it was done. He had errands to finish, a realm to return to, and a human who would vanish from his thoughts the moment he stepped back through the portal.
The gate shimmered, and he emerged outside Nagasaki with a list of purchases to collect. Camellia cuttings, specialty teas, lacquered tools—items Maria had carefully noted. He moved with efficiency, trading silver for slips of green wrapped in damp cloth, his mind narrowed to the work.
Then a vendor pressed something into his hand—a pale, powder-dusted sphere. “Mochi,” she explained. The powder clung to his fingertips and in a flash he saw sugar dusting your shirt, your laugh bubbling up as though it surprised even you. He swallowed it down—both the sweet and the memory.
By the time he returned through the portal to your country, he had doubled his efforts to forget. He was happy his next matter of business was his favorite—the farm. He confirmed his order—apple grafts in new varieties; white strawberries; purple tomatoes.
Then he spotted you—crouched near a crate of early lettuces, chatting easily with a young farmhand. A basket dangled from your arm, half-filled with a variety of produce.
Andy went still, the slips of grafted apple wood forgotten in his grip.
You laughed at something the farmhand said, and the sound threaded through the air, snaring him tighter.
One of the farmers nearby called to him. “Mr. Barber—your purple tomato plants are ready to go. Want to have a look before we pack them up?”
Your head snapped up. “Purple tomatoes?”
The farmhand grinned. “Yeah, a specialty hybrid variety. Gorgeous to grow, real rich flavor. We’ve only got the plants right now, but you can come see if you like.”
You rose with your basket, curiosity bright in your eyes. “Oh, I have to see those.” Then you noticed Andy standing there, watching, silent as stone. Recognition flickered. “You,” you said.
Andy inclined his head once. “Me,” he agreed.
The farmer glanced between you both, oblivious. He motioned down the row. “Come on, I’ll show you both the tomatoes.”
You moved toward the greenhouse without hesitation. Andy followed, telling himself it was only because the farmer had invited him. The greenhouse was warm, earthy, alive. Sunlight filtered through the glass, gilding the rows of plants. You bent close to inspect them, fingertips brushing a leaf like it was something delicate and rare. When you leaned in to study the dusky wine-colored fruits hanging from their stems, his head tilted again, unbidden. “They’re beautiful,” you murmured. Andy said nothing as a thought bloomed, dangerous and sweet: she belongs here.
Andy’s head tilted again before he caught himself, but the damage was done. His mind had already run ahead, weaving the image of you not in some fluorescent office, not under the scorn of petty mortals—but here. Among plants. Among his orchards. With him.
The sound of your voice struck him like the memory of your laughter. “They’re stunning! You’re here for these? You have excellent taste,” you said, eyes bright, lips curved. Perfect, Andy thought. The word rang through him like a hammer strike.
Perfect little heifer.
He shut his jaw, as though he could grind the thought to powder, but it only rooted deeper. His gaze swept over you, cataloguing: the curve of your shoulders, the steadiness in your hands, the way you touched growing things with reverence. You were strong. Resilient. Breedable.
The word coiled in his mind, primal and heavy. You were meant for green things. For orchards. For him. His thoughts seethed. I'll bring her to Themorea. I’ll see her in the gardens where no mortal cruelty can reach her. Mine to guard. Mine to keep. My perfect mate.
The goods Andy had procured were steadily portalling in from his rented storage lockers to the apotheke. He wasn’t expected back for another couple of weeks, so he’d hoped to find the place empty.
“Andy! There’s no way we have everything yet. What happened?”
He’d been so caught up in planning how to get you here that he nearly missed Lloyd, processing the last batch of goods he’d sent through.
Andy studied him for a moment. Lloyd wasn’t the most loyal, nor the most trustworthy—but he was capable and meticulous. He and his brother Fowler were willing to get their hands dirty in ways the others avoided. That made them dangerous. And dependable.
“I need a secure apartment at my estate,” Andy said evenly. “Discreet. Comfortable.”
Lloyd’s cerulean eyes slid up from the crates, glinting with sly amusement. His lips curved into a serpent’s smile. “Ah. So that’s it. Fowler and I never thought you’d break first. Always so noble, and here you are—setting up a love nest.”
Andy’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer.
Lloyd smirked, voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “Don’t coil up so tight, grumpcake. Fowler and I have talked about it ourselves—finding companions. Mortals aren’t without their charms, and Themorea could use a little… diversification. A little investment in the future?”
The words slithered between jest and intent, a half-joke that carried too much weight to dismiss. “Maybe. Will you help?”
Lloyd chuckled, turning back to the crates. “Oh, I’ll see to it. And when you see how well it works out… don’t be surprised if Fowler and I go shopping, too.”
Andy gave a noncommittal nod and turned to leave when Lloyd added, “But you get to explain it to Natasha.”
Andy froze just shy of the portal. He hadn’t considered how this would look to the Gorgon. He blanched, and Lloyd’s chuckle curled through the air.
“I take it you found some sweet thing that rewrote your brain, because this is very unlike you. I can’t wait to meet her. Don’t get me wrong—I support this more than you know. My brother and I aren’t the only ones who’ve felt… emptiness. Many of the others will back you if it plays out well.” Lloyd’s grin widened, sharp as fangs. “Hell, I think even Natasha… well, shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves, eh?” He shook off his visible excitement and got back to business. “Fowler and I’ll have the apartment ready in a week.”
Andy drew a slow breath and studied Lloyd. For once, there was no game in his words. He was being almost… sincere. How had Andy not noticed the loneliness, the stagnation of his peers? It seemed cuttings for the orchards weren’t the only grafts Themorea needed. Then he thought of you, and his resolve hardened. The details of how others might follow could wait. You were not up for debate. You were his.
Something of that ironclad resolution must have shone in his eyes, because Lloyd practically vibrated. “Oh, I can’t wait to meet your little sunshine if she gives you that look.”
With that parting jab, Lloyd slithered off to find his brother, and Andy stepped through the portal.
Pronge was ahead of schedule on the list and practically crowing. Andy endured it in silence. Then you walked past the glass partition. Pronge caught the flicker in Andy’s expression and his smirk sharpened.
“You know,” Pronge drawled, leaning back in his chair, “my office manager said something funny the other day. Not much for brains—good thing I didn’t hire her for that—but she’s got a mouth on her. Ranted about that little disaster over there.” His chin flicked toward you. “Called her Miss Dumpster Fire. Said you were hanging around her desk, even brought her a scone. Sounded jealous, if you ask me.”
Andy’s face didn’t change, but his body angled forward, slow and deliberate. Pronge’s grin slipped. He lifted both hands.
“Hey, hey. No disrespect. I’ve been looking into you, Barber. And you know what I found?” He tapped the desk with a thick finger. “Nothing. Not a goddamn thing. The way you move across borders, the way your shipments vanish?” He gave a low whistle.
Andy’s voice came low. “Get to your point.”
Pronge swallowed, but his eyes gleamed with oily confidence. “Me? I like keeping things tidy. Gossip like that can turn messy. But for the right consideration, I can make sure your little miss stays out of everyone’s mouth. That jealous office manager? Quiet. The whole trail? Gone. Neat and clean.” He snapped his fingers. “Like she never existed.”
Andy didn’t know what Pronge thought he saw in his expression, but the man raised his hands again in mock surrender. “Relax, Barber. I’m not saying it’s personal. Strictly business. You want her gone, I can make it happen. You want her safe?” His grin returned, razor-thin. “Different kind of arrangement. Either way, she’s yours.”
Andy hated the means, but couldn’t deny the usefulness. They struck a deal.
Mr. Pronge had been strangely kind to you the rest of the week and even sent you home early on Friday. “Get a jump on the weekend,” he said, as if generosity came naturally.
You took him up on it.
At home, you made a cup of tea and curled up with book six, ready to lose yourself for a few hours. You did, until you realized you weren’t picturing blue alien hunks on the page. You were imagining Andy—and had been for several books now. You regretted not asking him out. He would’ve made a move if he wanted to see me again. Stop daydreaming. That bitter little truth lodged in your chest, and eventually the daydreams slipped into sleep.
It wasn’t restful. Your neck ached, dull and throbbing, and your limbs felt too heavy to shift. Waking never quite came. You floated instead, thoughts drifting, until Andy’s voice—low, steady, familiar—cut through the haze.
”You’re okay. Relax your brow, beloved, and rest.” Dream Andy whispered, and this time… you obeyed.
You didn’t stir again. Your breathing stayed even, though a faint twitch now and then betrayed the drug working its way through your system. Andy sat in the chair beside the bed, elbows braced on his knees, watching you in the soft light. It was just a jab. She’ll sleep the night and have a slight headache in the morning. No muss, no fuss. Vile assurances from a vile man. The brothers had done a good job on the apartment at least. You lay half-curled in the blankets, hair spilling across the pillow, lips parted in unconscious repose. You weren’t meant for that world. Not for Pronge. Not for anyone but him.
A crease flickered across your brow, subtle but sharp enough to draw Andy forward. He brushed a strand of hair back from your face, his hand lingering for a heartbeat. “Rest, beloved,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Rest.” The tension eased from your expression. Convinced you'd sleep well now, Andy stepped out to prepare for the morning when everything would change.
You stirred, head heavy, limbs sluggish. Your hand curled in the blanket, trying to anchor yourself. This wasn’t your chair. The cushion beneath you was a bed—broad, indulgent, too perfect. You let out a weak laugh. Dream Andy, you’re getting ridiculous. First you show up in my head, now you’ve whisked me away to a dreamy bed.
As if summoned, Andy appeared.
You blinked at the figure framed in the doorway, early light bending around him. Broad shoulders, sharp jaw, eyes that burned steady even in half-shadow. “Andy,” you whispered, relief rushing in. Of course. Dream Andy, come to soothe you again.
When he crossed to the bed, you rose without hesitation. The ache in your neck, the fog in your head—none of it mattered once his arms closed around you. Solid. Steady. The cedar-dark heat of him seeped into you until something inside cracked open. You nuzzled against him, tugging him down onto the bed. His surprised huff turned into a low, pleased sound as he gathered you closer.
You kissed his throat, then his jaw, chasing the warmth of him, desperate for more. He groaned your name and you silenced him with your mouth.
The kiss stole your breath. Not blurred or flimsy like dreams. This was sharp, consuming, devastatingly real.
Panic bolted through you. You tore yourself back, colliding with the headboard, heart pounding.
“This isn’t a dream‽”
Andy didn’t flinch. He stayed exactly where you’d left him gaze locked on yours. “No,” he said softly. “It’s not. You’re safe. With me.”
The words wrapped around you like iron, like a vow. He didn’t reach for you right away—he waited, letting the weight of his presence settle, letting you see the truth in his eyes.
Your fingers trembled in your lap. “Then… how?”
His lips quirked, just barely. “Later.” He leaned closer, bracing a hand against the headboard beside your head, his body heat searing through the air between you. “Right now, all that matters is this.”
His presence overwhelmed your senses as his mouth brushed yours again, this time slower, deeper, deliberate. A real kiss. A real Andy. And instead of panic, fire licked through your veins.
You whimpered against his lips, and that was all the invitation he needed. His hand slid to cradle your jaw, angling you to take more of him, his thumb tracing the line of your cheek as if he’d been starved for the shape of you. You melted into it, hands gripping the fabric at his shoulders, desperate to pull him closer.
“Andy…” you breathed between kisses, your voice ragged, caught somewhere between wonder and hunger.
“Mine,” he growled against your mouth, his voice rough. The word went through you like lightning, and then his weight pressed you into the mattress, solid and commanding.
Your legs parted instinctively, welcoming him in. He ground against you, hard length sliding against your core through too many layers, and you gasped into his mouth. He swallowed the sound greedily, tongue tangling with yours.
Your hands fumbled at his shirt, desperate to feel skin. He caught the urgency, yanking it over his head in one smooth motion before you were on his chest, the ridges of muscle tight beneath your palms. He was beautiful, real.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured, catching your wrist and pressing a reverent kiss to your pulse. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
“Don’t you dare,” you whispered, voice breaking with need.
The look he gave you then—hungry, triumphant, undone—set your body aflame. He tore your shirt over your head, tossed it aside, and lowered himself to taste your bare skin. His mouth claimed your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. You arched up, moaning when his teeth grazed your nipple, his tongue soothing after.
“Andy—”
“Say it again,” he demanded, voice dark as his hand slid down your stomach, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts.
“Andy!” you cried, hips bucking as his touch found you, clever fingers sliding through slick heat. You clutched at his shoulders as pleasure jolted through you.
“Good girl,” he growled, circling just right, pressing until you were gasping, writhing, desperate for more. He pushed a finger then two inside, stretching you open while his thumb teased your clit, each movement coaxing you closer to the edge. “That’s it,” Andy whispered against your ear, biting your lobe, his pace relentless. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”
Your body obeyed, climax tearing through you like wildfire. You clung to him, crying his name as waves of pleasure crashed, your thighs trembling around his hand. He held you through it, groaning as if your pleasure fed his own hunger.
When you finally sagged back against the pillows, boneless and gasping, Andy drew his fingers from you—then brought them to his mouth, licking them clean with a guttural sound that made your core throb all over again.
“Mine,” he repeated, voice raw.
And then he was tugging his belt loose, freeing his cock, thick and straining, flushed at the tip. Your breath caught at the sight.
“Please,” you whispered.
Andy smirked before sliding the head against your slick entrance. “Dream or not,” he murmured as he pushed inside, stretching you inch by glorious inch, “you’ll never wake from me.”
Some part of your brain realized that should worry you. You’ve essentially been kidnapped by a man you barely know. And then you heard your own mocking voice from a few weeks ago. Why did the MCs always fight it? Oh nooooo. A devoted mate and guaranteed orgasms? Run awaaaaaay! Idiots. And you were no idiot.
Your walls clenched as Andy eased in, slow but unrelenting, filling you until you couldn’t breathe. He was thick, stretching you almost painfully, the kind of stretch that made your toes curl and your eyes roll back.
Your hands clawed at his back, dragging across muscle as you gasped, “Andy—oh my god—”
His forehead dropped to yours, sweat already misting his brow. His voice rasped, guttural. “That’s it, sweetheart. Take me. All of me.”
When his hips finally pressed flush against yours, the weight of him buried deep inside, you cried out. You’d never felt so full, so utterly claimed.
Andy groaned like a man breaking. “You feel like you were made for me.”
He gave you no time to reply before withdrawing, slow enough to make you whimper, then slamming back in hard enough to rattle the bedframe. You yelped, the shock of pleasure-pain stealing your breath. He did it again. And again. Each thrust deeper, harder, more desperate.
Your moans turned frantic, the air thick with the sound of skin on skin, the creak of the mattress, his ragged growls.
“Andy—” you sobbed, nails digging crescents into his shoulders.
“Say it louder,” he snarled against your neck, biting down just enough to leave a mark. “Scream for me.”
And you did. Every thrust knocked another cry from your throat. He drove into you with a brutal rhythm, hips slamming, cock hitting that perfect spot inside that made stars burst behind your eyes.
Your body arched under him, begging, chasing the edge. “I—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” he growled, thumb finding your clit again, circling hard and fast. “You’re mine, and you’re going to fall apart on my cock.”
Your orgasm tore through you, violent and consuming, your whole body seizing around him as you screamed his name. The world went white, every nerve lit with fire as your climax milked him inside you.
Andy’s control—and glamor—shattered. With a roar, he pounded into you harder, faster, chasing his own release. His thrusts turned erratic, savage, until he buried himself to the hilt and spilled inside you with a shuddering groan, heat flooding your core.
He collapsed against you, both of you gasping, bodies slick with sweat, tangled in sheets that smelled of cedar and sex.
For a long moment, silence. Only the sound of his heartbeat hammering against your chest, your own pulse answering in frantic rhythm.
Then Andy lifted his head, kissed you slow and sweet, utterly at odds with the feral way he’d just taken you. His voice came rough but steady:
“Not a dream.”
“Are you sure? Because I think I'm dreaming that you're a minotaur.”
Andy huffed a laugh. “You think human men could ever?”
You laughed surprising even yourself. “No. And this is so much better than blue aliens.” Laughing even harder at Andy's confused look, you barely wheezed out. “Later. Add it to all the later topics.”
Do you have a lil tidbit about him that you can share? 🤏🏻🤭
Sadly, I don't have anything written down yet, but I can give you a few highlights if you'd like.
You are the best friend of Ari's wife, the very one who'd been almost drugged/drugged in Ari's club.
The man taken out by Ari and his wife is lucky that Curtis didn't get his hands on him.
Curtis has wanted you since he first saw you walk into the Ari's office with Ari's wife, but he also values his position as Ari's right hand too much to ever think of touching you (outside his private thoughts anyway).
He's the one who takes care of you as you come off the drugs/recover from the incident.
When he does get his chance with you, he actually wants to treat you unlike the others he's had before. He wants to be gentle.
Yet, that all changes when you challenge his prowess.
Good luck ever getting rid of him after he's had you because you're his and he's going to make sure you never want or need for anything again.
Still thinking up a few key details. I need to decide if you were actually drugged or almost drugged, but I should hopefully have the fuller piece to this soon.
Also thinking up ways to write more for Mob Boss!Ari, too. 🫣
🧚🏻♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now (if you feel inspired) you must share a hoe thot about: CE!babe + waking up together for the first time
My firtst hoe-ask! 🤗 I'm very happy, also please don't judge me on my English or writing abbility. This hoe is trying, ok? 🥹
The morning light was creeping inside through the thin drapes giving everything in the messy bedroom a soft golden glow. Your brain, in all of it hungover fog, assessed the situation: nice soft bed, very warm weightet blanket, big muscular arm draped over you ... Hold on! What in the everloving -
This huge bearded guy, attached to mentioned arm, chuckled. "I can hear your brain work, little bird." You looked at that amused, handsome face. Your best friend's face. Oh. Oh! "Curtis?" He smiled wide and warm, leaned over and kissed you. Your brain malfunctioned on the spot. "You sang to me so beautifully last night." His voice dropped an octave."Can you sing to me again, my little bird?"
