Man Eater

i dunno if youre on a break right now but 👉👈

security guard simon and a younger/college girlfriend??

(ily slater and i hope your personal life doesn't suck too bad 💕)

personal life still sucks but I'm a slut for COD men 😤 sorry this isn't too long!! Still trying to find time for online activities ❤️ Hope you like it hon!

Man Eater

Bouncer!Simon x College Girlfriend

Word Count: 3K

Tags: Strangers, fantasizing, reader is kind of a slut lmao, semi-public fingering, semi-public blow job, !!DUBIOUS CONSENT!!, Third person to second person

There she was again.

That same girl from last Friday and the Friday before.

At this point, she’d hung around so long Simon could almost consider her a part of the club’s decorations, plastered over the bar every weekend just like the confetti that dropped from the ceiling at the end of the night. She wore a new dress every week, squeezed her feet into just about a hundred different pairs of platform pumps.

But regardless of which eyeshadow she wore or which cocktail was clasped in her manicured hand, her face never changed.

Blissed out pupils, flushed cheeks, sweat-soaked hair—they were nothing short of her very identity, smothered within the stifling walls of the pulsing night club.

She’d been coming here since the beginning of the semester. Simon knew the type. Ditzy sorority girls, batting their lashes at him from the end of the line, tugging at the hems of their too-short dresses like that might convince him to pull them out of the October chill any faster.

By the time they reached the front of the line, they were usually tripping over their high heels just to hand him their IDs…Not like the desperate display was any more likely to endear them to him anyway. At a certain point, their faces blurred together. Just another mish-mash of blonde hair dye, Daddy’s money, and Jello shots.

Now that he was pushing 32, he had a bit more tact than to jump at the first girl who showed him some attention.

But that girl…

She’d been here for hours without a care the world—least of all to the bouncer in the corner, whose eyes hadn’t left her since the minute she walked in.

It was indecent, really, the way that she threw herself around the dance floor. Thumping and bouncing with every move of the crowd, yelling the lyrics so loud he swears he could nearly hear the vibrato above the blaring stereo.

A gaggle of women brush past him—some sexed out bachelorette party—momentarily blocking his view of the girl on the floor. He mutters a curse under his breath, leaning this way and that just to try and get a better look. But the irritation leaves him soon enough, lungs breathless the minute he catches sight of her.

She’s still there, hips swaying with every beat. The drink in her hand spills when someone else pushes past her, but even as the stringent liquid spills over her front, she doesn’t open her eyes for even a single second.

He’s sure the cold alcohol must feel like dry ice against her superheated skin, but she isn’t the one who’s shocked to stillness. Rather, it’s Simon who finds himself unblinking, blood rushing cold as he looks out over the dance floor.

Over the hem of that stupid mini-dress (off the rack, no doubt), peeks a hem of black lace and push-up padding. The drink soaks in, sparkling under the disco ball, flecks of tequila and salt sticking to the curves of her cleavage. She was a grade-A example. Mascara running. Nail polish chipped. Panty lines showing through against the material of her skirt.

God, his chest aches just at the sight.

Another throng of people walk by, and when his view of her is restored, some no-name frat boy is pushing his hips up against her ass. Instantly, he rolls his eyes, but she hardly misses a beat, grinding along with the guy like she couldn’t smell the stench of cigarettes on his teeth.

God, he curses, tongue in cheek, Another fuckin’ prick.

It happened every weekend, some two-bit asshole hanging around like they had any business dancing with a girl like that—like they had any business dancing with his girl like that.

His crossed arms clench and he can’t stop the scowl that climbs up over his face.

His girl.

God, he’s on that again?

In all truth, Simon was hardly better than those nameless pricks, blinded by a pretty face and desperate to test out the springs in her mattress. They were drooling for it the minute she crossed their paths, but what did they even know about her really?

Did they know that she always ordered a round of tequila shots to start the night? Did they know that she grimaced at the salt rim and always skipped the chaser?

Did they know that she wore bandaids underneath her heels because her feet bled after a long night of dancing? Simon had seen the blood on her ankles. She’d worn Hello Kitty bandaids for three weeks before she finally managed to get her hands on a color that was a bit more tasteful.

Did they know that she never spared a man a second look? That they were only the latest toys for her to play with?

Didn’t they know that they were second in line? That somebody else had already called dibs?

God, didn’t they know that she was too good for trash like them?

In that instance, she spins out underneath the multi-color lights, eyes opening for a split-second. Her line of sight brushes over him, in his black clothing and threadbare long-sleeve. The sensation of it—passing over his chest all the way down to the bruises on his knuckles—hits harder than any bump, shot, or drag. It hits him like ice water, sending rivulets of ice down the back of his spine. He swears his heart skips a beat, but it’s gone just as soon as it came, lost underneath her black false lashes once again.

He manages a low breath.

God, he thinks, watching her push the boy away to move towards her second partner, This is awful.

Was he really that all that different? Was he really so much better than the shmuck sliding his hands up the the sides of her bare thighs right now?

Her skirt edges dangerously upwards and his eyes drink in the movement with rapt attention.

Fuck.

He has to be, he thinks, He fucking has to be.

Because he knew her name. Knew her birthday, too. He could recite every detail on her ID off the top of his head, from her eye color all the way down to her blood type. Every time she handed it to him, he tried to muster a smile. Really, he did. But, in the moment, her perfume drawing him in like a vise, it was easier to look over her shoulder than into her hypnotic eyes.

“You’re in,” he’d grunt tersely every time.

“Thank you,” she’d say without missing a beat, brushing past him without sparing a second look.

That was all it was. A few words between the two of them. But Simon knew enough to fill in the blanks. After all, it was his job to know things.

She was a student, probably. One of those girls who threw themselves into everything they’d ever done, he liked to imagine. He could see her standing in front of a lecture hall, reading a powerpoint, head aching from a hangover. He could see her posing for photos at ball games and wearing a black gown at graduation.

She looked smart, his girl. He just knew it was true. Though, what would her major be?

Marketing, maybe? Art, perhaps? Political science, if she was feeling risky? Or maybe—just maybe—she was on her way to medical school.

It was a fun game to play, forcing the jagged pieces of his thoughts to fit amongst the puzzle of her mysterious life. But the finer details paled in comparison to the big picture. His body thrums just at the possibility.

Next week, he thinks.

“You’re in,” he’d say, and she’d smile at him. She’d hand him a napkin with her phone number, whisper something in his ear, leave swipes of cheap lipstick against his skin.

He takes a breath in, watching the way the man’s hands cradle her hips.

She’d drag him to the dance floor. She wouldn’t ask his name, and he’d pretend like he hardly knew hers.

Again, she walks away from her partner, downing the rest of her drink.

He’d stand there behind her, let her shove her ass up against his belt, and act like his hands weren’t drifting too low. She reach behind her back, edge her pretty fingers beneath his waistband and give it a few tugs—just enough for him to get the message. Just enough for him to follow her back to her campus apartment. Just enough for him to pocket a pair of her skimpy lace panties, kneeling over the edge of her Twin XL just to get a taste of the cunt between her legs.

At the image alone, his blood runs south, cock throbbing underneath his slacks, but the fantasy is interrupted when she begins to walk across the floor with a purpose. He watches as he leans up against the bar, mingling with a few girls in sparkling party dresses.

Without missing a detail, he watches her lips move. The other women giggle, rocking in their chairs, but he can see beneath the fake excuse she gives them. When she begins pushing to the other side of the bar, ducking into a part of the bar he can’t keep an eye on, his irritation peaks.

Instantly, his heart pounds, blood positively rushing as he shoves his way through the crowd.

“Fuck,” he curses beneath his breath, knocking another drunk patron to the side. Vaguely, he can hear the man yell a slurry of incomprehensible words at his back, but he’s much too focused on the trail of her perfume to care.

It takes him longer than he’d like to admit to get to the other side of the room. Between drunken dancers, handsy women, and obvious contraband, the hands on his watch make more than just a few passes over twelve before he hits the bar.

“Hey,” he shouts, snapping his fingers at the man behind the counter, “Y’seen a girl come this way? One who ordered the tequila shots earlier? She’s a regular.”

“Uh—yeah, she was headed towards the bathroom a few minutes ago,” the bartender slides a drink across the bar, “Why? She do something wrong?”

“None o’ your business,” he clicks his tongue, pressing towards the bathroom before he can see the exasperated shrug the other gives him.

The bathrooms are hardly a step away from the bar, but it’s hardly a walk in the park. Sugar and rum make the bottoms of his boots stick to the floor with every move and vape fluid hangs in the air like a cloud. He pulls it into his lungs, turning the corner. Immediately, a chorus of hushed conversation greets him, and he quirks a brow, peering down at a group of men that huddle close to a door.

He sticks two fingers between his lips, bellowing a sharp whistle. Within an instant, all four of their heads whip in his direction, and they jump away from the door like they’d just been burned. When they spot his hefty frame lumbering towards him, they collectively hold their breath, going red in the face with every minute Simon stands there posturing.

“You lot stupid or somethin’?” He growls, pointing towards the sign on the door, “Kindergarten teacher never taught you how to read, huh?”

“Uh—no…sir,” one of them thinks to stutter, practically pissing his pants the longer he spends standing in Simon’s shadow.

“Yeah?” He glowers, hooking a finger under the guy’s collar, “Then what’s a git like you looking into the ladies’ room for? Forget your bollocks in there did ya?”

“N-no,” he shoves at Simon’s hands, “Uh—look, man, we weren’t lookin’ for any trouble, it’s just…There’s this girl in there and she’s…Well…”

“She’s what? Hiding from creeps like you?”

“No! We’re just—”

“All of you,” he snaps, pulling the man forward, “Out. Now. Show your face ‘round here again and I’ll throw your asses out on the streets before you can get another word in. Understand?”

Without further persuasion, the three other men scurry towards the entrance to the dance floor, looking anxiously at back at their friend, who dangles from Simon’s iron grip like a rag doll. Just for good measure, Simon looks at him from head to toe, memorizing the man’s face.

If he ever tries to get near his girl again, Simon can’t be held accountable for what he’ll do.

With a sigh, he releases the poor boy, resisting a laugh when he scrambles to his feet. Simon watches the four of them retreat first, peeking out at the dance floor just to make sure they leave. However, when the front door slams behind them, a weird sort of tension settles over his shoulders. Inhaling low, he spares a glance at the closed door behind him.

Should he wait for her? Y’know, just to make sure she was really okay?

Cursing his inability to make a decision, he idles in the hallway for a minute, glaring at the front door, like those four men might come barreling back through any minute now.

Minutes pass.

His watch ticks.

The music blares.

He taps his fingers against his watch.

Was one of those men the guy she’d been dancing with earlier? Did they chase her into the bathroom?

He thinks on the possibility of it for a minute. Truthfully, he couldn’t recall the face of the men she’d been dancing with. They were unremarkable for the most part. Though, if there’s one thing he knows about her, it’s that she’s never denied a partner. She didn’t go home with them, but she wasn’t afraid to sidle up to them on the dance floor or in the backrooms for that matter.

She wasn’t afraid to let them have their fun for a few minutes. They never lasted long enough to please her, but she still tried.

God, he scowls, Her heart was just too big. If she gave him another glance, he’d give her a real reason to stay out of the club.

But, he digresses…

Perhaps one of them had gotten the wrong idea. It was plain to see. She left broken hearts in her wake with every step she took—his included. Though, none of the four men seemed aggressive. They were creeps, sure, but not ones he’d struggle to beat into a pulp.

Still, for a woman like her, maybe it was different.

His heart rate picks up and he spares another glance at the door. For what feels like hours, he reads and rereads the sign, chewing on the skin of his cheek. Yet, when he hears a small noise emanate from within, it takes remarkably little for his resolve to break.

Without thinking twice, he’s pushing the door open, peeking into the barren bathroom. There’s no one else inside. Thank god. However, the emptiness only amplifies the pitiful sound when your voice rings out again, bouncing off the walls like a tolling bell. His stomach drops.

You’re crying.

You’re really fucking crying, in some dirty bathroom stall, all alone without your friends to keep you company.

His hands wring at his sides, anger spiking.

God, he should have pummeled them when he had the chance. On reflex, he looks back at the door behind him, contemplating rushing out there to kick them to the curb while they’re still int he vicinity. Yet, another whimper stops him dead in his tracks.

Did they lay a hand on you? Do something unseemly to you? Did they offend you somehow? Give you a suspicious glance, perhaps?

To him, it didn’t matter. They were all capital offenses in his book. His chest heaves as he considers his options. However, standing here so close, he’s filled with the overwhelming need to do something, to prove himself to you somehow. Leaving you to fend for yourself would be as good as turning tail.

So, without wasting another second, he swallows his anger, trying to put on a sympathetic face. He has a feeling it turns out more menacing than he intends, but still, it’s a start.

“Um—miss,” he speaks, unsure of how to broach a conversation.

Your voice hitches behind the door, and he raises a hand to knock…

Only for the door to creak open the second his knuckle makes the softest of contact. His brow furrows. Slowly, he inches the door open, peering down at where you sit on the stool. Instantly, his mind draws a blank.

There, you sit, one glistening thigh propped up against the side of the graffiti covered stall. A pair of black panties dangle from your high-heeled foot, Hello-Kitty bandaid shining proudly beneath the strappy leather of the shoe.

When his burly frame pushes open the door, situating himself in the entryway, you don’t make to hide yourself. Hell, you don’t even flinch. You only look up at him in frozen dismay, lashes blinking slowly while you try to make heads and tails of the situation…

His eyes drop and so does your stomach.

There, two of your fingers rest against the crook of your hip, shiny and wet, matching all too closely to the stain on the gusset of your panties…strings of slick stick between the pair of them, shining in the flickering bathroom lights.

“Fuck,” he curses absently, trying and failing to pull himself away from he sight of you…

His girl.

The one he’d spent weeks watching on the dance floor, rejecting advance after advance, found herself here. Not because a group of overeager frat boys had her running for cover. No.

She just needed something to fill her up. Something that could finally satisfy her.

In public, no less.

Breath caught in his throat, he drinks in the sight of it. From your frizzy hair and smeared lipstick, down to your waist, where the skirt of the dress is haphazardly scrunched up around your waist. The longer he looks, the hotter he becomes, and before he knows it, he’d nearly running a fever, watching as you slowly pull your fingers away from your exposed, leaking cunt.

He watches them like a hawk, cock pulsing with every move that you make. The two of you stay frozen for all too long, sizing each other up like they were a prime rib on a silver platter. He bites his cheek, watching the way a drop of slick drips off of your swollen clit. And you…

God, he can feel your eyes settle on the hefty bulge at the front of his pants, looking at the way the button of his jeans strain around the length of him.

The door isn’t locked.

The bathroom smells like cigarette smoke.

The stall is hardy even tall enough to allow him to stand.

You’ve never met him.

He’s never met you.

But somehow…

Your eyes flick up to his, frozen no longer. Cautiously, you reach a slick, shaking hand in his direction, easily fisting his shirt. He watches your lips curl into a low smile.

He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t move a muscle. Hell, he doesn’t even try to kick the door closed behind him. No, he’s all but paralyzed when you pull him forward, giggling underneath your breath when you yank him between your legs. Your bare pussy brushes against the knee of his jeans, and he shoves a hand up against the wall to stop from falling over when you tuck your wet fingers underneath his belt.

And just like in the dreams you didn’t know that he had, you clumsily pull his belt out of the loops with one hand, tucking your other hand up the front of his shirt to brush at his soft abs. When you whisper in his ear, patches of your lipstick get stuck in his stubble.

“Sir,” you whimper, straightening up to press your body into him all the easier, “Think—you can help me out?”

“Hm,” he answers noncommittally, blue veins pulsing when you reach behind his fly to fondle his through his boxers.

“Pretty please,” you murmur, stroking him through his pants, “Just—just for tonight. Just…”

Your breath hitches and you lean back against the wall, spreading your legs so that he can see the way frothy bubbles of slick gather between your folds.

“Just until I cum,” you plead, tugging at his belt loops.

His entire body thrums at the sight of it—at the sight of his pretty girl finally spreading her legs for a man who deserved it. All pretty, puffy, and wet, waiting just for him to make a move, dainty fingers tracing the vein on the underside of his shaft.

He doesn’t shiver. He doesn’t balk.

No, this time he situates a hand around that pretty neck, shoving you back to stand to his full height.

“Please,” you whisper, finally managing to free him from his pants. His length bobs in front of you, red and leaking after so many nights on edge.

“Just until I cum,” he mirrors your words from before, barrel chest heaving.

At his words, your mouth drops open, lashes fluttering as you look down at him. God, at the idea of it—at the idea of being used like a toy, of the tables finally turning—your body positively hums, and before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning down to tuck his flushed cock head between your lips.

When your tongue envelops him, suckling at him with a rush of saliva and red lipstick…

It’s nothing short of heaven.

“God,” he pushes his hips forward, head falling back, “Good fucking girl.”

desperate

pairing: maddy perez x fem!reader

description: maddy loves her babysitting gig, but there’s always one thing threatening to take it all away; y/n. (MODIFIED REQUEST)

warnings: swearing, SMUT (pls be nice, this is a first for me), masturbation, voyeurism, maddy is slightly ooc for a sec but oh well

words: 1.5K

date posted: 01/02/22

next part

Maddy loved her job.

The house was just big enough for her imagination to run wild, and she liked the domesticity that came with babysitting for such a rich family; It allowed her to picture herself living in a similar house when she was older. It was also a nice break from everything that had happened with Nate that year, and it gave her a proper excuse for ignoring his texts and calls. But nothing, not even a simple babysitting job could go without some sort of issue.

Theo was a nice kid who was easy to get along with, and most importantly, he liked Maddy enough that she could trust him not to snitch on her to his parents about some of the things she did while they were gone. Maddy genuinely liked the young boy, and would consider him to be her second favourite part of the job. The real issue was his older sister, who constantly antagonised the Perez girl for using the pool while she was supposed to be working or wearing such skimpy clothes around her brother. Luckily, Y/n wasn’t usually around that much while Maddy was there, and that was when Maddy would take the opportunity to take a peek into that closet that she loved so much.

The smooth velvets and thick, soft furs felt right against Maddy’s skin. From a young age, she knew that she was meant to live like this, the epitome of luxury. Nothing made her feel more alive than the thrill of tugging a large white fur coat over her body, and twirling in front of the mirror to admire the contrast of the long string of rubies that hung from each of her earlobes. Then, within a moment, that glee turned to dread as she met a familiar gaze through the reflection of the mirror.

“What are you doing?”

Maddy whirled around to face the girl, eyes wide as her grip on the coat loosened. Her mouth moved to make an excuse, but no words came out, leaving her gaping at the other girl, exasperated.

“I was,” Maddy stammered, “I mean–”

“Because it looks like you’re snooping around in Samantha’s closet.”

“No, I wasn’t–”

“Oh, please enlighten me, then.”

Maddy shifted slightly, lost for words for what seemed like the first time in forever. She glanced up as Y/n crossed the room, leaning her hip against the counter in the centre of the room, arms crossing over her chest as one of her perfectly-arched eyebrows raised in suspicion.

“Relax,” Y/n sniggered at the panic that crossed her face, “I’m not gonna snitch.”

“You’re not?” Maddy asked incredulously.

“Uh-huh. For a price.”

Maddy rolled her eyes, quickly growing impatient with the mischievous grin that appeared on Y/n’s face, “What kind of price?”

Y/n placed a palm flat against the counter top as she stepped closer, manicured fingers of her other hand curling around the collar of the coat, gently. Maddy’s breath caught in her throat for a moment, and she internally cursed. Such behaviour was so unlike her, but something about her employer’s daughter was bringing her to this state. She found herself pursing her lips and tilting her face as Y/n face grew closer to her own.

“I don’t know yet,” She smirked, leaning closer, their lips only millimetres apart, “But I’ll let you know once I’ve decided.”

Y/n didn’t leave Maddy’s mind for the rest of the night, or for the next week. She scarcely saw the girl over those seven days, but when she did, she was left renderless. Y/n would appear in the kitchen after she’d returned home early in the evening, smirking at Maddy as she greeted her, no doubt catching her gaze as it wandered the length of her body, then she would be gone again.

The next time Maddy really saw her was on a Friday, and not surprisingly, Y/n followed her normal routine of arriving home around dinner time, not that their family had many dinners together, wearing the same preppy school uniform that she returned in everyday. She briefly acknowledged both Maddy and Theo before she disappeared into her room, scarcely to be seen for the rest of the evening.

Maddy, too, followed her routine; Spent some time around the pool, made dinner for Theo, and sent him off to bed. She had been a bit on edge around Y/n since she had caught her digging around in Samantha’s closet, but after taking extra precautions and avoiding the glorious room as much as possible, Maddy was itching to feel the luxurious fabrics against her skin once more. Once she was sure that Theo was tucked in and wouldn’t be back up for the rest of the night, Maddy made a beeline towards the large, walk-in closet, not even noticing that the light was flicked on.

“Shit,” She swore, freezing as her eyes met with Y/n’s through the mirror, their positions swapped from the last time they’d been in the predicament, “What are you doing in here?”

“Looking for a bikini top to borrow,” Y/n turned, and only then did Maddy catch sight of her bare chest as she stood before her in only skimpy thong-cut bathing suit bottoms, “All of mine are too small.” A smirk appeared on her glossy lips, “I would ask you the same question, but I think I already know the answer. Unless, of course, you knew I’d be in here and you wanted a peek.”

Maddy snorted, “Please, as if I’m that desperate.”

Y/n tilted her head curiously, crossing her arms over her chest as she shifted her weight onto one leg, “Gee, that’s pretty ballsy considering that I could easily get you fired.”

“Yeah?” Maddy snarked, “And what if I told your parents that you come home stoned almost everyday, huh?”

Y/n laughed, dropping her hands to land on her hips and she pushed forward to stand only inches from the Perez girl, grinning as she watched her eyes flickered down to her exposed chest for a moment before returning up to Y/n’s mean stare, “And are they gonna believe the babysitter with sticky fingers over me? I don’t think so. Let me know when you get desperate, yeah?”

Maddy exhaled sharply as Y/n’s shoulder slammed into her own as she shoved passed her, releasing the breath that she hadn’t been totally aware that she was holding in to begin with. She stood there for a few moments, eyes darting around the brightly-lit closet before huffing out a deep sigh, and turned on her heel, flicking the light off as she stormed out of the closet.

“Oh, yeah.”

Maddy froze in her place as the sound filled her ears. Tip-toeing across the clean, marble floors of the kitchen, peeking around the doorway that led out into the pool deck. Her eyes blinked a few times to adjust to the sight, resisting her instinct to back away as quietly as possible as her gaze trailed over the rumpled fabric that was Y/n’s bottoms laying flat on the deck, then over to the lounge chair along the side of the infinity pool.

“Fuck,” Y/n’s hips thrusted forward in rhythm with her own fingers, toes curling into the soft cusion as her thighs parted even farther, leaving her entire nude figure exposed to Maddy’s watchful eyes. Her breasts heaved with every deep pant and moan that escaped her parted lips, one of her perkily erect nipples caught between the forefinger and thumb of the hand that hadn’t been pleasuring her in a way that seemed too natural for it to not be a regular practice for her.

A squeal left her lips, one so similar to those that Maddy had practised so often, though instead of putting on a show for someone else, Y/n’s sounds were the product of the pleasurable movements she had been enacting on herself, massaging her sensitive nub as her hips lifted from the chair, brows scrunching as she grew closer and closer to her climax.

Then, without warning, her eyes snapped open, capturing Maddy’s own as a small smirk appeared on her lips as she released an exaggerated moan, fingers speeding up at the sight of the other girl watching her as she came undone, hips stuttering as a small gush of liquid escaped from between her lower lips as she finally slowed her motions to a stop.

Maddy’s mind screamed at her to flee, to escape the confrontation that was to come, but her feet refused to move from their position as Y/n sauntered across the deck, nude figure shining from both pool water and sweat in the dim lighting, pausing only to snatch her dry bottoms off of the deck as she came face to face with her.

“Desperate yet?"

MY WORK IS, UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCE, TO BE REPOSTED OR SHARED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION. I HAVE NEVER GIVEN CONSENT TO MY WORK BEING SHARED, SO IF YOU SEE ANOTHER ACCOUNT POSTING MY CONTENT PLS LET ME KNOW.

1K notes View Post

b1ggmama

1 year ago

33K notes View Post

b1ggmama

2 years ago

you deserve to give yourself the same understanding and grace you extend to everyone else easily.

2K notes View Post

b1ggmama

10 months ago

When y/n gets too annoying to the point you want to stop reading

11K notes View Post

b1ggmama

9 months ago

Complaint

This is part 11 of The Office AU

Chapter Index

a little tiff between wacky girlfriend and reader

Pairing Poly!141 x reader

You hear your name being called softly, you look up and see Gaz standing there. You give him a smile, “What’s up?”.

You notice that his smile looks pained, not reaching his eyes and is starting to look like a grimace.

“Can talk to you for a moment”, then nods back to his office, “In private”.

No, not really, “Of course”. You're raking your brain trying to figure out what you did wrong. DId you mess up Price’s meeting, missed an important email, took too long of a lunch, or maybe you did nothing wrong and they are giving you a raise.

You try to meet Price’s gaze but he’s enthralled with his computer and his door is shut he wouldn’t hear Gaz anyway. What worries you is that Simon nor Soap will look at you. Not that odd for Simon since he only looks at you when you aren’t looking at him but with Soap who is always looking at you trying to distract you, his head is down and you know he’s not doing anything because he is just staring at the keyboard.

You follow Gaz to the annex, “Take a seat”.

You sit with your hands crossed in your lap, “Do you know why I called you back here?”

“No”

“How long have you had Simon’s number”, you look up then, surprise and disbelief on your face. Simon filed an HR complaint. against you.

“Well, I have everyone’s number”, you start picking at a hangnail trying not to fidget in your chair, “you gave me your numbers”, you reply.

“not in trouble, it’s just that some people are worried that you might be abusing or harassing Simon”, you can tell he is trying to do this in the nicest way possible, he has his best HR voice on.

“Simon,said that?” , you ask back still not really comprehending where did this come from.

“You didn’t call Simon last night asking if he wanted to get dinner with you?”

“Well , I did yes but-”.

Gaz cuts you off, “That's not appropriate use of the number”.

There’s tears welling up in your eyes. You never wanted to make Simon uncomfortable , you thought that you were friends and he was just as lonely as you were.

“I’m going to get fired for this?”, you ask, trying to wipe the tears before they ruin your makeup.

“No , `course not”, which has you relieved but now you're ready for this day to end.

“So, can I head back?”

“Yeah”, and then he mentions not to worry about this, since nothing has been documented it was just a warning. Ha, you think, don’t worry about it. Now all you're going to do is worry about it.

When you sit down at your desk you look up and see Simo giving you a question thumbs up.You nod once and then start typing on your computer to look busy. You decide to skip lunch , just trying to stay out of everyone’s way when a wacky girlfriend shows up. She doesn’t even check in with you before kissing Soap on the mouth. Loudly. Giving Simon a check kiss before heading towards you, “Did Kyle talk to you today” ,she ask sweetly.

Who the hell is Kyle, “Kyle?”, you question.

“Oh silly me, I forgot he only goes by his nickname, Gaz”.

How did she know that you talk to Gaz today, “Yeah”, you answer slowly.

“Good, I don’t want anyone to be uncomfy”, she giggles, “You know what I mean”.

No you don’t because you didn’t do anything wrong, but you know what it looks like when a woman is trying to stake her claim on a man, “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean”, you reply back.

Masterlist

289 notes View Post

b1ggmama

3 months ago

18+ | noncon. implied kidnapping.

In retrospect, camping all by yourself in a national park teaming with bears was probably high on the list of "dumbest things you've ever done in your life." But in your (shaky) defence—it really wasn't the wildlife you had to worry about anyway, but rather man.

In particular, a man.

That surly, gruff park ranger who happened to look just like a grizzly at first glance. The same one who found you all alone in your pitiful little tent, flashlight clutched in your trembling hands as you stared at him through the crack in the opening, visibly relieved that the thing you heard stomping around outside wasn't a bear, and quickly decided that pampered city princesses ought to be taught a lesson on what survival out here really means.

But he's merciful, he claims, and gives you a headstart to try and escape him (and the thick, unmistakable bulge in his pants, the dangerous look in his eye; naked hunger—that same, dead-eyed thing you'd seen in a big grizzly as he charged an elk earlier in the day) before he takes his prize.

And so, you run.

Except making good decisions doesn't really seem to be your strongest point.

In an instant, something is slamming against your back before you even make it halfway up the hill, pushing you to the ground on your belly. A warm, thick body following down after you. Crushing you into the soil.

You're too dazed by the impact to struggle when your hips are lifted. Pants, panties shoved down. Warm, rough hands cupping between your thighs, groaning at what he finds (all wet for me, mm, sweetheart?), and when you do, finally, begin to struggle you're met with an immovable wall. The strength of a man with more power in the single hand he keeps anchored against the back of your neck than you seem to have in your whole body—

"Don't know a thing, do you, sweetheart?" He growls, pushing your cheek deeper into the softened soil. "Not supposed to run from a bear, love."

Oh. Right.

Before you can squeak out an okay or sorry or please let me go, your knees are shoved wider apart by his thick, hairy thighs as he slots himself between your legs. Mounting his spoiled little prize on the cold, damp ground like a beast.

"Dangerous animals out here," is all he rasps before he's shoving inside of you, groaning about finally claiming the sweet little prey he's been diligently stalking through the park since he first laid eyes on you in the visitors centre. "You don't have a lick of sense in you, do you, sweetheart? No. Didn't even notice me followin' you. You need somethin'—someone—to protect you from dangerous predators, mm. And a firm hand to teach you a lesson."

He pries you open on his fat cock before you can spit out the dirt in your mouth to refute that claim, rutting into you like an animal on the cold ground in the middle of a national park as he makes good on his promise to show you what happens when you try and run from predators. A lesson that tastes like geosmin. Peat. And salty, tobacco-stained fingers. And aches like a broken bone after he set a maddening pace behind you, jerking your body against the upturned soil. Small rocks, and twigs digging into your skin.

When he's finally done, pulling out of you with a bullish grunt and landing a heavy, satisfied slap against the stinging cheek of your ass, he gathers your limp, sore body up into his arms, and brings you back to the lookout tower he calls home (temporarily).

A stop along the way, he assures you before setting out to teach his spoiled city princess more "survival skills"—like how to swallow his cock the way he likes, and how to take him as deeply, and as often, as he wants to give it to you.

(and often really is the foregone conclusion; it's mating season, after all.)

And as he pulls you down to lay against his furry, damp chest, cock softening inside of you (a thing you'll just have to get used to, sweetheart because he has no intentions of pulling out until he's ready to), and starts purring about mates and cubs and how lucky you were that he found you first before anything else had a chance to sniff you out, you think maybe you should have just gone to New York instead.

3K notes View Post

b1ggmama

2 years ago

actually nothing but respect for the local sex toy store in my city just telling people they can shoplift morning after pills if they need to.

99K notes View Post

b1ggmama

7 months ago

wait for protective price and nanny reader how about her doing the food shop with the kids and one guy always hits on her so as the kids are recounting the day to him they tell him about that!!!!!!

yk what hell yeah

part two <- part three -> part four…?

nanny!reader (18+ smut, fem!reader, infidelity, jealous price, daddy kink 🫣, unedited cause it’s just fern on her bullshit)

—•—

“hello you two, how was your day?”

john lowered himself down onto the couch as his two children scrawled away at their colouring books on the floor adjacent. he watched them with a soft smile on his face, also listening to your gentle humming filtering in from the kitchen. no doubt preparing to cook something amazing.

his wife was yet to make an appearance home, and so the kids had given up asking for her. they were happy enough with their dad coming home earlier and earlier, as well as their awesome nanny.

“good thanks,” his daughter replied, pink glitter pen clutched in one of her hands. “we went food shopping today.”

“oh yeah? and did you two behave yourselves?” john looked between his two children, who looked over at him momentarily.

they both nodded, with his son answering verbally as well, “of course we did. and, dad, we saw one of her friends there.”

john’s eyebrows twitched, threatening to raise in slight surprise. “really? was she nice?”

his daughter, catching him father off guard, let out a snort and a laugh as she slipped the cap of her pen back on before placing it aside. she picked up an orange one next. “it wasn’t a girl, dad. it was a boy.”

“a man,” his son corrected, swirling a green pen around in the air. “and we’ve seen him before. well, i’ve seen him before, anyway.”

“…have you, now?” john leaned back against the couch, one of his arms spread out along the backrest.

his son nodded once more, returning his attention to the page he was colouring, which was some sort of ocean-themed still with coral and seaweed and a bunch of cartoon sea creatures.

“yeah,” he replied. “duh, cause he works there.”

something twisted low in john’s gut. he cleared his throat, a sinking feeling became ever more present as he set up a picture in his mind— a picture of some other guy putting his hands on you, complimenting you, having your time of day. sitting on the couch, he realised he didn’t want anyone else to do that to you, his nanny for goodness sake, but him.

“he works there?” john kept his tone light. he was speaking with his children after all, both of which were extremely intuitive and intelligent, so he prayed they didn’t pick up on the slight strain of worry in his words.

“in the deli section, behind the counter,” his daughter said. “he usually gives us a piece of ham or something to eat when she stops by there.”

of course he fucking does.

“what does he say to her?” came out instead. thank god. the last time he swore in front of his children was when he hit his head the corner of a cabinet, said fuck rather loudly, resulting in his then five-year-old daughter repeating that word for the next few days.

silence.

“honey, darling,” he addressed his daughter softly. “what does the man say to her?”

his daughter put down the orange pen, the cap snapping back into place. she peered up at her father with a slight pout to her face.

“does it matter?”

oh this little—

john took a deep breath. nerves continued to eat at his stomach, which made him feel slightly ashamed. not at the fact that his seven year old daughter’s sass reminded him of the woman he had married, but because he realised there was another man out there possibly flirting with the woman he wanted.

“i’m just curious, darling, that’s all,” he replied smoothly. he then tried to his speaking to his five-year-old son a shot, which he didn’t expect to go very far. “what kind of things does he say, mate?”

his son gnawed carefully on the tip of his pen, the tip clacking against his molars. “just stuff.”

ah, right. stuff.

“stuff about, um, going out and stuff.”

that’s… better than nothing.

john could still hear you pottering around in the kitchen, mixed with the sounds of your humming, quiet music playing most likely from your phone, and the muted clanging of pots and pans together.

his daughter, thankfully, chimed in. “he’s always telling her jokes that aren’t even that funny, and asking her questions about her life and stuff. he once asked if we were her kids, and she said no, and he looked, like, happy.”

relieved, john’d guess. nosy son of a bitch.

his son decided to add his two cents too. “he asked for her number today. that’s nice.”

john felt his heart drop out of his fucking arse. her number? are you fucking kidding me? does this cunt have a death wish or something? asking a girl for her number while he’s on the job, how fucking ridiculous.

bless his son with the added that’s nice. john longed to tell him that no, it wasn’t nice. it’s rude to ask a woman for her number if she doesn’t appear interested the first few times you try and hit on her. it’s weird. let alone when you’re working at a fucking deli counter.

john took a deep breath. he was winding himself up. tighter and tighter, something dark and heavy pulling at the strings of his heart.

he removed his arm from the back of the sofa and got to his feet, knees cracking.

“thanks, you two. now i’ll leave you to it. dinner shouldn’t be too far, i’m guessing,” he said, leaving his kids in the living room as he entered the kitchen, giving them one last glance before resting his eyes on you.

you swayed in front of the stove, humming to yourself, something catchy playing from the tinny speakers of your phone. he watched you closely, the way your plush hips moved side to side, the curve of your arse looking fucking great in your trousers, the bow of the apron resting just atop it.

you turned with a wooden spoon in your hand. when you caught sight of your boss on the other side of the kitchen, you jumped, heart clattering against your sternum.

“mr. price, oh my goodness, you scared me. i didn’t even hear you come home,” you said, always polite when he came home. “i’m sorry.”

in case of company. the company you weren’t exactly wanting to keep.

the wife, obviously. the wife.

“don’t apologise, sweetheart,” he told you, crossing his big arms over his even bigger chest and you willed your eyes not to follow the movement. “and she’s not home yet. i came home early.”

of course you did, you wanted to counter with a roll of your eyes. but you didn’t. you just let him have a soft smile before you were turning back towards the pot on the stove.

he slowly began walking across the kitchen, watching you the entire time. you could hear him walking, hear the hard soles of his shoes against the kitchen tile. he hadn’t taken them off like he usually does, and you’d tell him off for it later.

the weight of his eyes on you was almost unbearable. already, your heart was beating a million miles an hour as you clutched the spoon and stirred at the soup in the large pot.

“how was your supermarket trip?” he asked you, and you thought that was slightly weird. a little too specific, perhaps.

then, because you’re a smart girl, it hit you. you sighed through your nose, shaking your head as you watched the thick, rich soup simmer before your eyes.

“the guy at the deli counter just flirts with me, that’s it. i don’t reciprocate it in front of the children, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

john was right behind you now. you could feel his presence, warm and solid, at your back. you could smell him too, and that alone had the backs of your knees weakening.

“i don’t care about flirting in front of my kids,” he said firstly. “what i care about is some cunt flirting with my fucking wife.”

your stomach dropped. “john… not now.”

“why not now?” he questioned, and now his hands were on you. resting on your hips, squeezing you there, holding you tight. “hm?”

his head craned down beside yours, chin tucking against your shoulder.

you swallowed. “i… look, he asked for my number, and i said no, okay? nothing happened, and he respected it.”

“okay,” john said calmly. “okay, sweet girl, i believe you. i believe you, baby, but…”

but…?

he continued. “if he ever talks to you again, talks to what’s mine again, i’ll fucking kill him.”

“jesus— fuck, john, don’t say that—”

he pulled you tight against him, your arse to his pelvis, and pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your head as he wrapped his arms around your torso.

“i’m serious,” he said between kisses. “if he ever tries anything like that again, i’ll gut him. and, if he does try again, make sure to tell him you’re fucking married, got it?”

you don’t answer. the soup seems really interesting right about now.

“answer me.”

right, okay.

“yes, sir,” you reply, and he groans against you. you try not to let the sound make you drop the spoon into the soup, but it was difficult.

“good,” he grumbled, then retreated. you missed the warmth already. he leaves a light smack on your arse in his wake, though. “we’ll continue this discussion later tonight.”

discussion. sure.

—•—

later that night, you were back at your flat. it seemed as though you hadn’t been here in days, although you only left to work earlier that morning.

you weren’t a live-in nanny. not yet, anyway. but you were anticipating it. not that john would spur the conversation, but his wife, probably. his wife who was sick of having to get up during the night for her kids, or annoyed that you turned up around half-six to prepare their school lunches and breakfasts for that day.

so you were waiting for the invite to live in the guest room. until then, however, you’d stay in your not-so-cosy little flat with a radiator that made odd sounds and a neighbour that liked to practice her saxophone in the early hours of saturday morning.

john had promised you a discussion. and, for the most part, despite the gnawing in your stomach, it was a normal discussion.

he expressed to you how he felt about other men speaking to you, as the man at the deli counter had. not necessarily in front of the children, but just in general. you were his employee, you had affirmed. he shook his head and told you you were his, employee or not.

and then the discussion progressed into exactly what you thought he had been implying originally. through context clues, of course.

“you’re mine,” he muttered as he slowly pushed his cock into the tight, wet clutch of your cunt. he had two hands on your arse cheeks, spreading them apart, squeezing firmly. “d’you understand that, sweetheart?”

“yes, fuck— yeah,” you moaned into your bedsheets, arching your back as he sunk his cock deep into your pussy. deep until his hips came to rest against you, flared and dusky head pressed far inside. “i understand, i understand.”

he grumbled, deep in his chest, as he slowly pulled his cock out until just the tip rested inside you. then, he gripped your hips and pulled you back towards him at the same time he thrusted forward, spearing you on his cock in once heavy thrust.

your body went lithe, rippling and wriggling as he repeated the action again and again. you cried out, begging for him, pleading with him, his thrusts heavy and making a goddamn point. his balls slapped against your swollen clit, the soaked seam of your pussy, wet squelches falling throughout your quiet room.

john controlled the movements. he brought you back against him again and again, fucking the thick of his cock into your tight cunt, over and over, watching the way the fat of your arse cheeks shifted; the way your legs quivered; the way you buried your sweat-slick face into the sheets and sobbed as pleasure wracked through you.

the bed creaked, headboard tapping lightly against the wall. you couldn’t even bring yourself to think about your neighbours— or wonder if your neighbour will still play her stupid saxophone tomorrow morning.

your mind was swimming, drowning in thoughts of john price. he speared you on his cock, pussy taut around him, fluttering with each punch up against that perfect, gummy spot inside you. the spot making you see stars and bright little phosphenes behind your sinking eyelids.

“john,” you moaned into the sheets, bare tits rubbing against the fabric of your bed linen, nipples sore from john’s foreplay of pinching them. just a reminder, he’d said, before taking them into his mouth— a reminder of what!?

“oh, i know, darling girl, i know— feels good? am i making you feel good?”

“yesss,” you turned your head to moan, a hiccup threatening to bubble up through your trachea. something tingled in your lower spine, pleasure pooling through your pelvis, molten. “john, feels so good. m’sooo—“

you lost your train of thought through another moan as the head of john’s cock slammed repeatedly into the right place. your cunt clenched around him, arousal dribbling out and down his balls, down the fat of your inner thighs too, warm and slick.

no man had ever made you feel like this. no man had got you dribbling down your thighs, pussy wet and puffy and kiss-bitten, stretched happy and wide.

and that was the point.

“pussy’s a fuckin’ dream, baby. missed her so much these last few days, y’know. missed how tight and wet she always is f’me—” john uttered, then tapered off to listen to you mewl sweetly beneath him. he continued with a light chuckle. “yeah, my kind of pussy— just made for me, isn’t she? she been kicking’ up a fuss without my cock in her, hm?”

you nodded deliriously, mouth parted, eyes basically closed. you didn’t have the reservations to feel embarrassed by the way he was talking to you. all you felt was warmth, pleasure, and, as you always felt with john no matter where you were or what you were doing, safe.

“yeah, that’s it, good girl. taking my cock like you were fuckin’ made for it,” he grunted, pulling you back particularly hard. “and you were made for it, weren’t you? s’cause you’re mine. my fuckin’ girl— my— my wife.”

his accent got thicker when he fucked you, and he always let slip his fantasy— his desire to have you as his wife. put a ring on your finger. put a baby in your womb. claim you with his last name, and his kids, and his everything. he felt as though you were his already, and he sure as fuck liked to play a bit of pretend.

“john,” you moaned loudly. “john, please— feels so good, feels so good.”

he panted above you, grunting as his head dropped, sweat dripping from his forehead, broad chest rising and falling quickly.

“yeah, baby? you feel good? is— fuck— is daddy making you feel good? hm?” he coaxed with a rasp in his voice. “yeah?”

“yeah, please,” you mewled, release pooling in the depths of your belly. your clit was hammering with your heartbeat, static buzzing up your legs as they began to tremble. “pleaseee.”

john groaned, feeling your cunt tighten around him, gummy walls constricting tight around the girth of his cock. “you wanna come?”

your eyes were rolling, body shaking. “yes, daddy, please.”

john moaned this time. “yeah, come on then, pretty girl. come for me. come all over your daddy’s big cock.”

he maintained his pacing and this thrusts as you came with a shout of his name, pussy squeezing tight and spilling arousal out the sides of his cock. your body shook, writhing on the bed beneath him, legs threatening to give way as pleasure wracked through you. white hot pleasure that had tears slipping down your cheeks as he fucked you through it.

“that’s my girl, that’s my girl,” john repeated lowly, letting you flop tiredly against the mattress. he held your hips up as he fucked himself into your cunt, arousal gushing with each movement. “fucking hell, such a wet pussy. so fucking wet for me.

you squeaked out something of a moan. he grunted above you, thrusts disintegrating into ruts, moving desperately against you as he worked himself towards completion. white hot and shining like a pearl ahead of him.

it always was like that with you.

he wanted it to always be with you. only you. he wanted to enclose you in the strong, corded muscle of his arms and hold you to his broad chest and soft stomach. he didn’t want to let you go. he wanted to shove the thickened mass of his cock into the clutch of your cunt and empty himself, fill you with his seed, flood up your womb with an entity that chained you to him. forever.

it wouldn’t happen now, he knew. but one day, he’d have what he wanted. he always did.

“m’coming, sweet girl. m’coming,” he moaned quietly, desperately humping against your backside, cock barely sliding in and out anymore, just rutting up towards the plug of your cervix, balls deep. “fuckin’ hell—”

john came with a moan of your name, hot spurts coating your insides. you replied with a mewl of your own, the side of your face pressed into the sheets below, sweat slicked across your body. his hands tightened against your hips, holding you tight against him, arse flush to his abdomen, as his cock twitched inside you. he continued to thrust lightly, working his orgasm all the way until it fizzled out like embers.

when he stopped, he didn’t pull out. he kneeled there for a moment, panting, big chest heaving with his cock still plugging his cum in your pussy. after a few long moments, you whined lightly, and he took that as a cue to keel forward and take you in his arms.

“my good girl,” he murmured, holding you between the mattress and him. boiling hot, sweaty. his cock was still plugged inside you, and you felt your lightly aching pussy clench around him. he groaned, “yeah, my good girls.”

—•—

you stood at the door to your flat, lean in against the doorframe with your arms folded over your chest. body dressed in one of his tee’s, a pair of his boxers, and some fuzzy slippers someone had brought you for your birthday years ago.

you watched john go. walk down the few stone steps and towards his car. he stopped before he reached it, though, and turned around to appraise you with— even in the darkness of night— soft eyes that shimmered under the light of the full moon. shimmered with something, maybe yearning. you didn’t know.

“i’ll see you tomorrow,” john said, eyes raking down your body one last time.

you hummed, annoyed. “yeah.”

john frowned. “sweetheart, you know i have to go. just because my wife’s asleep, doesn’t mean i can be gone the whole night.”

my wife. that hit you right in the chest. slamming into your whole body actually. pulled back down to earth by that red string of fate, and you scraped up your knees when you reached the ground. cause it stung like hell, the realisation that you were in love with a man that was married.

“i know,” you replied. “i’ll see you bright and early tomorrow, i guess.”

john sighed and, after looking up and down the street, crossed the pavement once more and climbed the couple of steps before he could put his large hands over your hips and back you up against the doorframe.

“it won’t be like this forever. i promise you that,” he whispered. “but, for the meantime, i guess i’m going to have to treat my special girl right so she keeps coming back, hm?”

he locked his mouth against yours, catching you pretty much by surprise. he quickly shoved his tongue through the part in your soft lips, licking between your teeth and smoothing his against yours. you moaned quietly, something in the back of your throat, throwing your arms around his shoulders as he kissed you in a way that you’d never been kissed before.

you ran a few fingers through his hair, tugging gently, to which he groaned and pulled back, a string of saliva connecting your mouths until it snapped as you smiled up at him, coyly.

he chuckled, placing one last brisk kiss to your lips, before stepping back. you let him go, and then once again, leaned against the doorframe with your arms over your chest as he walked towards his car.

“goodnight, sweetheart,” he said, opening his car door. i love you, he wanted to say.

“goodnight, john.”

2K notes View Post

b1ggmama

1 year ago

BLACK WOMEN DESERVE THE WORLD.

5K notes View Post

b1ggmama

4 months ago

Y/N: Hey so as my stalker exactly how much of my life do you see? Ghost, from inside the walls: Are you asking because you tripped on your own shoelaces in the hallway and fell on your face? Y/N: oh..so you saw that... Ghost, trying to be nice: ....no

7K notes View Post