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readychilledwine · 21 days

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Mine

Summary - Cassian always gets a little riled up when he gets to fight for your honor.

Warnings - Blood, smut, focus on reader and Cassian's differences physically, reader is thick because it felt right, oral (female receiving), Cassian going to pound town.

A/N - based on this post and our comments from @loneliestluvr I refuse to apologize for how quickly this became smut.

Being mated to the Lord of Bloodshed was never easy, especially as an illyrian female blessed to have found him before your wings were taken. “Sorry,” you whispered as he flinched. You had got to the cut on his eyebrow, wiping it down as gently as you could.

Cassian was covered in blood. A mix of his own and another male's who had not known you were claimed by the male sitting in front of you. “You okay?” He had his eyes shut as you took care of him, content under the feel of your soft hands.

“You're the one who ended up in a fight with 6 other males and walked away. I should be asking you that.” You gently reset and healed his nose, silently thanking the Mother for such a useful gift.

Everything about you two had been so perfectly planned. The skilled warrior. Loud, personable, quick on his feet. Then you, the talented healer. Intelligent, shy, soft spoken. You were balanced perfectly. A match truly made by the Gods. You continued wiping the blood from him, ensuring he would not have to change the water multiple times once you got him bathed and stepped away before offering him your hand.

It was another contrast between you two and Cassian's absolute favorite. Your soft manicured hands, his rough and calloused ones. He laced your fingers together, pretending to allow you to pull him up at he stood. “I'm fine, baby. You should see the other guys.” He smiled at his own joke, walking into the bathroom of the cabin. “Are you going to undress me too?”

“Absolutely.” You were graceful with buckle, each tie, gently pulling armor and fabric from his body until it sat on the vanity nearby. Habit took over as you folded it all, putting the clothing into baskets to be cleaned before turning back to the god in fae form behind you.

The moan Cassian released as he sunk into the warm water had your thighs clenching. You watched his head fall back as lavender scented steam came from the tub and as his shoulders fell in relaxation. “Can I wash your hair?” He groaned again at the thought, smiling as you sat behind him with the soap. “Need to show you my love and appreciation for protecting me.”

He gave a breathy laugh, shutting his eyes in bliss as you began massaging shampoo into his wavy locks. “I will always protect you, y/n. Always. You are mine.”

“I am,” he growled at your agreement, his need to possess you was high. Illyrians had always been more feral with their bonds, and you absolutely allowed him to enjoy the primal tendencies that came with it. “I will always be yours. In this life and the next.” You began rinsing his hair, ensuring every spec of blood and dirt was out before applying a deep conditioner.

“Lean forward so I can wash your back, Cassian.”

“I don't deserve you,” he was drifting off under your touch, enjoying the feeling of you kneading sore muscles as you lathered his scarred skin with a soft scented soap. “Could you get my wings?”

You leaned in, whispering in his ear. “I planned on getting them once I got you fully cleaned and the water changed.”

“Fuck that,” Cassian forced you over, pulling you in thin night gown and all before ripping it off of you. His lips were on yours and hungry. He was grabbing your hips, loving their plushy feel. “Want you now.”

“Cass, this water is disgusting.”

His head hit the tub with a thud. “Fine. Fine. It's fine.” He was, in fact, not fine. You could feel how hard he was. His length was pressing into your stomach. “I just need you. You know how I get when you take care of me.”

You were washing him again. Cleaning off his chest and face, scrubbing his arms. He was memorized by you by your body. He remembered learning about the Gods of old from Rhysand's mother, and you had to have been crafted by the goddess of love. It was another contrast. His rock-hard body, toned and cut from years of training. Your soft body, curves landing in all the right places, thighs so thick you genuinely worried when you sat on his face.

He lifted you with little effort when he knew he was clean, climbing out of the water with his lips attached to the point on your neck that drove you wild. “Done waiting,” he carried you to the bedroom, sucking that spot until he knew a deep purple mark would form.

He threw you down on the bed, not caring that it would soak the sheets and mattress as he watched your full breasts bounce. When he was like this, you knew you were in for a ride. Knew that headboard wouldn't be enough to keep you in place as he pounded into you over and over again, only content when he had ensured you were filled and would smell like him and sex for weeks. He was studying you like you were his prey, waiting to pounce at just the right time.

He found it as you shifted, laying down more on the pillows like the queen he knew you were. He did not bother kissing your lips again. Instead, it was him instantly pulling your legs over his shoulders and licking your already soaked core. Your hands shot to his hair, moans ripping through your throat. He was eager tonight. So damn eager.

“Cassian,” he hummed against you, looking up through hooded lust filled eyes. “Slow down.”

He shook his head, not even letting your clit out of his mouth as he did. “Baby, I'm going to cum if you don't go slower.” His brows shot up and a smirk formed. It spoke of every intention he had, you would not leave this bed, not without him carrying you.

Every flick of his tongue, every long drag, the soft kisses all had you melting further Into the mattress as your nerves came to life. Cassian was as calculated in bed as he was on a battlefield. Everything was precise, done with intention, and meant to fulfill his goal. His forearm went against your hips, locking you in place at his mercy.

He could feel every wave of pleasure from you shooting down that sacred and special bond. He could sense the moment you fell. Your fingers tightened on the sheets, your back arched, it was silence before the scream. Between your own pleasure, you could feel his pride leaking down the bond. Pride with how easily he could pull you apart with nothing more than his tongue. Pride over the way your body was so easily his.

He only pulled away when you began to whimper and push, but he was instantly crashing his lips on yours as he kicked off his pants. His forehead went to yours once you were both breathless. Those Hazel eyes you melted in the gaze of were feral and dark with desire. In one smooth motion with no warning, Cassian was inside of you with one single word, “Mine.”

There was no split second of calm before the storm, no moment to catch your breath after he took it from you. Cassian began to pound into you, hitting that perfect spot and making you see stars. Your nails dug into his chest, leaving small marks to join the littering scars and cuts from his earlier fight. “Mine,” the growl was deep, an ancient part of him almost begging for affirmation of the word.

“Yours,” you moaned out for him, back arching as your stomach tightened. “All yours.” Cassian's arm went across your back, hand roughly gripping your hips he could force you to move exactly how he wanted.

You could hardly breathe, mind lost to anything but Cassian. Your mate. Your everything. You could feel him down the bond, feel him getting closer with each squeeze and twitch of your walls. The room was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the sound of his groans and you whispering and moaning his name like a prayer to some long forgotten God. “So fucking beautiful,” his free hand forced your head up, forcing you to watch as his cock slid in and out of your core, soaked in your essence. “Watch me fuck you. Watch me mark this pretty perfect pussy as mine.”

You couldn't help but to moan, feeling that edge approaching faster and faster with his. “Cassie.”

“Do it. Cum on my cock, baby.” He let you go limp below him, placing your head back on the pillows gently as he did. Wave after wave of need and pleasure washed over you, blinding your senses to anything but the feel of Cassian filling you as you Came around him. He fucked you through the high before finally finishing, not even bothering to pull out and opting to instead hold your hips so close to his you could not even tell where he began and you ended.

When he finally let you go, he barely caught himself before collapsing on top of you as his exhaustion hit him. You could help but place soft kissed along his face. His scarred brow and lip, his nose that you'd reset and healed so many times, his jaw. You finally sighed with one last lingering kiss directly on his full lips as he smiled. “That was faster than I hoped it would be.”

“Always is when you fuck me after fighting.”

“Always yours.”

He kissed your neck softly on the mark he made, whispering one last time. “Mine.”

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects

#acotar #acotar x reader #cassian acotar #cassian x you #cassian x reader #cassian x y/n #cassian fic #cassian smut #cassian of illyria #lord of bloodshed

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ofdreamsnwishes · 1 month

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In your mind, playing games with your boyfriend would be fun, a cute bonding moment for the both of you. But your boyfriend was Chenle, so honestly, you should’ve known better.

“Stop throwing food at me, Chenle! You’re making my side a mess!” You shove his shoulder as he laughed maniacally at you, having way too much fun at your expense.

“You asked for more tomatoes!” He shot back, defending his honor.

“I asked for one, not TEN!”

He was having fun alright, you on the other hand were stressed out. Maybe you should’ve known his schemes when he suggested Overcooked, an innocent smile on his lips as he promised everything will go smoothly… It didn’t.

“Zhong Chenle, one more tomato and I’ll-” He hit you square in the face with one.

Whipping your head in his direction, you gave him just a few seconds to brace himself before you pounced at him, hands trapping him under your body.

Chenle blinked up at you in surprise, hands instinctively holding onto your waist. Even if he was caught out of guard, he’d always reach out to you, to make sure you’d be alright. Just in case, of course.

“You! You’re doing this on purpose! You just want to annoy me! Ugh, Chenle, you’re so- Hmpf!” Your little angry rant gets interrupted by him pressing his lips to yours, hands pulling you down by the waist, making you lose your balance and fall on top of him.

Taking his chance he quickly flipped you over, pressing you against the couch, hands roaming your body as the kiss got more intense. You felt dizzy, either from the movement or the kiss, or maybe both, you couldn’t tell.

Your hands hesitantly wrapped around his neck, too stubborn to completely give in, but slowly getting lost in the feeling of his lips.

Parting with a shared need to breathe, you both stare at each other, panting as you try to compose yourselves. However, you quickly remembered why you were mad at him, so you frown again, a small pout forming on your lips.

“You’re trying to distract me-”

“You’re hot when you’re mad.” He cuts you off, a sly grin on his face.

“Zhong-” Kiss. “Chenle-” Kiss. “You better-“ Kiss. “Stop this right now!”

With your hands over his mouth, you squirm underneath him as you finally let out a giggle, too amused by his actions to stay mad at him.

A triumphant grin makes itself known on his lips he lets go of your hands, sitting up and helping you up as well in the process.

“Sigh…You’re hot when you smile too. Can I kiss you again? I promise to play nice this time!”

“Seriously-“

#whenever i think of chenle i always remember when kun’s ‘wardrobe’ fell apart and he went over there just to watch #also not proofread #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct x reader #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct dream x reader #chenle x reader #chenle imagines #chenle scenarios #chenle #↳ my writings ༉‧₊#↳ just nct ༉‧₊

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doumadono · 4 months

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GENSHIN IMPACT MASTERLIST

Itto

Itto would morph into a blushing tomato before he could muster the guts to ask for a kiss from you. His usual carefree swagger would crumble into a nervous wreck, and his words would stumble out like they were trying to navigate a maze of shyness. It looked as if his hand might quake with the sheer force of his own bashfulness.

“Y/N, can I...” he'd falter, the hesitation hanging in the air like a dramatic pause in a play.

“What's on your mind, Arataki?” you would inquire, catching on to his internal struggle.

Despite his attempts to play it cool, Itto's infatuation would be practically screaming. His eyes would linger on the curve of your lips, and the subtle, unintentional act of moistening his own would give away the unspoken desire within him.

But when the kiss finally happened, it would be nothing short of a tender delight. Itto would revel in the simplicity of a soft peck, as if it could light up his entire existence. The shy encounter would be etched into his memory, a moment frozen in time, but now, he'd carry it like a cocky badge of honor.

As the sweet exchange concluded, Arataki, now brimming with newfound swagger, would seize the moment to intertwine his fingers with yours, as if to say, "Well, that wasn't so tough, now was it?"

Wriothesley

Wriothesley, being the smooth gentleman he is, always manages to charm you into saying yes when he craves a little pick-me-up kiss. He's got this super sweet approach, especially when the weight of work stress is bearing down on him.

Sometimes, he'll straight-up ask, all sweet and innocent, "Y/N, my little sweetpie, could you give me a kiss?"

But then there are those times when subtlety is thrown out the window. Wriothesley would casually grab you by the waist when there's even a hint of an opportunity, pulling you close against his broad chest with a confident whisper, "Come and kiss daddy, babygirl."

And oh, those kisses! They're like an addiction you willingly succumb to. Sometimes, he's in the mood for a bit of teasing – a swift lick of your bottom lip, a taste that's enough to recharge his energy, leaving you slightly breathless and craving more.

Neuvilette

You remain appreciative that he confines these moments to the privacy of our home or when solitude envelops you.

Whenever the inclination to kiss strikes, his approach is marked by a profound passion, and the duration extends beyond mere seconds. It's as though he seeks to savor every nuance of your being.

When he needs it, he'll watch you intently for a while, whether engaged in scrutinizing others or engrossed in a case. Then, with a politeness that conceals a subtle demand, he would utter, "Kiss me, my love."

His lips, when they meet yours, carry the faint taste of candy. It leads you to ponder whether he perennially indulges in this confection, given the persistently sweet flavor that lingers in his mouth.

Zhongli

Zhongli, unapologetically, never shies away from asserting his desires, regardless of the setting. His kisses, a blend of demand and tenderness, are a testament to the assertive nature of the Geo Archon. In moments when he craves proximity, he doesn't hesitate to make his intentions known.

"Y/N, I want a kiss from you," he commands, the weight of his voice carrying a subtle dominance, a declaration of his desires that brooks no opposition. His hands, steady and firm, find their place at your waist, claiming it as if sculpting the very essence of intimacy.

Zhongli's kisses unfold with deliberate slowness, a deliberate dance that brushes his lips against yours in unhurried motions. The demand in his kiss, paired with the gentle exploration, creates a harmonious balance that reflects both his dominance and the depth of his affection.

Your compliance to his requests is wholehearted, a testament to your fondness for each and every one of his kisses. The unspoken understanding between you two only deepens the connection, allowing the echoes of Zhongli's dominance to resonate in the intimate moments you share.

Kaveh

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Kaveh beckons you with a sing-song voice, his lips playfully pouting as he calls, "Baby, come give me a kissy kissy, yeah?" Persistent and unyielding, he brushes off any attempt to decline, challenging you with a raised eyebrow and a daring smirk.

Refusing him is not an option, for Kaveh always presses on. He questions your love for him, provocatively asking if he's lost his touch as a kisser.

When it comes to stealing sweet moments, Kaveh doesn't shy away. He's not afraid to snatch a taste of any candy you hold between your lips. And as he leans back, a sassy smirk plays on his face, leaving no doubt about the intensity and seriousness he invests in each stolen kiss. "Mmm, sweetie, that was the sweetest kiss you've ever offered me!"

#genshin impact x reader #neuvilette genshin #neuvillette #neuvilette x reader #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley headcanons #arataki itto #itto x you #itto headcanons #itto x reader #zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli headcanons #genshin impact headcanons #kaveh headcanons #kaveh x reader #kaveh fluff #kaveh x you

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isawritesshit · 5 months

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The Color Blue - Prologue

image taken from @ lovevivianne on pinterest

Synopsis: As the only daughter to the leader of the Kamo Clan, you were trained and protected to one day bring your father honor through your marriage to the heir of the Gojo Clan. However, your husband ended up being something that your family never prepared you for. As you come to navigate a new world of politics between the clans, your husband convinces you that there is nothing wrong with honoring yourself too.

Warnings and Content: fem! reader, fluff, themes of forced/arranged marriage, hints of mental abuse, mentions of sex, mentions of menstrual cycle

Author's Note: As promised, the official start of my next Gojo series! Just for context, this is an AU of the JJK canon events (no KFC breakup, and as of now, no mention of Megumi). It is also inspired a little bit by my other Gojo series Someone. Other things I want to flag is that I do plan for there to be nsfw content in this series, as well as themes of physical and mental abuse. As of now, I am unsure how long this series will be. Updates will depend on my availability to write.

Word Count: ~2.4k

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People would say that if there was one thing that Gojo Satoru was not, it would be committed. Not in all ways, however. Satoru was very committed to his sorcery, to the protection of ordinary people and the balance of the their world and the jujutsu one. It was relationships that he struggled with. Yes, he had always had an authority problem, both growing up and even now, so his relationships with jujutsu elders and other clan leaders were never good to begin with, especially when he became a clan leader himself and took up the title as “The World’s Strongest Sorcerer”. However, his friends? He cared deeply for them, but he could never show them that, lest he risk the possibility of them getting hurt for that same reason. Lovers? Absolutely not. They would last a week at best, hence why his friends would say he had commitment issues.

But, what many people did not know was that Satoru was betrothed to be married, and if there was one thing that he could say that he was committed to, it was that.

And not just because he knew that the responsibility of upholding the Gojo Clan’s honor and survival was on his shoulders, but also for a reason that no one could have predicted.

The first time Satoru had seen his future bride, they were both young, too young to understand why each of their parents were sitting across from one another, or why the most important members of the Kamo Clan were staring him down when he was barely even five years old. But when his parents asked to see you, that’s when everything changed.

You were carried into the room by a caregiver and left in between the two families like you were some kind of meal. A veil-like mask covered the front of your face from the nose down, but Satoru could tell you were roughly his age. Your wide eyes looked about. First at your caregiver, who stepped out of the room with a bow, then to your parents, who didn’t even seem to notice you, then to his parents, and then finally to him, the only other child in the room.

Gojo Satoru didn’t know it at the time, but it was at that moment that he had fallen in love with you. That same day, it was agreed upon that the two of you would wed when he was 25 and shortly after you turned 24. That seemed like such a long time, but… Satoru decided that maybe he would try to speak to you when he saw you next.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t possible. Both of your families kept each of you on a tight leash, and neither were inclined to meet with one another just because the Gojo heir wanted to see his bride. They were rival clans after all, with a long history of vendettas and alliances.

However, just because Satoru saw you once didn’t mean that he stopped thinking of you. Even as a pre-teen, he sounded out your name in his head, sometimes aloud when he was alone. Kamo (Y/N). It was one of the few things he knew about you, other than what your eyes looked like. He knew that those eyes had likely changed over the years since the first time he saw you, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t think about them. About you.

There were a few other things Satoru knew about you. You were the only daughter of Arao Kamo, the Kamo Clan head. Not only that, you were his youngest child and had three older brothers, all of whom Satoru had never met before. He would take in what his parents would tell him about you, though it wasn’t much; only that you had a different cursed technique from the blood manipulation that ran strong in the Kamo line, and that you were naturally beautiful for your age.

But Satoru wanted to know more. He wanted to know what your interests were and if they were similar to his. He wanted to know more about your cursed technique and what kind of training you had received. He knew that you would receive some kinds of etiquette and liberal arts education, as was normal for daughters of the clans to do, but did you like any of those things? What foods do you like? How have you grown?

What did the rest of your face look like? That was the question that replayed constantly in his head after Satoru was notified that him and his parents were to meet with your family again to make some further updates to the arrangement. Maybe this would be his chance for him to finally speak with you, to get to know you.

But it was just the same as before. There was no caregiver to bring you in this time though, and no other Kamo representatives other than your mother and father, whom you sat beside.

Satoru remembered staring at you the whole time, taking you in. His parents didn’t lie. You were beautiful and he hadn’t even seen all of you, and you also carried yourself maturely for a young girl. Your eyes had changed, of course, more grown but still just as wide and lively as he remembered. Your face was no longer obscured by a mask. Instead, you held a delicate fan that matched the kimono you wore, covering your face as you listened intently while your parents spoke, but never speaking yourself.

You didn't look in his direction even once.

The meeting had concluded before he knew it had begun. His parents had needed confirmation of your fertility, since they were to be among the first to be notified when you started your cycle. However, in an offer that was a bit unexpected, your father had requested that the marriage date be moved up five years, to which his parents agreed. That part made Satoru ecstatic. Instead of waiting 12 years, he now would only have to wait seven.

With that, you bowed and departed behind your parents, swift and silent. Satoru tried not to look like he was running as he tried to catch another glimpse at you when his parents excused him, but when he peered out the nearest window that overlooked the front lawn where you had arrived, you were already gone.

And so, Satoru would go another seven years. Another seven years of thinking of you, dreaming of you, wondering what you looked like behind your fan and cosmetics. He had hoped to see you enrolled in the same class as him at Jujutsu Tech, though he knew for a fact that you most likely would not be. Your parents, more so your father, he realized, protected and sheltered you more than ever after that second meeting. He had expected you not to show up to that first day of school, but when that first day was over and you actually didn’t, a small part of his heart still sank.

Satoru did take some females to bed during the next seven years you spent apart, mostly out of curiosity as to what sex felt like, but also by persuasion of his friends. However, his friends would get confused as to why he would never allow those girls to stay the next morning, or why he would insist on wearing a condom even when they gave him permission to finish inside. He would give the excuse (thought it really was the truth) that he actually wasn’t that interested, or that he also wanted to protect against STDs (the latter was a great insult that had women storming out on him, to his relief). In reality, he wanted his first real time, his first enjoyable time, to be with you. Even if he was allowed to take on any amounts of lovers he wanted both in marriage and out of it, he felt guilty knowing that you had to save yourself for him. So, in a way, he was saving himself for you too.

As the years came closer and closer, he began to think of you more and tried to subtly gather more information on you, to little avail. He knew that this pining and longing could be considered childish, but he didn’t care. Was it wrong to want to come to love, to already be in love, with the person he was to spend the rest of his life and create a family with? Satoru certainly didn’t think so.

However, that didn’t mean he was without restraint. After his parents had passed and the mantle of the Gojo Clan leader was given to him, he didn’t try or demand to see you. After all, the two of you could still be considered strangers. Hell that is what you were, he had to remind himself. He figured it would be best to keep you with your family and not disturb your current life, especially since you would be seeing your family less once you came to live with him (but also because he didn’t want you to see him as some obsessed maniac). He decided he would be patient and wait, which would make your first real meeting with him all the more sweeter.

Those seven years passed by too fast, he realized as he stood in the center of a magnificent shrine in what could have been the most spectacular and slightly uncomfortable outfit he had ever worn. Your family surrounded him on almost all sides as they awaited your arrival at sunset. Your parents and your brothers with their wives sat off to Satoru's right, and he could feel their eyes on him the entire hour that he stood there in a calm panic. After what seemed like an eternity, your headpiece peaked slowly over the hill as you ascended the path to the shrine. He held his breath.

He noticed your eyes again first.

They were downcast, melancholy, almost near lifeless. Not anywhere the lively pools of color he remembered and saw so often in his dreams. Your blank expression was such a contrast to the splendor of your being. Indeed, he thought that he was being pledged to a goddess, the way your updone hair and headpiece played in the golden sunlight, the way the whites, golds, and reds of your wedding kimono and wraps made you look like a princess, and the way your face, your whole face, looked like it had been extracted from a star.

To put simply, you were the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen.

Finally, you found your place beside him, your hands clasped in the folds of your long sleeves. It took you standing this close for Satoru to realize how much smaller you were than him, though he quickly discerned how much your face and demeanor had shaped into womanhood since he last saw you. He would catch glimpses of you when he could throughout the ceremony, taking in more of your features that you had laid out for him. The curves of your face, the shade and suppleness of your skin, delicateness of your hands... His heart was beating so rapidly, hoping that you would look back at him at least once.

But you never did, even when you presented one another with ceremonial wine, or when you took his arm to leave the shrine for the reception dinner that was filled to the brim with Kamo Clan members and other officials. As soon as you both entered that reception, your fan was over your face. You didn’t say a word to him the whole time, so he never said anything to you.

A cold sweat had laid itself over Satoru as you said goodbye to your family members. It wasn’t the type of goodbye that he would expect a family to give to their only daughter. There was no affection, no emotion shown, as if leaving your family was merely another ceremony. And then you turned back to him, eyes still looking down of course, and got into his car without a word.

Satoru could tell that something was wrong and off about you. Sure, you had carried yourself gracefully throughout the entire evening. Every movement you had made between walking and eating and sitting was done to absolute perfection. Maybe it was those monotone movements that should have been his first sign. No, it wasn’t that. It had to have been your eyes. Why were they always so bleak? Why did you never look up at him or make eye contact with him or speak to him? What had happened to you since the last time he saw you?

At least your fan wasn’t up. That he could be thankful for. Satoru sighed. He couldn’t help but feel like the happiest day of his life, the one where he finally got to be with the girl he had loved for 15 years, was the saddest day of your own. He wanted to ask about it so bad, now that he had you alone, but he didn’t. He would just look at you every so often as you watched the Tokyo scenery pass by through the car window. Maybe this was your way of taking everything in, and he didn’t want to disrupt that. He trusted that you would talk when you were ready.

You remained silent as the car stopped and he walked you up the stairs to the front door of his home estate, one of the many under the Gojo name. Your new home. In a perfect world, in what he had imagined previously, you would have been smiling and excited as he picked you up to walk you through the doorway. In that world, you would have hugged and kissed him as he twirled you around and around in your own private celebration.

The door closing behind him brought him back to reality. You now stood in the center of his grand foyer, eyeing the dark polished wood and rich splendor of your new dwelling place. The space was only illuminated by shaded lamps and a dim glass chandelier above the grand staircase. A new couch, your couch, was against one wall, one of many of your belongings that had been moved in a week ago. Satoru decided to sit on that couch while you stood in the center of the room, looking down, not moving.

Satoru couldn’t take this anymore. It was like you treated the floor like it was the most interesting thing in the world. As if he, your new husband, wasn’t sitting ten feet away from you. He even considered the possibility of you being deaf or mute for a moment. No, he didn’t know what to do, other than speak to you. But what to say? Are you feeling okay? Are you happy? Sad? Were your clothes uncomfortable? How come you didn’t speak or look at him? At anyone? Was it something you were afraid of? Were you afraid of…

That had to be it.

“Are you afraid of me?”

#isawritesshit #jjk #jjk smut #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #female reader #gojo smut #satoru gojo #anime #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo smut #arranged marriage #forced marriage #someone #the hoes gonna love this

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pasukiyo · 5 months

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Voldemort x malfoy reader where he’s in desperate need for an heir so he ‘does’ the reader over the large dining table with a lot of ‘yes my lord’

BLOODY WATERS

tom riddle/lord voldemort x f!malfoy!reader word count; 2,585 warnings; impregnation, blindfold, restraints, smut smut smut summary; lord voldemort was in need of an heir, so how could she refuse to do the honors for her most generous lord?

One touch.

One touch was all it took for her to break.

She saw nothing except darkness, but Lord Voldemort moved behind it, relishing in the fact she was blinded. She shivered when the tips of his fingers grazed over the curve of her shoulder, trailing off when they reached the crook of her neck. With the simplest of touches she was a mess, with the simplest of touches she was trembling, with the simplest of touches she was aching.

She couldn’t see the way the corner of Lord Voldemort’s pink lips twitched, the way his gaze mapped out each goosebump that stood erect on her skin. She couldn’t see the way his eyes, dark with a splash of maroon, devoured her, but she could feel them, feel his vision’s hunger as she sat there shivering on the top of the dining table, blinded, and completely nude.

“Quite the pretty little pet you are, Miss Malfoy,” his voice murmured lowly, a husk to it that had her pressing her lips and her thighs together. Lord Voldemort’s gaze fleeted down to her legs as they squeezed themselves together, relieving some of the pressure she felt between them. He clicked his tongue at this, blinking back up to where her eyes would be, had they not been veiled away by a piece of black cloth. “Trying to relieve yourself already?” He drew nearer, leaning over her, his breath like smoke rolling over her ear. “Naughty little thing. Open your legs, lest you wish to be punished.”

His words held power, raised fear within her as well.

“Y…yes, my Lord,” she squeaked, lips agape as she panted, spreading her legs once more despite her aching clit sobbing, begging for friction once again. She squirmed against the restraints locked on her wrists, her arms steadily growing more uncomfortable being tied behind her back. But she was determined to be good for him— she refused to let him down. “It won’t happen again, my Lord.”

Lord Voldemort’s smirk grew wider at her obedience, tilting his head to catch a better look of her quivering chin, at the wrinkle in her brow peeking at him from just over the top of the blindfold. “Good,” he said simply as he pulled away from her, dark tendrils of hair falling over his face, casting a shadow across his skin. He reached out towards her again, this time his fingertips trailing up and down the valley between her breasts, feeling the quakes her heartbeat left behind.

She breathed and her chest heaved into his touch, her bottom lip quivering, a plea to just beg him to do something heavy on the tip of her tongue. She bit it back, desperate to please, desperate to obey. So instead, she said nothing, only let herself balance on the brink of bliss.

Lord Voldemort’s fingers traced a circle around the nipple of her left breast, a gasp stumbling past her lips, her skin warm in his touch’s wake. “We haven’t much time before your brother and the others will be arriving,” he said in a low murmur and her cheeks burned with the reminder. Here she was— tied up and blindfolded, completely bare before her Lord and her brother was somewhere in their family’s manor— not to mention she was sitting completely naked on the table they’d eat their supper on.

A flash of shame warmed her cheeks but it was quickly replaced by a different kind of warmth when Lord Voldemort placed a hand on the side of her neck with his hand not on her chest. The pad of his thumb soothed over the base of her throat, lightly pressing down but never applying too much pressure. The lump in her throat bobbed against his finger when she gulped.

“So you are going to be obedient while I fuck my heir into you, is that understood?”

If she wasn’t already soaked, she was dripping now. Her bottom lip quivered once more and a soft whimper escaped, nodding her head in reply, unconfident she’d be able to speak without sounding pathetic. Lord Voldemort wasn’t satisfied with this as an answer however, because of course he wasn’t.

“I’m not certain you understand,” he said, his hand creeping up her neck to claw at her chin, his grip tight and firm. “I want to hear you say it. I want to hear you plead for me to give you a child, I want to hear you beg for me to fuck you.”

Another whimper stumbled past her lips and Lord Voldemort warm grip tightened on her chin, squishing her cheeks. “Please! Please, my Lord, I would be so honored to be the mother of your children. I’d do anything to please you, my Lord, I’d do anything to have you inside of me!” She wailed, her dignity lost and thrown away. She was aware of how pathetic, how foolish she sounded, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when her Lord wanted to give her the honor of being the carrier of his heir, not when her clit ached so much she could just shatter.

She of course couldn’t see the way Lord Voldemort’s lips twisted into a smile, but she could only imagine what he looked like as laughter thundered throughout his chest, permeating the dining room. He removed his hand from her face and for a moment, all was silent and all was still. She was panting, breathless as she tried to listen, wondering if he was even still in the room.

“My… my Lord?” She dared to call out, growing more frustrated with the restraints on her wrists and the cloth over her eyes. If only she could just see—

—oh.

All at once, she was full to the brim and her mouth fell open, a scream ripped straight from her throat, tears salty and stinging her eyes. With a mere snap of his hips, her Lord bottomed out inside of her, the head of his cock reaching a sensitive place so deep within, she was seeing stars. Her toes curled in on themselves and she pulled at her restraints, squeezing her eyelids so tight despite being blind already.

Lord Voldemort hissed beside her ear, his breath warm as it loomed over her cheeks, his lips a ghost over hers. If she dared lean in just an centimeter closer, they’d be touching. “My pet is so warm, so tight,” he growled, pressing the bridge of his nose to the crook of her neck and inhaling, taking a deep breath before exhaling back in her face. “So breedable.”

He snapped his hips against her again, his cock ramming back into that sensitive spot inside of her and she yelped, balling her fists behind her back. Her back was arching and her chest was pressed against his now, one of his palms pressed to the small of her back and the other pressed to the space between her shoulder blades, pulling her in even closer. Still, their lips didn’t meet, despite being so close in distance. He only grazed his mouth against hers, dropping his head to let his breath fan over the delicate skin just below her jaw, sending shivers slithering down her spine.

“And to think my heir will have your pure-blood and mine…” he hummed against her jaw, his teeth teasing at her skin there. “…the power will be limitless.”

He bucked his hips into hers again and tears began to wet her blindfold, a broken sob tumbling past her lips but her Lord, her most generous Lord, collected them with his own, sealing her cry with a kiss. Her tongue stood no chance against his, nor did she even try to challenge him, already willing to give up her entire mind, body, and soul to him. She was practically limp in his arms as he thrusted again and once more, twisting a knot at the pit of her stomach that was already threatening to break.

“Hush now, little bird,” he whispered against her lips when he pulled away from their kiss, thrusting again until he set an even and steady pace, his forehead flush against hers. “Soon you’ll be mine and all will be well,” he murmured, their noses brushing together before he slammed his hips inside of her, ripping a meek from her throat. “But just as I said, we haven’t much time. I expect Abraxas and the others will be arriving soon.”

He was pounding her now and she was dangerously close to coming now, pulling and tugging against her restraints. “My… my Lord!” She cried, wishing she could see him, wishing she could touch him. Lord Voldemort must’ve noticed the way she was rebelling against her restrained and must’ve pitied her, for he was reaching behind her back— his pace never once slowing and the force of his thrusts never once weakening— to undo the knot he’d tied to keep her wrists together.

Relieved the moment her wrists were free, one of her hands practically flew to his shoulder, the other reaching to the back of his head to grip at the rich, dark tresses there. Her tears were wet against her cheeks as they managed to slip underneath the blindfold and when she pressed her face into the breadth of his shoulder, they soaked his skin.

“My Lord, I’m… I feel so… I feel so close,” she mewled into his flesh as she fluttered around his cock, squeezing him even tighter which only encouraged him to piston his hips harder into her, clawing at the skin on her back, certain they’d leave marks. “You aren’t to come until I tell you to,” he hissed beside her ear, one of his hands venturing up her back until they threaded in the hair behind her head, balling his fist and tugging at the roots. “Tell me you understand.”

“Yes my Lord!” She gasped, her swollen and aching clit throbbing and her cunt fluttering around him once again. Lord Voldemort slammed against her impossibly harder, his pace so fast she was sure she was slipping between the realms of consciousness and unconsciousness. The room was thick with sex and sweat, the sound of skin slapping against skin permeated and bounced off every wall.

Somewhere beneath all the sex, she could make out the very muffled voices of her brother and someone else somewhere in the manor. Only then did it occur to her that her brother had been here the entire time, that it was entirely plausible he could hear them.

Before she could even begin to finish her thought, the blindfold was ripped from her face and she blinked through the blurry haze of her vision until the image of her Lord appeared. Even under the dim light of the dining room, she could make out his pale skin, the maroon that circled the black of his pupils, the black tendrils of hair that fell before his eyes. Gods, she could stare at Lord Voldemort all day.

And to think she was his.

She blinked up at him through tears as he pounded into her over and over again, pushing her closer to the edge, so close to bliss she could practically already taste it. Lord Voldemort stared right back at her, his lids hooded over his eyes, his lips pressed together as he held her close with one hand between her shoulder blades, the other on her cheek, his thumb soothing over her skin and collecting tears.

The voices outside the dining room doors were louder and closer now, and she could identify the voices belonging to her brother, Abraxas, and Tiernan Lestrange. She pinched her eyebrows together as she peered over her shoulder towards the door, snapping her head back forward to meet Lord Voldemort’s gaze.

“My Lord…” she began, to which he enveloped her lips in a kiss, his teeth sinking down into the plush of her bottom lip. She whimpered as he tugged her lip, leaning away until it slipped from between his teeth, snapping his hips once, twice, thrice.

Then, “come for me. Come all over me while I pump you full of my heir.”

She threw her head back and squeezed her eyelids as she clenched around her Lord’s cock, his palm catching the back of her head and forcing her forehead onto his as he spilled inside of her with a stutter of his hips. His eyelids were closed and his brow was knit as if in concentration as he bucked his hips into hers with particularly rough thrusts, ensuring she was taking every ounce of seed he was giving her, ensuring she was tainted inside and full of his children.

She was seeing dots of color in her vision the longer he stayed inside of her, unwilling to move, unwilling to let a single drop of his cum go to waste. She was fluttering around him, her forehead falling down to his shoulder as she panted, inhaling and exhaling to will her heartbeat to slow to a steady pace.

Abraxas and Tiernan were even closer now and only then did Lord Voldemort slowly— almost reluctantly— pull away, eyes glued to her cunt as her entrance fluttered and cried with the absence of him, watching the waterfall of their mixed juices slide down her slit. “My… my Lord, it seems as… as though they are on their way—!”

A silent gasp forced her mouth agape when, with his middle and forefinger, he gathered the nectar spilling from her pussy and dragged it up her slit, forcing it all back inside of her. Her back arched and a moan ripped through her, echoing throughout the dining room and she swore the voices outside the door fell silent.

“Can’t let a single drop go to waste now, can we?” Lord Voldemort hummed as he pulled away, reaching forward to press his fingers against her lips. Almost immediately, she welcomed his digits inside her mouth, swirling her tongue over his fingers and swallowing the remnant of their sin. She panted when he pulled his hand away, pulling his trousers back up his legs, buttoning his shirt.

She blinked, turning her head side to side, unable to remember where her dress had been discarded through the murky haze of her mind. Fortunately, her most generous Lord had already fetched the black material from the floor, fixing it over her head and soothing the wrinkles with the palms of his hands.

For a moment, her heart fluttered as he outstretched his hand for her to take and she did, allowing him to aid her in hopping down from the top of the table. The grip he had on her hand tightened when she wobbled, unable to feel her legs for a moment. Lord Voldemort drew her in closer until their chests were flush against one another, one hand still enveloping hers and the other cupping her cheek, letting his thumb soothe her skin.

For a moment, she blinked up at him and allowed herself to be lost in the bloody waters of his irises, wondering if he was hers just as much as she was his. She wondered if this was love, being claimed in such a scandalous yet euphoric way.

Lord Voldemort leaned down until their lips brushed against one another and she fisted either side of his shirt, her eyelids fluttering closed as she anticipated his kiss.

Then, “you’re mine now. And while my heir grows inside of you, it’d do you well to remember that.”

a/n; finally wrote a tom riddle fic after so long! and it's a request! to the requester, i hope this was what you wanted! and i hope you all enjoy! also a reminder to fill out my taglist form if you'd like to be added to any of my taglists!

TAGLIST

@your-nanas-house

@sallowsarchives

@lyis

@michelle-26

@iamthejam

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle fic #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle smut #wizarding world #harry potter #harry potter fandom #voldemort #voldemort x reader #tom riddle x y/n #lord voldemort

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scoonsalicious · 17 days

Text

1.1 Major

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntire, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, alcohol consumption, slight objectification of men.

Word Count: 1.6k

Previously On...: Lily McIntyre met Bucky Barnes. Everything had changed, and now it's only him that matters.

A/N: You know what? Fuck it. Turns out I write more when I'm actively writing for all of you. Plus, I miss you, besties. Yes, I know-- it's only been two days, but I don't care. You guys give me the strength to face the day, and when I'm interacting with you, I'm happiest. So, we're starting the full roll-out of With Friends Like These... Now, there won't be multiple postings per day, so I won't be dropping a bunch at once. We're going to start nice and slow, lol. I hope you like it!

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

You stood outside the door to the bar, nervous as fuck. It wasn’t every day a girl got invited to spend an evening out on the town with the goddamned Avengers, and though you’d only known Natasha Romanoff for about six months now, you were honored she liked you enough to extend an invitation for you to join her and her friends on their off time.

Giving yourself a once over in the reflection of the bar’s window, you double checked to make sure you looked good– your hair and makeup were on point, your dark wash skinny jeans hugged your curves in the best possible way, and the black satiny top you wore under your leather jacket showed just enough cleavage to be tantalizing, but not trashy.

You got this, you told yourself. You took a breath, and walked inside.

The place was dimly lit, but not too crowded. You were able to spot Natasha easily– it wasn’t as if the striking redhead was hard to miss. She sat at a high top with another redhead, nursing a vodka tonic. Catching her eye, you waved and made your way over.

“Major!” Nat greeted you, going in for a friendly hug, which you happily returned. “I’m so glad you made it!” She pointed to the other redhead– Wanda Maximoff, The Scarlet Witch, you remembered now from having seen her on the news– and introduced you. “Major, this is Wanda; Wanda, Major.” You shook hands as the other woman offered you a kind, welcoming smile.

“Finally, some balance to the force,” she joked. At your questioning look, she elaborated: “We are desperately outnumbered in the girl department when it comes to our friend group,” she said. “It’s just me and Nat versus the boys.”

“There’s Lily, too,” Nat interjected.

“Please.” Wanda said, waving Nat’s words off dismissively. “We all know that Lily is not one of us.”

Nat snorted into her drink. “Lily’s just not really a girl’s-girl,” she offered to you in explanation. “Very much sees herself as ‘one of the guys,’ if you catch my meaning.”

You nodded; you’d had plenty of experience with pick-me girls in the past. “Yeah, I know the type.” You waved down a waitress and put in an order for a frozen margarita.

“So, Major,” Wanda said, taking a sip of her beverage once the waitress had gone, “which one of our lucky bachelors is going to catch your eye tonight?”

“I don’t follow,” you said, confused.

Wanda turned to Nat and playfully hit her on the shoulder. “You bitch! You didn’t tell her?”

Nat had the decency to look sheepish. “I wanted it to be organic,” she said, offering you an apologetic smile.

“Natasha Romanoff,” you said, realization dawning on you, “did you invite me out tonight to try and set me up with one of your teammates?”

Nat frowned, looking remorseful. “I know I should have said something, but you’re always complaining about how you never have luck with dating, and it just so happens I live in a compound literally full of eligible men, so I thought… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have overstepped.”

The waitress brought over your margarita and you raised it, toasting to Nat. “Fuck apologies; you want to hook me up with an Avenger? Girl, remind me to send you a gift basket!”

Nat and Wanda both laughed, raising their own glasses to toast with you. Wanda leaned over toward you, her voice a conspiratorial whisper.

“Alright, don’t be obvious about it,” she said, “but our fine gentlemen are over at the pool table.” You followed her line of sight and were met with an array of some of the most attractive men you had ever seen. Yeah, you’d seen them on tv, and in magazines, but they were always wearing costumes and masks. But up close? And in person?

“Woof,” you said softly.

“Okay,” said Nat, leaning in on your other side. “Let’s size up our options. First, we’ve got Captain America, himself, Steve Rogers. All-American, corn-fed, take-home-to-mamma kinda guy. Such a gentleman, could bench press four of you. Knows how to treat a girl right.”

“And bore her to tears,” Wanda added.

“Wands!” Nat flashed her eyes. “We’re supposed to be talking them up!”

Wanda shrugged. “Facts are facts,” she said. “A sweetheart, really, but very old fashioned.”

“Fine,” Nat said, exasperated. “Moving on, we have Sam Wilson, our resident Falcon. He’s funny, charming, a great dancer.”

“Seriously good moves,” Wanda added with an enthusiastic nod.

“Smart, good listener,” Nat offered. “Incredibly loyal.”

“You make him sound like a puppy,” you said, laughing.

“Oooh, oooh, my turn!” Wanda said enthusiastically. “Next up is our resident himbo, the one and only Thor Odinson. Unbelievably endearing, the body of a literal god: Great hair, an ass you could bounce a quarter off of, arms that could snap your tiny little body right in half if he had half a mind to…”

“Down, girl,” Nat said, flicking some droplets of water from her water glass at Wanda. “Damn, we’re here for Major, not you.”

“Sorry,” said Wanda, ducking down to hide her blush behind her hair. “He’s just so… big. And… beefy. Like, what does one even do with that much man?” she asked, before muttering so low you could barely hear her: “I would really like to find out.”

You and Nat stifled your laughter. “Okay, definitely not going to be Thor for me, then,” you offered. Across the room, another man caught your eye, one Nat and Wanda hadn’t mentioned yet. “Who’s that?” you asked them.

Nat craned her neck. “Oh, that’s Parker. I dunno; he’s kinda on the young side for my taste, but the kid is 18, so if that’s what you’re into–”

“Ugh, no– pass,” you said, realizing she had been referring to the skinny teenager who was hanging on Steve Rogers’ every word. “No, I mean the brunet. Who’s he?” The more you studied him, the more you realized he just may be the most handsome man you’d ever seen. He was currently leaning against a pool cue, engrossed in conversation with Sam. He had a slight smirk on his face, as if he was keeping in a very humorous secret, and it painted his features in an adorably boyish light.

While you were looking at him, he turned his head and saw you watching him. You should have been mortified at being caught staring but instead, you were taken aback by how striking his crystal blue eyes were. You offered him a soft smile, and were delighted when his own widened in return, his cheeks taking on a dusky hue in the low light, before Sam elbowed him, bringing his attention back to the game of pool. He shot you another look, running his tongue along his bottom lip, before refocusing his attention.

“Oh,” said Nat, following your gaze. “Oh, no, no, no. That’s Bucky Barnes. He’s… not on the menu.”

You turned back toward her, disappointed. “Oh. Of course, guy that good looking’s got to have a girlfriend, right?”

Nat and Wanda exchanged glances. “Not exactly,” Nat said.

“Remember how we mentioned Lily not being a girl’s-girl?” Wanda asked, nodding her chin toward where the boys were racking the balls for a new game. You hadn’t noticed the woman in their midst before– petite, blond, and athletic.

“Yeah, Lily’s more of a Bucky’s-girl,” Nat added. “Just, you know, Bucky’s not aware of it.”

You must have looked very confused, because Wanda was quick to clarify. “Bucky only joined the team… what? Four years ago?” She looked to Nat for confirmation, and Nat nodded. “He was like a totally different guy back then. Didn’t go out, didn’t want to be around people.”

“Like Oscar the Grouch, but if you took him out of the trash can and gave him moderately better grooming standards,” Nat offered.

“Yeah,” Wanda continued, nodding in agreement, “and for the longest time, the only person he would talk to was Steve. But then, like, Lily made it her life’s work to become his best friend.”

“I remember it annoyed the shit out of him in the beginning,” Nat added. “Poor guy just wanted to be left alone to process his trauma.” She sighed. “But the girl was relentless. She’s got tenacity, I’ll say that for her.”

“That’s actually kind of sweet,” you said. “That she wouldn’t give up trying to be there for him.”

“No, sorry,” Nat said. “We’re not explaining this well. She basically made being Bucky’s best friend her entire fucking personality. It was like, any other friend she had just–poof! Stopped existing to her. We no longer mattered; everything became about Bucky.”

“It’s a bit much,” Wanda said. “She’s very… I don’t want to say protective is the right word for it, but very possessive of him.”

“It’s like no girl Bucky’s ever dated has been good enough to pass her standards,” Nat said. “And she’s had no problem making that abundantly clear, and I know she’s been the reason for at least a couple of his relationships ending. Poor guy’s balls must be so blue by now, they’re practically black; she never lets him get any action.”

You took a sip of your margarita. “Well, they’ve got to be sleeping together, right?” you asked. Nat and Wanda both looked at you. “I mean, that would explain it, right?”

“Oh, they are definitely not,” Nat said. “Though I’m sure she wishes. I heard him tell Steve she reminds him of his dead kid sister.”

You sucked in a breath. “Ouch,” you said. “Just what every girl wants to hear, I’m sure.” You looked back over to the pool table, admiring the way Bucky bent over to take a shot. “It’s too bad,” you said, turning back to girls. “I mean, he’s hot as hell, but no man’s worth taking on that kind of drama.”

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

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wlfpet · 1 year

Text

(Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader)

— PAPI BONES

A/N: Hi, this is the formerly scrapped, 3x longer, 2 months writing project that I had because I wanted to fuck abby in a closet! this was actually supposed to be my first post on tumblr, but i got mad at it and sent it to the dungeon for two months :/ but yall wanted it, so I'm super happy i got to finish it, even though it took multiple days and cups of coffee to power through. sorry for the wait, hope you fuck wit her.

content tags (can you tell i don't want to write anymore ;w;): college au, childish antics at a big age, drinking, cool, ellie and dina are in this! kind of abstract sexual descriptions, assplay, cunnilingus (r!receiving), boob... touching? small mention of drugs because dealer!ellie, drunk sex, enthusiastic consent! :D, reader is kind of annoying sorry, men being assholes, reader catching feelings for a girl she fucked once, real.

wc: 7.6k ;w; (send help)

proofread?; barely.

tl : @clearheartgreyflowers, @oatmilkchaii, @ghostfacebunny, @ellsbclls (thank you to the sweetest deb @ellsbclls for helping beta read this, i appreciate your suggestions and encouragement and this would probably have been scrapped TWICE without your help ;w; )

synopsis: your best friend dina drags you to a college frat party. you hate shit like this, and you're painfully shy but when she does those puppy dog eyes you can't say no, so in a cruel twist of fate you end up in the closet with abby Anderson, and lose your virginity. yay college! (apart of the 'jackson university' thematic!)

Your idea of a Saturday night well spent wasn’t squeezing through a sea of sweaty backs; but like many things in your life, it wasn’t up to you, because you were easily swayed. Everything was overstimulating, the waves of bodies on bodies that pulsated and threw you between different poses and balances to keep on your feet, the ringing of laughter, of music, of every sound echoing in your head, around your body, vibrating through your very core. The smell of liquor and drunken antics and that one guy puking in the corner made you sick. But somehow, you were here, spurred on by peer pressure friendship and goodwill, trudging through the blackened room to your target; the snack table.

Dina, your roommate, and determinant best friend held a firm hand on the small of your back, pushing you through the crowd and causing a small jolt to run down your body as she steered you around every obstacle and corner in the room. She was a woman on a mission, and the one who dragged you out of bed, convincing you - against your better judgment- that it was fatal that you accompanied her to a frat party. You knew she was good-natured, and your first friend when you moved 500 miles away from home to college. It was an instant click, but you were opposite best friends.

Dina, ever the social butterfly, had connections in all different spaces; she could party with the sorority girls –hold the coke, please,– out-cram everyone, even the National Honor Society kids, all the way to the top of the class, hell, she was on the damn debate team, which was probably why it wasn’t a struggle to get a ‘yes’ out of you. You, on the other hand, were uncomfortable at bars, school sporting events, and parties, and one time you even thre– fuck, never mind. It was all effortless to her, in almost an enviable way. Dina loved to go clubbing, loved to hang, out, and she had been near-begging you to come out with her and her cool friends for months, not that you’re not cool, I mean.

And somehow, despite everything, it worked.

You could almost remember how you got there if you put away the sticky crunch of coke sticking to your shoes with each step, and reached back into the recesses of your mind. Or at least, back three-and-a-half hours ago.

“They’re all great people, no weirdos, promise!”

It was the emphatic plea made to you as you lay on your bed, queuing up the next episode of the apocalypse show you watched each week, watching her make Dina list off every reason why you just had to follow her out tonight. It was clearly very life-or-death shit to her, but you were unconvinced. It was just a party but there was going to be a smaller, more intimate kickback in a friend-of-a-friend’s basement. She was in the middle of getting ready, sitting at her school-issue desk and looking at herself in the mirror, dark hair coned over her head in a bun as she sat in deep concentration, words slurred and simple as she applied mascara, her mouth slacked into an O position.

“So you’re gonna like, fucking go, yeah?”

She said it as though it was obvious, like it wasn’t a question, but one look at you, –curled up in covers, laptop on chest, martini glass pajama pants and teddy bear teeshirt ON, unbothered– showed her that it would be a tall order, and that big guns would be needed.

“Not interested, sorry.”

“Not even a tinyyyyy bit?” Dina squeezed her fingers together for emphasis, throwing her head back in mock exhaust, a theatric groan rumbling out of her throat. “Not even a little bit.” You echoed, your roommate cutting her eye at you through her handheld mirror, but it was what it was. You weren’t into all of that stuff; the bump and grind of sweaty bodies wasn’t alluring, listening to someone else’s shitty music at ear-bleeding levels felt like hell, and if you wanted to get pitifully drunk and throw up all over yourself, there was a garbage can right under your bed. But your friend really, really, wanted your company and it made you feel, really, really bad to always blow her off.

“Why are you going so hard on this?” You bemused as you propped up on your elbows, watching as she stalked around the room in her newly painted face, quickly rummaging through her drawer for a spare outfit.

“Maybe because it bums me out to see my super cool roommate wasting away in her dorm every weekend?” In Dina’s mind, she was making a lot of sense. She was waiting for you to chime in, to say you know what, Dee? You’re right, I get it. But instead, you stared blankly, and she threw down her arms in exasperation. “You’re in fucking college, man! You don’t even wanna have one night of fun?” She punctuated the ‘fucking’ with a wild gesture around her head, which made you chuckle to yourself.

“I mean, I was planning on wa–”

Your body was jostled by an insane amount of weight, almost turned completely over by two roughhousing dudes– a mess of limbs and arms, who looked at you and then at each other, as though they had spontaneously sobered up. You didn’t even have the time to start to be angry when they prattled off a blended, slurred apology and thrashed somewhere away through the mass of hands and faces in the dark room.

Fucking assholes, ruining the flashback sequence.

The room was lit only by haphazard mood lights; soft LEDs and gaudy, flickering Christmas baubles, a solitary television, camped by stoners who laughed madly, and the dim auburn glow of the odd ceiling lamp nestled in the far back of the house. You were out of your element; you couldn’t dance, weren’t the most social, and even though you were with a friend, all of this made you feel very alone.

Dina cut through the crowd with her elbow, bellowing out “Ex–cuse me!” while she pushed you through gaps as they formed. Her voice fell to mutter again, barely audible, chunked and cut by the music bouncing from wall to wall, grumbling that she had places to be, and if E*&^$ didn’t get her off at least once, there would be hell to pay. She was determined to get to the other side of the room, where it was arranged that by the chips, as smokers usually are, she would find her current fuckbuddy and her friends, waiting to hotbox and pregame a bit more before the room peaked. She was driven by horniness and selfishness, as one typically is after four shots of Tito’s vodka, and getting smoked out and ‘taken care of’ upstairs was half the reason she even came.

You’d never met her most recent suitor, and the question of her girlfriend was always met with a ‘no, she’s just my sneaky link.’ but you didn’t question it enough to know more. She was just the girl who Dina would go off campus to meet, and as long as she wasn’t a slasher, and her pre-rolls knocked you on your ass, it would be what it was. You were carried away by your friend’s excitement, by her heavy hand nearly lifting you off of your feet as she beelined to the kitchen, wrangling your twin bodies every which way.

“Ellie! Ellie!” She yelled, jumping up and down a bit to compensate for her voice being swallowed by the bass. She burrowed through the wave, pushing you towards a girl leaning against the sink, nursing a red cup and low, hazy eyes. Her auburn hair was swallowed by a black docker, and a dark-coloured backpack jutted out from behind her as she smiled and waved the two of you –mostly Dina, into her orbit. She looped her head under your shoulder to be pulled into the strong hug of firm biceps, and Arms looked you over, offering a friendly nod.

–

“It’s on streaming. You can watch ‘Many of Them’ literally whenever!”

“Live tweeting is a part of the experience.” You chided matter-of-factly, sitting up cross-legged. It wasn’t like the brunette was wrong, exactly, but you couldn’t give up too much at once. Going soft was not a part of the plan.

“Fuck, whatever– You know the girl I’ve been hooking up with, right?” Her eyebrow raised at your dispassionate ‘not really.’ “Well you know her fucking joints, she sells– weed, shrooms… pills?” Dina listed off with her finger, mulling over the last detail for a second, then confirming in her head with a nod. It’s fine, you’re cool, and the two of you had always bonded over your love of recreational joy anyways. “So, if you wanna smoke orsomething– I got you, all you have to do is show up.” Her hands were up almost sheepishly as she tested the waters, but you weren’t super convinced, and your idea of fun wasn’t exactly playing wingman while she got tongue-fucked by a drug dealer, and the pregnant pause was enough to cue her into having to bring out the big guns.

“-And, and! I'll wash all our dishes, and cleanyoursideoftheroomforaweek.”

Damn, she practically ran through that last part, so under her breath you knew she was hoping that you didn’t hear. But you did, and for a second you could almost see a smirk play on her face as your eyes lit up. She was always up for a good bribe, and even though she would act annoyed, it was great for breaking you out of your shell. She would offer to watch the zombie show if you came out to the bars in your college town with her, pizza if you confessed to your crush instead of instastalking them three times a day, even though it didn’t work, –oh well, shooters shoot– and tonight? A week free from chores if you just spent a couple of hours in your own personal hell. Yeah, you would give her this one.

“Now we’re talking. If you want someone to be the lookout while you and Jesse Pinkman go at it, who am I to deny?” You teased, kicking your legs over the edge of the bed.

Your roommate craned her head up, momentarily stopping her mission of rifling through her clothes. “Who said that?”

“You’re in your ‘good panty’ drawer.” You whispered cheekily.

“Well, you got me. Someone has to get fucked around here.”

“Oh fuck you, bitch!” You laughed, throwing your pillow, hitting smack in the center of her chest.

Dina bounced around the room, practically billowing with glee. There was a descending, barely audible ‘fuck yeah’ as she traipsed down the hall towards the bathroom, rounding the corner and disappearing from your periphery.

“By the way, you know Jesse’s last name is Huang, right, not Pinkman? And we’re uh– not together anymore.” Dina shouted through the silence.

“That’s a character from Breaking Bad. It was a joke– because he’s a drug de–” You stopped yourself midway. “Never mind. It’s not funny if I explain it.”

“Oh– I never watched Breaking Bad. Too Long.” She deadpanned. You chuckled to yourself, shaking your head as you slid your way off the bed.

That’s how you found yourself in a dimly lit bathroom, missing the comfort of your memories as ‘Ellie’ rolled a blunt. You stood leaning against the door and Dina sat on the closed toilet seat. The dealer sealed the last of the leaf with a flick of the tongue and a lick of spit, maintaining direct eye contact with Dina so she could not-so-subtly show off. She passed it to the brunette first, who mimed a cheeky, ‘why thank you’ and drew poutily. You three sat there for a while, smoking and talking, steam from the hot shower wafting above your heads as music pumped through the foundation of the house.

There was laughter outside of the door and it soon became awkward for you, Ellie and Dina finishing the blunt, –you were a lightweight– and chatting idly as Dina traced a fingertip against the outline of the tattoo Ellie was showing off.

The temperature of the tiny room ran hotter between their reddened eyes, and it was as though you were being banished by a galactic force. You couldn’t mistake how the red-haired girl’s glance caught an extra second or so at the way Dina’s body was hugged just right in her party dress, cleavage strained against the fuchsia PVC of her neckline, and how she bit the corner of her lip when her eyes hooked on a dark mole on Dina’s breast that was framed by the feathers of her black hair.

It was time to go, unless you were interested in seeing your best friend get dug out on the countertop.

You were already a little bit wobbly, hearing a giggle that slipped from Dina’s lips morph into a squeak as you slipped out of the crack you pulled in the door and into the fray, getting carried down the stairs and back over to the drinks. You crossed over a kissing couple, cutting into their makeout and heavy petting session, and through a huddled together group of girls whispering something about seeing an ex across the room.

You gripped onto the countertop for stability when you finally broke free from the pulsating wave of bodies. There was a bit of everything surfing in deep bowls of ice and water, open bags of chips and snacks bunched up together on the island. You could not be sober for this shit. You wedged up the pop cap on a hard seltzer and brought it to your lips, the spirit coating your tongue and boiling its way into your stomach. There it was again, the familiar warm feeling in your hands and feet, the soft pressure already creeping across the flat of your face. Yeah, now that was it. The anxiety began to melt away, and you leaned against the countertop, flexing your legs.

Wow, they’re inviting giants to the shindig too. You laughed to yourself as the scarlet-lit ocean parted, and a tall, wide figure walked through and into the darkness of a descending flight of stairs. If only it was that easy when you needed to piss, notwithstanding that you had already been in the bathroom.

It’s fun being sardonic sometimes.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see your roommate coming down the stairs, the dealer’s deft fingers pulling down part of her dress that rode up her ass. She arched her head up, straining left and right like the eye of a submarine as she looked for you; her eyes lit up, waving to you as she fisted her companion’s belt loop, bouldering through the sea of people. She was high as fuck, if her bright pink eyes were enough to speak to it, and your gaze lingered over the new expanse of a deep purplish hickey on her neck, small indents from teeth glimmering with saliva in the light.

There was that hotness again that burned in the pit of your stomach, not from drunkenness or anxiety, but the can of fruity liquor in your hand covered up for the embarrassing flush of your wild cherry-coloured cheeks. You peeled your eyes back up to her face and smiled dumbly. You’d never had *that* before. You’ve watched things before at least, and obviously, touched yourself to the thought, but you’ve never had someone to fool around with in bathrooms or hold your skirt when it rode up.

There was your first kiss, but it was in middle school, so it didn't count. It was all clammy lips, two noses that couldn’t get the space between them *quite* right, and an overzealous set of chompers that left you with a bloody lip. Actual horseshit, but somehow, a core memory. It was annoying in a way, how it just didn’t come to you, but you wanted to be wanted. To be lusted over, desired even in that casual touchy way that simmered between your best friend and the girl you didn’t know very well. Dina was making grabby hands at you, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed. Your drink bobbed as she whisked you to her will, you and Ellie sharing a knowing look as she pushed your bodies through the hall and down the darkness of the stairwell.

–

“RULES ARE SIMPLE,” some asshole in a hat bellowed as he stood over all of you who sat in the circle, mildly drunk off your asses and looking for easy fun. He held up a black beer bottle, carrying it like a trophy and swishing it around your noses for a closer look. “You kids might know seven minutes in heaven.” You didn’t know him, but according to Dina, this was his house, his party, and his very annoying rules. A light patch of raised skin played against his nose as he scrunched his nose over and over again, hands on hips, clearly trying to steal back whatever thought the liquor took from him. Jason, right?

Whatever.

“But we’re all grown-ups here, so I present to you–” He rolled the bottle in hand, clearly soft-launching his bright idea. “Fifteen minutes in purgatory!” There was a deep groan radiating from some, but there was a small minority that exploded in cheers, and whoops. “Pretty self-explanatory, two adventurers venture deep into purgatory, and come out forever changed.

“Two adventurers go deep into purgatory,” He gestured his head at the foreboding broom closet in the back of the room. “And return forever changed.”

“We’ll use the bottle to choose our unlucky voyagers, and you’ll spend fifteen minutes in the closet.” He explained, dropping the mystique in the second half. “Alright kids, let’s start; and just for the record– If you’re a pussy, get the fuck out of the circle!”

The drunken cast of partiers whooped and cheered, hyping each other up, spilling beer out of red cups as they gestured wildly, entirely too grown for this. The room played ‘not it’ to pick who got the first spin, and the unfortunate soul was a blonde who sat cross-legged, blank-eyed at the black glass handed to her, nodding her head tersely.

“We got our very own Abigail Anderson– !” Her eyes narrowed. “Andddd….” Hat praised, cueing her to spin. She took the bottle, pointing the tip towards herself and then spinning it, the glass doubling, tripling the circle, making you dizzy chasing it with your eyes, and everyone sat with bated breath. It slowed and slowed and slowed, until, like ugly fate, it stopped at your feet.

“Our newbie!” He got up to cheese, leaning over you, placing his hands over your shoulders, and rocking you from side to side. You laughed awkwardly, putting your palms up defensively at nothing.

“Um– uh…” You were at a loss for words, only cut off as his head shot into your field of view, hot, hopsy breath tanging your nostrils. “What, you scared?” He taunted, all eyes on you, watching as you nursed a deep discomfort about the whole thing behind an uneasy smile.

“You’re a fucking asshole, Jordan.” The girl, Abby, groaned. She looked up at you from her downward pointing head, swishing her bottle of hard cider in the hand propped over her knee. Jordan, that was the name of this dickhead. Yeah, fuck him. “If she doesn’t want to get in the closet, she doesn’t want to get in the closet. I’ll just spin again.”

Dina cut in, the redhead still leaning lazily against her. “Yeah, don’t–dont be a dick, Jordan.” Her face was tight, and Ellie was annoyed because Dina was annoyed, and the room held a pregnant silence, and even though it wasn’t your fault, you felt all too responsible and all too uncomfortable with all of the eyes watching you.

“It’s fine, guys. Let’s all– eh, chill out, okay? I’m going to take the dare.” You leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper, trying to steal back the vibe, trying to replace the tension with playful drama as you circled your head around, wiggling the fingers slightly of your held-up palms. “Because I’m not a little bitch.”

The crowd exploded in raucous laughter, each voice clashing together and mimicking the sound of a pipe bursting. You looked over at your partner, who seemed pleasantly surprised, a smirk playing on her peach lips. She placed down her bottle and stood, and as she towered over you, you realised that maybe you were playing with fire. She was scary and nonchalant, but the outer workings of her face were soft and gentle. She didn’t look like the girls in the videos you watched at night; she was something different, uncharted, and before you knew it, a nervousness, and something lower, darker, ran through your body.

Then it was time to go, you piling in first, looking around at some of the half-darkness in the room, barely enough to fit two people in.

The asshole patted the girl’s back, corralling her into the closet behind you. Blood rushed to your head, the pressure was too great, like getting skullfucked through your ears. show her a good time, you could hear him say, and then something that you couldn’t quite understand over the bass. The mountain’s eyes narrowed, but before she could shoot back, her large body crashed into yours and the space became tighter and tighter, just enough for the two of you to put your arms out to either side or turn around. For a split second, you could see Dina’s face from over Jordan’s shoulder, tightened in concern, a timid thumbs up at the side of her head. Then, he closed the door, and the last of the light slipped out through the crack in the wall.

There was a deep silence, and somehow, like the hazy feeling you get right before you wake from a dream, you were chest to chest in the darkness with her blue eyes staring back at you, damn-near bioluminescent. You’d seen her around, because everyone sees her around, but it hadn’t registered that the giant who had parted all of those people in the crowd like they were just water, was standing right in front of you. Outside you could hear the rumble of the music, vibrations of the bass wrapping around you and shaking you from the inside out. The closet was too tight, too warm, too filled with smells from towels and coats and folded blankets and dusty boxes of light bulbs and two cramped, awkward bodies.

Suddenly, you felt all too intimidated.

“You’re Abigail, right?” You questioned. “Off the rugby team?”

“Abby.” You couldn’t read her face in the dark, and though she spoke pointedly she didn’t seem angry, but the accidental overstep was enough to make you want to dig a hole through the floor with your bare hands and die in it. “And yeah– captain, of the rugby team.”

“Oh, sorry, sorry.” You yielded. “So… what are we supposed to do? In here, I mean.” You gestured at nothing, knocking some washcloths from a top shelf down in the dark. “Ah, damn it.” You cursed under your breath, bending down to pick up the small stack. You could hear Abby behind you, sucking her teeth with a judgy hum. Her brows were almost touching her eyelids, captured in secondhand embarrassment, and she almost felt bad for how awkward you were, scrambling to pick them up from the floor.

If you could see her face, you’d be able to tell how her eyes flicked up and down her body, taking everything in. Your black skirt slid slightly to bunch at the front, uncovering portions of your doughy thigh and the ever-so-tiniest range of fabric hiding your prettiest secret. She had to tear her eyes away, almost. She jumped, even, glad you couldn’t see as you popped back up.

You were cute, holding the disheveled stack in your hands, a look of sheer pride on your face. You looked over to the side, tossing them unceremoniously on a free shelf, gravity taking a couple back to the ground. Your sated chuckle, the way your tits pushed up slightly, illuminated, almost framed like art by the neckline of your cream cardigan made her hungry. She pushed the ideas of what she wanted to do with them out of her mind, but damn, she could think about some things that would make the devil embarrassed. She stomped down her desire, stoicism crossing her for a second, only for her to open it back up on second thought.

“They want us to fool around, fuck, ideally.” She started, analysing your expressions for any hint of discomfort at the conversation. “But– we don’t have to do anything.” She tried to cut some of the thick discomforts with a placating smile, almost lost in detail in the low light. She was huge, more so than you, or most anyone else you knew, the jutting-out edge of a shelf knocking the back of her head every time she leaned her head back in the tight space. The hard washboard of her torso was framed by an opening of a grey hoodie and barely much else, just the thick band of her boxers peeking from her sweatpants, and the black of a cropped tank top that stopped right below her bra line.

“Jordan… is typically a good guy, but when he gets drunk he’s a total POS.” Abby was sallow-faced, pursing her lips, tension running through her jawline. “I shouldn’t have let him put you on the spot like that. So… I’m sorry that you got pressured to get in here.”

“It’s fine, I just.” You started, ready to say that big phrase, the one that slightly burned your back to admit. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“What, played seven minutes in heaven? Yeah, kind of a jackass thing to suggest in your twenties.”

Shit. She was going to make you say it.

“No. I mean I’ve never–” and you thought your tiny voice couldn’t get any tinier. “had sex before.”

Abby breathed in the deepest sigh, pure anxiety crossing her face for a split second, before she was feeding you apologies. “It’s fine, we don’t have to do anything we can just sit here and talk. Or be in silence if you want it’s alr–”

“I want to do it.” You said doggedly, pressing yourself into a tiny corner. Her brow perched, and there was something in those narrowing blue eyes that said she didn’t believe you. You were pigeontoed, legs shifting against one another, declaring in your firmest voice that you wanted her to take your virginity.

“Are you sure?” She breathed out, stepping a bit closer. “You don’t have to feel pressured to do anything because you think they want a show.”

“Oh, my god.” You were pouting, annoyed. “I can choose if I want to have sex you know, and I want to have sex right here right n–”

She kissed you, softly as possible, testing your waters to see how far you were willing to go. Her hands were patient, one lightly knotted in the woolen knit of your cardigan to lightly pet your lower back, the other making gentle grips on your sweatered arm. Her fingers were barely bruising, gripping around your wrist almost tight enough, and a tiny shockwave coursed between your thighs and convinced you that you wanted more. In this low light, in this dark room, in this place between space and time, you wanted to be her conquest. To be taken, touched, manhandled, to be made to weather the storm of her overwhelming strength against you, lost in the middle of the ocean.

It was perverted, almost, how the idea of her showing restraint raised hairs on your skin, how you deepened the kiss like you were being overcome with an insatiable, bloody hunger. You had to take back the moment, to steal her attention in a way she couldn’t deny before she thought you were all talk; you stepped closer, positioning yourself so that her thigh hovered right below the heated space under your skirt. Her hand was warm, soft as you grabbed it, moving it lower, deeper down the divot of your back and where the fat of your ass connected. She caught on, groaning into your lips as she kneaded around your body, her tongue sweeter and heavier against yours, working that one damned hand up your skirt to cup bare skin.

You jumped.

As fast as it had come, her hand slipped back from under your skirt and the touch was lost completely, awkwardly hovering for a second until Abby pulled it back into her pocket and stepped back. You were miserable, eyes welling up in frustration like a lost dog at the lack of feeling. She was pulling you into insanity but was too chivalrous to drown you in it, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly as she looked down at you.

“Fuck– didn’t mean to be aggressive like that. I–” The redness bled across her cheeks, freckles on full display as her fingers met the wet spot that you were hiding, your hands guiding hers to the space between your thighs. There was a pause, a knowing, a challenge between the two of you as an unknown heat spread throughout your bodies, and you collided once more. The blonde’s mouth sucked a nasty pressure into your throat, agitating it with bites and licks as her head traveled deeper, hands playing at the front of your sweatered torso to undo the buttons that held your breasts hostage.

Her entrance was assured as she popped the loops open, fingers gripping the fabric of your camisole and lifting up, taking your bra with it. She nipped at the exposed flesh, heat from her mouth traveling directly to your vagina, clit throbbing hard with need. Abby engulfed a nipple with the wetness of her tongue, closing her lips around the rapidly hardening bud to pull it to full attention, chuckling as she scraped the flesh with her teeth. The wet head was replaced with her palms, each thumb and forefinger rolling one or the other. The sensitivity of the tiny flesh was insane, enough to make you whine out loud as she continued, better than anything you had ever done to yourself.

You were biting your lip, eyes big and doe-like as you waded through your pleasure, soft pants heaving your chest. She fished it out from between your teeth and hooked it within her own, popping the plump flesh into her mouth as she pared yours with her tongue. You swore the room was spinning, a wetness slicking between your thighs, a drip positioned between two pairs of hungry lips. You could’ve spent all fifteen minutes– or an eternity, in this beautiful hell, giving and taking and relishing in a different, sort of strange type of want.

“Don’t stop.” You moaned in between stolen breaths, the blonde chasing your mouth each time you pulled away.

“For you, pretty?” Gripping you tighter for emphasis, pressing you closer into the wall, angling further between your spread legs. “Never.”

It was like you were some weird intoxication to her, a drug that she couldn’t get enough of. How your ass molded right into the divots of her palms, those tiny moans that rang through the cage you two were in, the rapid beating of your heart rippling through your body. She wanted to peel your cardigan from your shoulders, wanted to shred your clothes from your body and take you however she liked, and make you feel better than you knew what to do with. Needed to make you scream and fuck you until you cried. But it was your first time, so she resigned to being gentle and soft, like you were a little deer in the forest, and she was trying to get close without scaring you off. so she would give you only what you needed.

She didn’t have a lot of strong feelings about that nickname she had earned in sophomore year, War Machine, from all of the pretty girls she ran through and left unable to walk, unable to talk for a couple of days or more. but when Jordan said it, in front of you, in front of sweet and innocent, pretty and tiny *you* she could’ve reeled back and torn him apart. But she still didn’t want to scare you. So she had forced an alright, the one a child forces when they get scolded, and hid the burning in her palms that made her want to fight in the pocket of her pants.

Your eyes bored x-rays through her formidable thighs as she bent her knees to squad before you, strong hands rubbing up and down your thighs with contrasting gentleness to the hard angles of her face, the brow that was crooked down slightly in concentration, the slightly parted lips playing with mischief as they took you in. You were frightened for just a second, until Abby looked up at you with sympathetic eyes, a hand leaving your thigh and linking with your fingers, guiding you to the base of her skull to envelop her honeyed strands.

She was back at you, the darkness in your stomach leaking out as you palmed her head, and she ran her hands upward, more upward, until the ruffles of your cotton skirt were overturned in her palms. From the waist down, you were completely exposed, a wet spot working itself into your panties from your innermost recesses and a musky scent betraying your shyness.

Abby pressed herself gently into the fabric, her fat lips creating a cool pressure against the hot flesh, her nose itching lightly into your pubis. You bucked your hips unconsciously, nearly fucking her face in your abandon. A vibration from her laugh traveled through you, nestled inside of you, and more wetness began to slick your channel. That friendly ache formed in your rapidly hardening clit, and a similar pain throbbed in your pinkie and middle finger. Her other hand moved up, gripping fistfuls of your ass, less forgiving now, and forcing a squeak from your lips.

You were dumbstruck; a stranger’s hands all over you, mouth nearly on top of your sacred place, nearly leaking from sheer lust. She had barely done anything. Your jaw slacked, and in your mind you felt like a fool, lamenting how you thought your first time would be special. Soft circles rubbed into your inner thigh as she pulled your legs apart, peppering angel kisses throughout the little divots.

“S’okay, baby.” Her voice was barely a whisper, a tiny encouragement that calmed the buzzing in your mind. “Tell me how you want me. I’m yours.”

and you thought that declaration would destroy you,’ I’m yours.’ and it felt very, very real.

“I want you to touch me.” You said, barely a whisper, nodding as she pressed her face to your thigh, sliding down your panties to about knee-level. It was as though she had seen heaven’s gate open, awestruck at the blood rushing to engorge your lips, how your clit stood on end without even being touched. The thatch of hair curling between your thighs and around your depths. She had to have a taste, and there wasn’t much room for second-guessing as she pressed her mouth to the hot spot and flattened her tongue directly against the wettest space.

Juicy noises slid from her mouth as she rolled your clit between her tongue and sucked sharply with her lips, and it was as though you could’ve sunk to the floor, the way your legs became distinctly not yours. It was enough, enough, not enough, then too much. It was like you were an endlessly gushing fountain as Abby’s wet, firm tongue parted your lips, dipping ever so lightly into your hole as she licked out a string of nectar from your drooling cunt. It was as though you were animated, possessed even, as your hands flew into her hair, pushing her head down further and further, to that release you chased violently and madly.

Abby was humble, letting you guide her where you needed her; she was soft at first, but you didn’t want soft, you wanted more.

She obliged.

The blonde slipped her fingers between your thighs and parted your slit, opening up an endless, waiting tightness. She was intrepid, pressing through your clenching muscle and opening you up more than you had ever done; thick digits tearing through you, fucking your pussy at an unforgiving pace, concentration forming in the muscles of her neck. You hid an inhuman growl in the pit of your throat, in the crook of your sweatered elbow, and she moaned out, satisfied with that which she had created inside of you. You were fucking her face in a tight, dirty closet, calf propped over a muscled shoulder for support, the heel of your booties pressing into the wall, locking her in.

It was as though the two of you were fighting, every roll of your hips she chased with her head, every time you shied away from the pleasure she held you harder, taking you even hungrier, diving deeper to a spot you didn’t know was there; every taut pull at her scalp met with an even tighter grip into the flesh of your plush ass. The pads of her fingers violated the sopping warmth of your cunt, and you clenched your stomach unwittingly, walls flexing, holding her hand there. Drool dripped from between her lips, pooling and soaking down into the fibres of an old shag rug, caked with dust and whatever else.

Your own slipped between your lips before you could suck it back in, and the silver trail bounced, the way it does when it breaks, and the thick drop cascaded down her temple, getting lost in your brow. The piece that was yours snaked down your collarbone and between your breasts and somehow, you felt a connection.

Abby snorted, sucked in a breath as her fingers left you empty. Fuck. She didn’t go for her face, wiping them on the skin of your pussy, they traveled upwards, firm grips on your ass. She rubbed the flesh as though she was throwing clay, stretching the skin between her rough fingers, calluses on her palms coasting over every bump and groove. She had found what she had wanted, craning her neck lower, lower, until you could just barely see her eyes. Her fingertips prodded, greedy, opening your lips, tongue leching against your soft fruit as though she was funneling the juices directly into her mouth. You thought your thighs would give out but she held you, stronger, and you fed her willingly.

Her middle finger dipped down into the slit, collecting juices, stealing a breath from your lungs, you wanted to scream her name but it was caught inside of you, so you stood slack-jawed, fuck drunk as she abused your walls, fucking every ridge painfully slow. The tight hole stretched around the meatiness of her finger, and she hooked it as though she was searching, retreating from the warmth, slick with your nastiest of liquids. Again, she split your ass with one hand, and you clenched your tightest hole without thinking about it.

“Don’t worry,” She said, muffled against your mound as she latched against it once more, “gonna help you so fucking good.” You were confused, but you trusted her, a complete stranger. For a second you began to ask what there was to worry about, but your mind was pried away from you as you felt the pressure of her coated fingertip tracing around your asshole. A gentle kiss played at the head of your pussy, comforting you as you nodded your head wildly, something of a ‘yes’ flying from your throat as her middle finger parted that threshold.

Your mind exploded, head shooting straight up into the air, a small yelp burning into a silent open-mouthed cry. You were spinning, the room was spinning, your body heated up instantly. Then, the wet warmth traveled back to your clit, her opposite hand nestling two fingers into your aching, needy twat, her tongue lapping as her fingers resumed digging and that one damned finger fucked in and out of your tightest hole painfully slow.

She fucked you like an animal; you cried out like a bitch in heat. The music trembled through your ears, and you were afraid it wouldn’t be enough, that everyone would hear, everyone would know. You were both drunk and this didn’t matter, didn’t mean anything, but she was bottoming her tongue out in you and you wanted it to mean a lot. Girls talked and you fucking hated them all. She was loose, she got around, and you wanted to be hers.

You wanted to capture her and be interesting to her and walk with her hand on your lower back around campus. Wanted her callused fist in your hair, around your neck as she took you every night. Wanted badly to fucking cum, to open the portal, to wash her face with this unholy water, wanted to kiss wet lips and taste everything. Wanted to know if she could ever like you, after you gave it up, quickly, bellowing like a foghorn against a rack of coats. You wanted to be kept, to keep her spit inside of you like a keepsake but she sucked it back in a quick second, before you could even feel her cheeks hollow between your thighs, and felt dirty for even thinking of it.

A sweet pain formed between your thighs and you couldn’t stop the groan that rose from your throat, every muscle in your face clenching and unclenching, your eyes crossing as your orgasm came quickly into view. Abby fucked you through it, fingers slow and forgiving. It was as though a stream of slowly descending tidal waves were crashing against you, and you needed more, it hurt but you needed more. Something deep burned inside of you, endlessly hot, and you wondered how she could stand the heat as she hit it over and over again. You sobbed, and swore that you could feel a tear roll down your cheek, feeling the need to rub your eyes for good measure.

She looked up, entranced, face softening for a second, watching as you gave up your mind to your body. There was a hard knock at the door, the music lowered a decibel, silence filling the two of you, her fingers still deep inside of your two holes. A sing-song voice bellowed out ‘five minutes!’ and the darkness ridged her eyes.

For the first time, her voice was hard, removing her hand from your cunt, making sure to curl the one in your ass tighter in compensation. She slammed the door twice with her fist, the frame bulging in a way that made you fear the whole thing would just fall down. “Fuck off.” Her voice was loud enough to tear through the uncomfortable tension. There was an apprehensive, ‘woah man,’ that you could barely hear, and the music regained, the party rejoiced, and hopefully, the fear of God being struck enough in your host to leave well enough alone.

Her lips were still slick, soft, kissable with your juices. She flashed you a genuine, pretty smile. Her hands gripped a little too tight but you wanted it all. She looked down at the mess between your trembling thighs, then at your heavy, panting face. She leaned back on her heels as a wide smile played on her face, satisfied with herself. A windy chuckle passed through her glistening lips, wiping her mouth and chin on the inside of her hoodie. “Fuckin’ insane.” She breathed out in between pants.

“Abby.” She said, as though the strength of your orgasm traveled through your brain and made you forget the events of the last 15 minutes. “Constance Hall. Dorm 425 on the second floor.” It was as though your heart skipped a beat, but you punched it down, a weak smile playing against your lips.

She was fucking disheveled, almost inhaling the last sweet smells of your pussy, creating a memory of the flavour and filing it away in her mind for safekeeping. She was delicate, pulling your white panties up to your thighs again, soothing a finger where those soft, curly pussy hairs were hidden again. She let down her hands, skirt furling down, covering the marks of dark possession that she left behind. “Come see me again sometime, ‘kay?” She chuckled, giggled even, and that glint in her eyes was enough to make you faint.

She stood up, waiting for you to compose yourself and straighten everything out before she pushed open the now-unlocked door and peeked her head out.

Jordan was already on her as the door flew open, and you could hear his hushed nosiness as you hugged the wall and tried to act casual, eyes locked on her retreating back as she reentered the room, light haloing her. ‘So what happened?’ you swore his lips read, and your stomach dropped. But she cut through his questions, loud enough for you to hear, convincing enough that he wouldn’t have anything to run his mouth about later on.

“Nothing man, we were just talking.”

Maybe she was actually just that charming.

Yeah.

#tiki writes #abby x reader #abby anderson x fem reader #abby anderson ff #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #abby tlou #abby tlou smut #abby smut #abby anderson x female reader

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calicoheartz · 23 days

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Caitlin Clark ; relationship hcs ﹒ ⟢

caitlin clark x reader relationship hcs !

warnings : just pure fluff ! （ 𖦹◞◟）

my master list ㇀♡

a/n: tysm for all the love on my last two hcs! this was inspired by the lovely @iminlovewithpaigebueckers so make sure to go check them out ♡

how you two meet cami is going to be cliche and say that you definitely went to one of her games and she spotted you in her jersey and it was love at first sight!!

Ever since she saw you she has been pestering Kate and Gabbie to find out more about you and who exactly you were. Literally was desperate to find out your name and to learn more about you.

eventually she spotted you at a cafe close to campus and she knew it was now or never. She asked for your number and the rest is history !

who had interest first? Caitlin. As mentioned previously it was love at first sight. You definitely thought she was drop dead gorgeous but you weren’t actively seeking her iykwim

how she asks you out Caitlin had been planning this moment for weeks. You two had grown increasingly close over the past month, and she wanted to make it official.

you hadn’t seen eachother as often due to her away games, so she asked you if you wanted to come over and hang out at hers for a bit.

she had everything set up, your favorite food and flowers , dimly lit setting with pleasantly smelling candles. I feel like she would ask you out with a playlist with songs that reminded her of you, and would start off by saying how much you mean to her and how she wants to be able to call you hers.

the first “I love you” I think she would say it first. We all know our girl is as cool as a cucumber, and most likely said it with so much love and not even realizing she said it.

Would for sure take place after a huge win for Iowa , you both back at her dorm, helping her wind down and preparing a nice bath for her. As you gently massage her scalp I think she would slip it out.

who’s more clingy i think it would be a good mix of both. You definitely miss her tremendously whenever she’s gone for games, but the moment she’s back best believe you guys are glued at the hip. It’s an equal balance of both !

who’s more possessive you! i think with all the attention caitlin gets it can be hard to keep your composure at times, you know she loves you but with all the girls throwing themselves at her it can be hard to not have doubts. But she always reassures you that in every room she would always look for you ◡̈

staying in or going out? hmmm this is hard. I feel like Cait is a homebody so i think you two would stay home every chance you get. Just cozying up under a blanket , watching your favorite movies and just enjoying each others company

cuddles cuddles cuddles i think she would definitely be big spoon. She loves having you close to her and having you in her arms. A honorable mention to the “rom com” , as I think that’s the second most used couple position between you two 😊

love language i feel like it would be a mix between physical touch and acts of service.

while she lovesss having you close to her and feeling you against her, she also loves showing you how much you mean to her through little acts of services throughout the day!

arguments i think there would be an equal balance , but since we know our girl is super collected we know she’ll always take the blame regardless of what yall are arguing about just for the sake of it.

i can picture her giving you space to blow off some steam, but within the next few days she would definitely try and have another open discussion about what happened to make sure everyone’s side is heard correctly

i had so much fun writing this! lmk if you guys want a pt 2 to this & make sure to leave reqs in my inbox! ilyyy ◡̈

#caitlin clark x reader #caitlin clark imagine #caitlin clark #iowa wbb #wcbb x reader #wcbb #iowa hawkeyes #iowa #kate martin #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #22

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ravensliterature · 29 days

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Sentinels' Siege

A/N: Yeah, it has definitely been a minute. Saw the new X-Men 97 show and got inspired. Please enjoy this!

pairing: Magneto (Erik) x GN!Reader

warnings: Character death

w/c: 784

Prompt: The reader here has forcefield powers. The sentinel is attaching Genosha and the reader saves Erik at the expense of their own life.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the heart of Genosha, amidst the ruins of a once-thriving nation, the sentinel's ominous presence cast a shadow over the land. Its metallic form, a symbol of oppression and fear, loomed tall against the crimson sky, its mechanical eyes scanning the desolate landscape with ruthless efficiency. But amidst the chaos and fear, you stood as a beacon of hope, your powers of forcefield manipulation shielding not only Magneto but also civilians of Genosha from the sentinel's relentless assault.

Two spheres of energy shimmered in the air, each pulsating with the strength of your will. One enveloped Magneto, the other surrounded you and the civilians seeking refuge within your protective embrace. It was a delicate balance, maintaining both shields amidst the onslaught of the sentinel's attacks, but you refused to falter, driven by the unwavering resolve to protect those you loved at any cost.

As the sentinel unleashed its barrage of energy blasts, your forcefields flickered and crackled with energy, absorbing the brunt of the attacks. Beside you, Magneto watched in awe and gratitude, his heart swelling with pride at the sight of your unwavering determination. But beneath the surface, there was a surge of panic within him as he witnessed your struggle to maintain both shields.

He reached out to you, his voice a plea amidst the chaos. "Y/N, my love, you mustn't—"

But his words were lost in the cacophony of battle as your forcefields strained to their limits. With each passing moment, the pressure mounted, threatening to break through your defenses and claim you all.

Flashbacks of your time together flooded your mind, each memory a bittersweet reminder of the bond you shared. You remembered the first time he had entrusted you with his secrets, the way his eyes softened as he spoke of a future where mutants could live without fear. You remembered the stolen moments of tenderness, the quiet nights spent gazing at the stars, finding solace in each other's company amidst the turmoil of their world.

But amidst the memories, there was the harsh reality of the present—the sentinel's relentless assault threatening to overwhelm your defenses. Your forcefields flickered and waned under the strain, cracks forming along their surfaces as they struggled to hold back the tide of destruction. Yet still, you refused to yield, your determination unyielding even in the face of insurmountable odds.

Magneto watched in silent anguish as you stood as the bulwark against the storm, his heart heavy with the weight of your sacrifice. He reached out, his hands grasping at empty air as you fell, the light fading from your eyes even as his world plunged into darkness.

In that final moment, as the sentinel loomed over Genosha victorious, Magneto could only cling to the memories of the love you shared—a love that had been both his greatest strength and his deepest sorrow. But though you were gone, your spirit would forever be etched in his heart, a guiding light in the darkness that now enveloped him.

And as he gazed upon the devastated landscape of Genosha, a vow ignited within him—a vow to carry on the fight in your honor, to ensure that your sacrifice would not be in vain. For in giving your life to protect others, you had shown him the true meaning of heroism—a selflessness that transcended even death itself.

But amidst the chaos and despair, there was one final moment of connection—a silent exchange of love that echoed across the battlefield. As the sentinel's onslaught reached its crescendo, engulfing you in a blinding blaze of light, you locked eyes with Magneto one last time.

In that fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still, the world around them fading into insignificance as you mouthed the words that echoed the depths of your soul, "I love you."

Though no sound escaped your lips, the sentiment rang loud and clear in the silence of the battlefield. It was a declaration of devotion, a testament to the bond that had transcended the trials and tribulations they had faced together.

Magneto's heart clenched with a mixture of grief and gratitude as he returned your gaze, his own eyes brimming with unshed tears. And as the light consumed you, engulfing you in its brilliant embrace, he could only watch in silent agony as your form disappeared amidst the chaos.

But though your physical presence had been extinguished, your love would forever burn bright within his heart, a beacon of hope in the darkness that now enveloped him. And as he stood amidst the ruins of Genosha, a solitary figure against the backdrop of devastation, he vowed to carry on your legacy—a legacy of love, sacrifice, and unwavering strength in the face of adversity.

#x men 97 #x men the animated series #xmen #x men comics #magneto #xmen comics #erik lehnsherr #magneto x reader #magneto x reader xmen 97 #x men #magneto x reader x men 97 #x-men #erik lensherr x reader

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tainted-liquor · 8 months

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'Tiny hands; Little Baby ...ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡ ft. 42Miles

...‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

✩ingredients: Sugar, kisses, and baby powder!

˙⟡TWs: Cussing, Miles speaks mostly Spanish, so ready ur spanishDict

✩A/N: Miles is soft when it comes to his children. Its not ooc, he was based off of MY sisters father. parents usually 'calm down' after having babies. pls don't start complaining

When you think of the ideal father, you usually would think of two types of people. The happy-go-lucky super kind and outgoing person, or someone who balances both fun and order. You never in your life expected to be a mother, or even wanted kids as a matter of fact. But everything changed when you met him. Miles.

Admittedly, when you met in high school shit was rocky. Typical 'anti-social social' kid. Everybody knew him, but nobody was ever able to say they talked to him. But things slowly began to change as the school year passed, and you seemed to pop up more and more in each other's lives. Art projects, a shared interest in graffiti, seating charts in chem, and ending up at the same bodega during the wee hours of the night.

You waltzed into the small store, grabbing a tube of Pringles and a bottle of cherry Faygo. You had a project to get done within the next 5 hours and spent 3 days working nonstop so you wouldn't fail this semester. Your eyes were low and sleepy, your movement was slower than average and it looked like you had been crying. A lot. What is a girl supposed to do when she feels like her life is being drowned out by constant numbers and big words?

You waited by the counter, tapping away on your phone as you waited for the man behind the glass to finish making your chop cheese, slowly raising your head to see who just swung open the door. You made eye contact with Miles for a brief moment, nodding upward as a form of greeting before suddenly being startled. Miles's eyes widened for a moment, taking a tiny step back as he took in how sleepy you looked. Your hoodie wasn't even on properly, one arm completely off your shoulder and exposing a fraction of your black tank top to the world around you. "Well damn, nigga. I know I look like shit but don't make it obvious" you snorted, rolling your eyes as you dropped your head back to your phone screen.

"Oh, my bad. Just not used to seeing you outside of school" he shrugged, making his way to the counter to order his food and standing next to you in silence. You both tapped away on your phones, scrolling through your Instagram while you waited for your sandwich. There was nothing else to it, really. You both waved bye to each other as you left the store, silently building a smidge of a relationship compared to being just strangers. For the most part, it was like that at school too.

There was no real reason to talk to him, outside of a small hallway talk and a nod or a wave. And it stayed like that for a long time, until a random day in the school's library. Miles came strutting through the oak wood doors, seemingly pissed off as he slammed his supplies on a nearby table and started working silently. You side-eyed him, continuing to blast the music in your headphones until you felt a presence begin getting closer to you. You grabbed one of your AirPods, removing it from your ear as Miles stood over you.

"Hmm?" You hummed, looking up at him as you paused your music. He said nothing, only showing you a piece of paper with honors calculus work. "Do you need help?" you asked, scanning over the paper briefly before putting your AirPods in your case. He nodded, letting you take the paper from him as he leaned against the table. "Aight, sit down. I'm only doing one problem though" you muttered, scooting your chair over to make room for Miles.

When Miles left that table, you were closer than normal. You spent the rest of the afternoon helping him 'study' (talking to each other while he finished his work) and exchanging numbers and Instagram. "Good luck with your test!" You smiled, waving from across the room as he left the library. He gave you a nod before swiftly exiting, leaving people asking you left and right "What's Miles like?" You didn't think anything of it, at all.

You never would have imagined that that same boy would be the father of your child almost ten years later.

“MILES!” You shouted as loud as humanly possible. “SÍ? QUÉ HICE??” He shouted back from the kitchen. “MY FUCKING WATER BROKE START THE CAR!” You yelled as you stared down in absolute shock. And it was absolute chaos from there. Miles was practically stumbling out of the house as he ran to start the car, muttering curses as he ran up to get you out of your shared room.

Unfortunately for Miles, he had no idea what was happening. He was terrified but tried to be as supportive as possible through the entire situation. He was out cold for most of the delivery, having fainted 10 minutes in from anxiety. "Sir? SIR-!"

BOOM

But other than that, everything went amazing! He cried for 20 whole minutes when he got to hold his beautiful baby girl. "W-what...sniffle... are you going to...sob...name h-her, love?" he asked between a puddle of tears. You took a good look at your baby through soaked eyes, realizing she was born...quiet. She had one green eye, and one dark brown eye that was taken right from her father's face, a cute little button nose, and a head full of placenta-permed hair. She cried once the entire birth and remained silent the rest of the way, just like her nonchalant-ass daddy. "I'm thinkin' about...Asomi" you replied before bursting out in tears, causing Miles to burst even further into tears.

You attempted to reach for your baby, earning a watery glare from your boyfriend. "Nigga I JUST PUSHED HER OUT! GIMME MY BABY!" you giggled as you attempted to grab your daughter. "nuh-uh. I'm not done holding her" he retorted, flashing you a middle finger as he held Asomi even closer. "Miles Gonzalo Morales."

"Lo siento. Te amo mucho. Tú eres muy bonita y inteligente" he quickly replied as he handed your daughter over.

And from that moment forward, everything in Miles's life revolved around his beautiful family. He spent hours rambling on and on to 'Omi', as he calls her, about anything under the sun. "Entonces," Miles began as he attempted to give 'Omi a sink bath. "Tú mami me dijo que necesito hablar más inglés a ti. I won't though, cuz you're my lil princess" he whispered as he curved Omi's hair into a bubbly mohawk and giggled like a child. He played with the bubbly water, pretending to be one of the countless tiny rubber duckies she had floating around in the water.

"Alright, c'mon. Necesito vestir tú antes consigue frío" he giggled as he put the kid in a prowler onesie you told him not to buy. He blew raspberries on Asomi's little belly, earning adorable giggles from his daughter as he carried the tiny baby with one arm. He cleaned up some of the toys on the floor, briefly pushing them inside the toy bin before grabbing the tiny purple pacifier and soft wooly lamb-lamb plush. Omi clung to his shirt, laying her head on his shoulder as she held the tiny lamb-lamb plushie. Miles kissed her on the forehead, sat down on the couch, and fell asleep with Omi dozing off right beside him.

You came home to two of your two favorite people in the world snuggled up on the couch. Omi's tiny hand gripped Miles's shirt as Miles held her like an inmate protecting his tray. You giggled to yourself, snapping a quick pic for the memories before joining their 'nap circle'.

"G'night, pretty babies" you whispered, pressing kisses on both of their cheeks.

"Mmh...noches."

...‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

Taglist:

@ashsostrange @chessbox @janaeby @faeriesoiree333 @fivestardior @an1bara @bachirasegoist @kxllanxtdoor

Taglist form on my profile !! pls fill that out to be added <3

#atsv #across the spiderverse #into the spiderverse #miles morales #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles #e42 miles x black!reader #e42 miles #black reader

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fawnpires · 1 year

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EUTHANASIA ROMANCE — SIMON "GHOST" RILEY.

༉‧₊˚ ┊ PART 1.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ synopsis: working regularly under your older neighbor serving as a babysitter for his kids, several affairs start to occur, and not just your starting relationship with him.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ contents: domesticity, afab reader (afab anatomy, femme pet names) mentions of pregnancy & marriage, size difference, age difference, single dad! ghost, secretive relationship, possessive sex, gentle & rough sex, oral sex (female receiving), slight daddy kink, brief somnophilia, dirty talk, breeding kink, shower sex.

You were still asleep, but Ghost wasn't.

He couldn't doze off with you right by his side, body pressed up right against him, heat radiating off your tender self — sensitive flesh, red tainted marks made of his own love. You were practically his own canvas as of now; the cum-stained sheets, the drying sweat, the carmine splotches tinting your skin — a pure and honorable symbol of his own work.

It was one of the rare and subtle moments he could be granted with — propped and balanced on one elbow, admiring your dozing figure, Ghost couldn't help but feel fragile in the moment. Almost compassionate. He had felt compassion before, of course, but never in this sort of way. (Thank his daughters for guiding him a little through his disarranged row of emotions.) While with you, he didn't feel the need to impress. There was no obligation to sit around and put on a face of imposed perfect-father-syndrome — he could really act as himself, and himself was an apathetic man. A man of a former task force lieutenant, an expert of manslaughter by the hand.

The idea of starting a family never crossed his mind. He wasn't the one to bear the concept of losing his heart to someone, starting something with them, chained down to the restraints of fatherly responsibilities and hardships. It wasn't so bad so far, he thought, and it had taken a weight off his shoulders with your support on the side. He stroked your hair — lovingly, abstractedly, his eyes of adoration while ensuing his large palm gently petting at you in soft motions.

Awareness was a virtue, and Ghost knew that when it came to your parent's suspicions towards your relationship with him.

Your rants every so often to him about being berated for spending too much time with him nearly split a tear in his cold heart. If he wanted to, he could — move the both of you away from here, start new, start new and whole as two individuals with his kids, your kids. There was nothing to stop that from happening but he was skeptical about your opinion on it, not wanting to push that kind of agenda on you so soon.

But it had been a little over a month, or more, since you had started something with him. You were comfortable enough to treat him not only as an occasional hot-dad hook-up, but a lover, a boyfriend, a husband. Hell — you were on edge, desperate for him. You longed for him and his presence when you were away.

You’d always have Ghost. You were his, and he wasn’t intending on letting you go.

Ghost reached the edge of your face and caresses your cheek in his palm, his thumb rubbing delicate circles into the skin. You were so peaceful in the moment, so exhaustingly beautiful, so fucked-out — and most importantly, his.

He had kept an eye on you before all of this — the entire baby-sitting shift, spending uncut days at a time with him, situating yourself as a motherly figure to his daughters. Whether out in the front-yard or by an exposing window to your blind eye, he would observe you for short periods of time. Ghost wasn't stupid — he was fully aware of your little crush on him. From your little peeks at his home through a curtain, down to spying on him when you were damn sure he wasn't mindful of the girl, considered stalker, keeping a close eye on him herself.

Of course, you were both so exceptionally strange towards each other. Stalkers in love, lurking at each other, keeping tabs when given the opportunity. He especially admired your benevolent demeanor which accompanied your alluring in-the-flesh appearance. Although he knew that you were far more than that — behind the guise of smiles and looks, you needed something much more; you craved so much more, and that certain crave was him. You had just been waiting for him, longing for that hopelessness to be taken away from you.

Why else would you have purposefully strive to catch his attention if it were not for wanting?

And last night — it was a whole new affair for you. An episode of heavenly bliss, he recalled you being so obedient, so pliant, so depraved, all of those things at once. He was a tad sympathetic for not giving more time into preparation, but he needed to be inside of you so badly. He needed to fulfill that hungering ache — and apparently, you did too; with how you gave into his touch so suddenly, allowing him to pound into you, backed with rabid pants and sweet moans. Ghost had wished the two of you could stay like that forever, making love out of refined affection by all means.

You were just irresistible and he had done so well keeping his poise. He had a right to have you. After all the planning from the moment he saw you, the insomniac nights where he planned ahead of time so you could grow close to his children — to him. After all the torturous days spent in sheer agony keeping you under close observation, paying regard to how your genuine personality was, how your breath caught on itself if he brushed against you in the smallest portions of physical contact. He deserved to have you.

It wasn't entirely wrong — the relationship, but you had corrupted him with your natural appeal — drawing him in like some bait to a wild animal.

He gently shoved himself closer to the warmth of you, a small sigh parting from your lips, taking into realization that a bulge in his sweatpants was plunged up right against the cloth of your panties. Your back arched up, just slightly, but enough to bring satisfaction and to tell that you were still asleep.

Ghost budged himself off, keeping sights of your soothed face before he props himself at your lower half — you scented of a sex-like smell, sweat and complete combined lust. His loose pants expanded tightly as his face met between your spread legs with the guidance of his hands grasping them apart. He wanted to fuck you right now — he could've — but he wanted to save it for later; save both you and him for later, when it wasn't deemed as unmoral. His fingers tucked around the waistband of your poorly thrown-on panties, sliding them down your legs with ease, trashing them to the side.

Your blooming scent sent him over the edge. His eyes squinted, lips parted in an intense awe. His fingertips grace over your thighs, lightly grunting at how a trail of goosebumps were left in the wake. You were so perfect in his viewpoint — all laid out for him, ready, waiting. He linked your sore legs in a locked hold much like last night, lowering his head closer to the puffy entrance of your cunt. The bottom of his balaclava was thrown up suitably to the freed expanse to his mouth and nose.

His tongue licked a slowly, yet sensible swipe up your lips. A small moan escaped your throat as your legs twitched in his hold, pants drawn from you with every increasing lick of his tongue. You were quick to stain his face with slick, the bump of his nose meeting your clit everytime he savored your taste with his lips clamped around your cunt.

You felt feverish, though maybe it was a real fever with a growing heat in your body. The heat was overwhelming, it needed to be rid of somehow. You were dousing in it. It was piling on top of each other, growing to extensive lengths as it invaded every inch and limb of your body. Your hands hauled themselves down to the source of the invading warmth, struggling to get a hold of what it exactly was. The temperatures were growing fast, too fast.

Fingers wrapped and caught a hold of something — or better yet, someone. Though not an actual army of heat and flames, it was a physical being, and it reverberated waves of sickly pleasure as it grew abnormally in position. Whimpers were forced out of you as it got too much.

Too immense for someone like you to handle.

Dazed, your eyelashes flickered open. Heavy and blinking away languid after effects. You were sober enough to be conscious of your surroundings — you were in a bed, a bedroom. It wasn't your bedroom back at home, clearly, with the distinct softness of the sheets and a window's silhouette that allowed you to bask in the dawn's light. The mattress was larger and was preferably more a fit for two people — a scent of masculine cologne breached over the air of the room as well, combining with a bitter smell of sweat. Astray in a temporary confusion, a shot of heat travelled through you, another moan cried out from you; it was more responsive and awake.

"Morning." Ghost rasped out from below you, voice vibrating from between your wet thighs.

Your eyes fell to the heavy weight from underneath, wearily assembling eye contact with the man — his voice alone couldn't help but light a small contentment in your chest. His calloused fingers tightly pressed into the flesh of your thighs, spreading them, leaving himself as a surprise for when you had finally chose to wake up. He lifts himself slightly and keeps the eye contact between you and him, his tongue fully pursed at your folds and meeting at your clit, sucking at the skin nub.

All you could do was sigh and pin your head to the pillows — the distinguishable scent of Ghost all around you in the material. Your back arched, hips rising and close to his face as he proceeded with his blissful ministrations.

"Fuck," you softly breathed, "Please, more..."

A deep chuckle resonated from his chest as he felt your wanting fingers brush at his wrists, dancing around his palms, petting at the skin.

His hand, in which you were fighting to grab a hold of, snatched onto your own — intertwining his massive fingers with your smaller ones in a delicate hold. Ghost's thumb strokes over your knuckles as he continues to eat you out, savoring the taste, and driving sounds of sexual want out of you. His opposite hand is raised to your entrance, teasing with every touch, prodding at your sensitivity.

"Ghost, your fingers," you panted, "I need them — need you."

He hummed, hauling himself away slightly from you — much to your foggy desperation — and steadily pushed one finger through, your body aching for more as you swallowed and clenched around him, section by section until his knuckle was pressed against your folds.

“Such a good girl, sweetheart.” he whispered.

Ghost mounted himself up your frame, his face inches away from yours, eyes scorching at yours through half-lidded eyes as he watched you writhe beneath him. You sunk your teeth into the skin of your lower lip that had grown chapped from constantly parting your mouth; followed moans and whimpers of airy breaths coming through it. He cocked his head to the side, flattening his lips to your own, yourself steadying on wobbling elbows to catch the kiss at a better angle.

The faint taste of you resided on his tongue — all around the tissue of his cheeks and teeth. He made you dizzy, faint, and you wanted more of it; he was nauseating, in a good way. You moaned against him, his other hand resting at your thigh raising to cradle the back of your head. His palm gave you some sort of support and comfort, and as he did, his sole finger occupying up inside of you was occupied with another, ripping a loud whimper from your throat.

He cradled you against the bed as he pressured his tongue into your mouth, lapping at nearly every crevice of your mouth. His fingers had curled in you, gasps slipping from your occupied mouth, pleasure pervading your body. They had pistoned in-and-out of you, escalating in speed with such intensity but also fragility.

"Want you to come for me," Ghost slurred between kisses, "You think you can do that for me, sweet girl? I know you can."

You managed to respond with a quivery nod, lips parted and eyes growing heavy as your vision began to blur at the borders from a suffocating pleasure. Ghost sped up his thrusting fingers the farthest he could, making certain they curled with each push, reaching the base of his knuckles as he caressed against that sweet spot he had pounded last night.

He had wanted the best for you, and that's why he focused his work on that spot, causing you to fully throw your head back to watch the ceiling through euphoric lenses. He caught on about that, gripping your chin firmly and forcing your fogged gaze to his. “On me, my love.”

With a few more purposeful curls of his large fingers at your sensitive walls and an applied pressure of his thumb over your throbbing clit, you had gushed around fingers; practically screaming his name. His lips form a smirk at the result of his creation, withdrawing his fingers as he exhibits them to you. They glisten under the light drawn amid the curtains, only able to watch as he raises the digits to his mouth, slurping up your essence — effectively cleaning it, never once breaking his eye contact with you.

"You're always so good for me," Ghost mutters, collecting his shirt from off the floor and cleaning at your thighs. "You want to stay for breakfast?"

"Hm," you hum, still basking in the afterglow of your orgasm, skepticism hitting you like a brick. "Fuck, wait — oh my god."

"What?"

In the present time, you were adrift, all memories of the previous day vanished over the course of your sleep — a great majority of it coming back to you.

"Fuck, did we sleep together?" you sit up, hands propping the weight of your head. "God — my parents are going to kill me — finding out I'm fucking you, you're so much older than me and you're my neighbor,"

"Honey, honey, calm down." he sits up with you, a hand resting at your bare lower back. "Listen."

Your rambles were interrupted with a peck of his lips. Ghost clasped the wrists that were at your head, pulling them down and rubbing gently into them. All of it was confusing, flustering as he crept closer to and kept his sight on you.

“We’re both adults,” he said, “and there's nothing wrong with making our own decisions.”

“But — I feel like a disgrace. To my parents, to everyone."

"You're not a disgrace, sweetie. It's just sex." Ghost releases your wrists and instead brings you to his chest, arms wrapping around you, eyes closing as you enveloped into him. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. "So, why don't you get yourself fixed in the bathroom over there, wake up the kids, and I'll make all of us breakfast. How does that sound?"

You stare up at him, blankly and in astonishment, only able to establish a single nod as he chuckles and gives you one last departing kiss — to your lips this time. Eyeing as he moved to gather the same duplications as what he casually wears from a cabinet; a black v-neck and a pair of dad jeans, put together with that same balaclava. He undeniably is well-built, tattoos lining up his left forearm, back muscles flexing as he fit the shirt over his head.

He shoots you one last stare, soft eyes and all, as he left the room — leaving you to get dressed.

Nothing had felt real — well, at least from last night up until now. You slept with the neighbor that kept you up at night with dozens of fantasies and received the affection reserved for a married woman — like you were his legitimate wife. With his requests to wake up the kids and to get dressed, you felt as if this were your absolute and authentic life, no parents across the street or reminiscences of only being a babysitter to his kids. Your head was stupefied, body trembling.

Gathering enough strength to balance yourself on the ground, you found the bathroom and locked the door behind, stumbling over to the sink. Your breathing was, hard, uneven — fingers gripping the edges of the sink before running water from the leaky faucet and splattering your face with cold water to bring you out of the trance of sleepiness and doubt. Your head throbbed as you grabbed a spare toothbrush, wetting and squirting toothpaste on the bristles, shoving it into your mouth.

Your affair with Ghost couldn't be considered home-wrecking. Taking into consideration that his wife was long-gone from the picture, his kids were to understand that their father would soon have to find someone replace her, but with someone younger — more like some kind of older sister instead of a mother or a wife to their dad. Though they would have to take it in anyways, their father had found love in his youthful neighbor from across the street and they would just have to stand it. His daughters had warmed up to you quickly anyways — still young and capable to see you as a mother. At least now you didn't have to completely fantasize about him on a daily basis, having the real physical thing for yourself and yourself only.

Snatching your dress off the bedroom's grounds and esteeming yourself as presentable, you left his room and sneaked out into the hushed hallways, making your way over to his daughter's bedroom door — pushing it open with a flat palm and fingers around the doorknob. You wake them up with gentle strokes to their strands of hair, assisting them with getting ready, masking your previous worries with a big grin every-time they had announced an achievement as simple as dressing up or making their beds. They were as equally ecstatic to see you much like last night, but questioned why you were still here — and with your own reply, you obviously couldn't say you had fucked their father so the easiest way out was to say that you'd had a sleepover of some sorts in the living room.

You indulged in their child-like conversations as they both kept a hold of your hand in theirs, leading them down the stairs and into the kitchen where you had told them to have a seat. You're met with Ghost leaned up a counter, now-gloved hands around the handle of a cup as breakfast had already been made out in plates on the table. It was something strangely straight out a movie, like some kind of set instead of an actual room — an actual house where you stood.

The tension was certainly there but with the kids present, it had grown more ill at ease.

Sitting on the wood of the chairs, Ghost followed in pursuit as he took a seat right next to you — right at the end of the table. You weren't as hungry as you anticipated, taking a few bites of your breakfast food before offering the rest to be shared between the two. You and Ghost had met eyes a few times before brushing it off with not a single word on it until that tension had thankfully been broke off.

One of his daughters spoke up, more specifically — the one sat directly at your left hand-side. With a simple, "Are you staying with us? Forever and forever?" of her words, you were left dumbstruck, gazing over at Ghost who had a look in his eyes of the same emotion.

"Maybe I will, hon," you said, "I'm not sure."

Visibly, she pouts — leaping off her seat and pushing herself into you, small arms wrapped around your stomach in an embrace. You stutter on breaths, only bringing a hand to her hair and smoothing over it repeatedly, eyes heavy with some sort of guilt with her beg to get you to stay. Ghost can only bring himself to lightly laugh despite himself also having some guilt at his daughter's words.

"Don't go and crush her heart now, sweetie." he said, indicating to her. "I'm sure she would love to stay with us if she could."

You hurtle a widened stare to him with raised eyebrows, unaware he was going to touch on the brought-up topic. The thing is; you didn't know how you were going to make that come true, abandoning all remnants of your old life to birth a brand new one right here in this very house. He could only shoot you a stare back — sort of scolding, commanding.

"Well, it's about time you girls get on with the day." Ghost lifts his head to a clock on the wall, straightening his posture and hoisting himself up. "You all have your fun, I'll be out back if you need me."

"You're just going to be out all day?" you ask.

"I practice with my old firearms." he said. "Right in the backyard with a couple of targets, just to gain the skill back."

"Ah."

"It's quite relieving, you should try it out sometime."

"I don't think I'm that trusting with a weapon, sir."

He chuckles coarsely.

"Then I guess I'll just have to teach you sometime," Ghost said, that bit of familiar knowing persona brought back now that it was only you and him — sole in the kitchen. "Different finger placements, methods, positions."

"I guess you should."

"That's my girl," he stretches an arm across the tract of both your shoulders. "And I'm thinking the girls will be fine for a little bit on their own, so we can kill a little bit of time."

“With shooting bullets all day?” you question.

“Not only that, doll,” Ghost’s face is close enough to feel his breaths through the texture of his veiling face-cover. “Something way different, I think you’ll love it even more.”

It was an excruciating, long session of firing and teasing.

You didn't really possess the strength to fight him back on it. You surrendered completely, because you weren't genuinely one to argue with others — so you approved the way he slid ever so close to you, both arms surrounding you so his bigger hands lead your own to the trigger of a handgun, his frame vast over. You spoke in a small and terrified voice in your head, fuck me, take me as your own, touch me. It had been the only understanding in that moment, his veined arms locked with yours and trapping you in some hold. Sex and gunfire.

Ghost was obviously oblivious to this — or maybe not as entirely as you interpreted, but either way he was bad at pretending. A small flame ignited within him (because of how hard he was around you, as if he isn't always) but it had been drenched with your unintentional grind-backs into his body, lightly sighing and squirming around as he positioned himself behind you each time.

The late afternoon had a douse of heat to it. Sweat leaked beneath his mask, your dress sticky to your skin. Every so often, his daughters would come out and ask an innocent request out of either of you or observe the ammunitions laid out before running back inside. Ghost had been heated from the outside conditions, helping himself to strip off his shirt, chiseled chest exposed and glistening with sweat.

It was more difficult to focus on keeping a finger on the trigger, his chest rubbing against your back — thighs clenching and eyes glossy. You didn't want to cry, or even felt the need to, but it was out of some persistent plead that retraced back to the voice that spoke through the innards of your head. Why would you bother crying, anyways?

You definitely held some regret in sleeping with him, but you were in love — apparently. As Ghost pressed into your sweat-soaked-fabric back, crotch carelessly pushed against you and your hips, he wondered if you had ever been in such love like this, freed and enigmatic, as the one you held with him now.

Enigmatic love. The term pushed aside.

"Place your finger right here, on top of this ledge," Ghost instructs, guiding you with his own commands. "Now keep a steady grip, and press down."

The bullet through the head of the gun rings out through your ears — painfully, gutting your ear-organs out one way and the other. It clanged out a couple of more times till the ammo wasted out, gun lowering to your stomach, a huff of air puffing from your mouth. Ghost had you in a tight clutch, tighter than usual, seeming that you would break and run away from him.

"Perfect as always, love." he said, pressing a kiss full of cloth to the back of your head.

"I don't know how you do this for hours at a time," you confess, "Rings my ears out a little, I might go deaf, you know?"

"I'm used to it."

"It's getting dark, should we head back inside?"

"Shit. You're right, come on."

He wraps a bare arm around you, pressing you to him, his naked chest heaves unevenly at your backside. The inside of the house holds more moisture than outside, stuffy and hellish to breathe in, natural air banished. His kids had left small clutters of toys on the living room's table, television running some low-budget children's show, their only guessed presence was upstairs — maybe asleep, maybe not, it would some kind of miracle for them to put themselves to sleep without the assistance of an adult.

You look to him with some sort of pray to your eyes, an absence in your chest as if you longed something from him.

"Simon," you whispered. "Carry me."

"Carry you?"

"My feet are killing me, your trainings wore me out."

For a second, he hesitates, but rolls his eyes and gives in.

"Alright, give it here," Ghost unwraps himself from you and bends his knees to hoist you up. "You owe me for this one, sweetheart."

"Owe you for such a simple request?"

"I'm messing with you, dollface," he said, "You don't owe me a single thing except all that love of yours, and that body."

You smack him on the nose of his mask, playfully, wearing it away with a kiss pressed to it.

A kitchen wasn't good enough — it was too open, with windows all around for bystanders to see what the two of you were up to. Every room in the home was too polluted, so there was nowhere else but his bathroom to fuck in. His bedroom was too easily accessible, but the bathroom had more security to it, oddly enough.

"We should freshen up," you implore, "You smell like shit, I smell like shit, we're both sticky."

"Guess you're right."

"Is that a yes, then?"

"Well, we're not going on with the night all sweaty and reeking." Ghost replied.

His bathroom was spacious, a fit for two people, which was admittedly ideal for you and him. Locks on both the bedroom and bathroom door had been fastened, an excuse to his daughters of not interfering, to which they effortlessly agreed to. Two sinks, a single toilet, and a tub with a curtain for more provided privacy.

"Can you get that?" you ask of him, pointing to the zipper of your dress.

Ghost idly fidgets with the iron of your zipper before his fingertips brush at your exposed skin, dragging it down and unveiling the skin of your back. You finish it off by pooling your dress at your ankles, left in your set of undergarments — inspecting as he rids of his jeans and walks over to the tub, leaning over to run some water into the bowl of the porcelain thing.

For some concealed reason, he purges of every article of clothing plastering his build except that mask. That same mask of a skull and balaclava. It was unusual — He was unusual, he always was. Acquainted with him or not. It made you uncomfortable and turned you on at the same time, a division of yes-no, the outline of his body and the way his biceps flexed, a great mass of it came at you all at once.

You sat on the lid of his toilet, waiting. He leans at a wall as he waits for the water to fill a some perfect mark, switching the faucet off and turning to you. His boxers are peeled off with bulky fingers, the last portion of clothing on him — Ghost climbs in first, you soon following close behind, right between his spread legs that rested at each corner of the tub. It wasn't exactly quiet, just graceless and gauche, baring pure nakedness and that had been the strongest form of reliance. The overhead ceiling light reflects off the ripples of water, off the combined skin of you and him.

He only huffs, flicking droplets of water on your face before leaning further back and stretching his arms along the edge of the tub. His knuckles popped and his neck crackles as he rolled it, suppressed echoes into the dimly-lit room. You wielded a soiled cloth across your arms, water streaking over your skin in an effort to swab the sweat and gunpowder off.

"There's some on your back," he noted, eyes running along your back and spine.

"Mind getting it for me?"

"Hand it."

The cloth does wonders in his hands and on your back, scrubbing rather brutishly than you intended, between your shoulder blades and sides. Your humiliation of being naked around him had decayed away, there was nothing revolting about doing so, despite him already have seeing your body — and fucking it. He was tender and treated you like a play-thing, a pretty play-thing of his own.

You glance over your shoulder at him, not concerned about hiding a morbid interest as your eyes flickered over his obscured features. His balaclava clung to his nude neck, black eye-paint sweated off the scope around his eyes which crinkled in concentration. His broad shoulders littered with some scars, some faded and some fresh, biceps in his arms reeling as he washed away the blotches of filth from your skin that had been built-up over the course of the day.

"Don't give me that look, love, you're making my dick hard." he half-jokes.

"Your dick's already hard."

"Well maybe we can take care of that after a bath, yeah?"

"But why not do it now?" you spur him on a little, that doe look in your eyes, lips molding some sort of pout.

Ghost was beginning to appreciate this new side of you. You lacked a great deal of timidity — your improvements of confidence, libido, want. Your words cause him to pause the rag in its tracks, slithering it down.

"Little minx, aren't you?" he chuckles, shifting you around in his lap so that you were facing him — water splashing in your wake. Like previous sessions, he lifts the basis of his mask, visible of lips and nose. Kisses seep into your skin, head bowing back to give more access.

"Only for you, daddy." you pant out. "Only you."

Your words corroded over him — ashamed was nothing of existence as you watch him process the nickname. His jaw tightens, a measured breath streamed from his nose, his eyes closed for recollection as he continues with his kisses.

"Daddy, huh? Love when you use your words with me, love." he said, breathless. "Want you to call me that while I fuck you."

Hearing you use that term to describe himself was so natural, so instinctive. Your head was flooding again — foggy and blurry on nothing but the thought of sex. His hands knead at your breasts as if they are dough, fingers teasing at your nipples, whimpers falling into his mouth as you went drunk on his lips yet again — the water against your cunt dispensing some alternate method of pleasure whenever his fingers or girth weren't there to indulge you with.

Clamminess cools on your inner thighs and right at your cunt regardless of the moisture of the water all over the place. You clench around nothing in Ghost's absence. He rolls you over with his strength — having you pinned down where he once sat, thighs spread at the edge of the tub.

"So desperate for me aren't you, sweetie?" he breathes, "All you want is for me to breed this sweet cunt all the time, so fucking needy."

"Please, daddy, fuck me, need you inside me."

"You really need it that bad, doll?"

"Need it so bad, fuck, please," you whimper out.

Ghost is fond of the idea of teasing you, but not to an extreme extent. He falters to your begging and leans back, brand new rounds of whimpers knocked out of you as he smacks the tip right against your clit. You roll your hips at it, back arching, striving to chase the sensation.

"Beg for me nicely, show me your good-girl manners." Ghost said. "Show me how much you need me, long for me."

"Please fuck me, daddy." you manage between whimpers. "I want you to breed my pussy like I'm your good girl."

He succumbs to you, thrusting in slow and steady as you accommodate the stretch of him inside. The constant agitation of his stretch crowded your mind, all of him — him, him, him. Kept above you, Ghost grunts and pants, his palms massaging at your breasts as he starts off slowly pushing into the snugness of your cunt.

"Feel so fucking good," he mutters, "So tight for me, such a tight little pussy, all mine."

You can barely make out what he's saying over the ringing that stranded in your ears — ringing like the bullets forced from the muzzle of his firearms. The blunt head of his cock drills at your cervix in a pressure once he speeds his rhythm of thrusts up, your mind numbed, his thumb circling at your clit while your legs rest at his shoulders — water in vast amounts sloshing around with every movement.

"So deep," You whimper, nails digging at his forearms, nearly feeling him at your chest. "You're so fucking big, daddy."

His thrusts gain some growth, — no more short pauses in between, but constantly feeling up your warm walls which clutched around him like a fleshlight. You swear he's leaving a bulge in your lower stomach with the amount of brawn he uses to fuck you.

"You're all mine, you understand? Going to make you my pretty wife, marry you, fuck you full of my babies every night, we'll live a happy family here — to hell with all of that babysitting shit, you'll be the perfect mother to my children."

"Yes, yes — please, make me a mother, I don't care," you scream out, "I'm yours forever."

"My sweet little darling girl," he said in a half-sung sigh of some exhaustion and some sexual appetite, "I'll breed this pussy everyday, until you give me a child, day and night — nonstop."

You're whining and whimpering out for him, entire body quivering with the sustained need to be filled, twitching in a spasm. Ghost shows you what love is like — what it's meant to feel loved, to be loved; physical touch and words of praise that made you feel like his number one priority. His name embedded and chanted into the waves of the tub as his assaults on your pussy are more inconsistent but harsher, deeper, feeling every motion right at your cervix — nearly at your womb.

With a symphony of shrill moans and profound groans — his warm release is shot inside of you with his hands in a deep grasp of your hips and a grunt. Your heartbeat reaches soaring levels of speed. His cum is thick and has a tad of warmth of it, feeling as it reached up into the levels of your womb. Ghost gives a few more thrusts to your sensitive cunt, low whines falling from your mouth; he stops and lingers in position, out of breath, and collapsing over you. Some of his cum leaks out and mixes with the water, which has gone cold by now, but a huge majority is sealed within you. You're sensitive, wincing, a buzz in your lower stomach on repeat.

He lifts himself and stares into your eyes, a kiss to your lips, bringing you to his chest in a cuddle.

"Did you really mean it?" you breathe out through the loud silence, "Marrying? Starting a family here?"

"I only want the best for us, sweetheart," he said, a crush of triumph beating at your heart.

You were a picturesque of beauty in his eyes — even all fucked-out and sensitive laying in a tainted tub, you were the definition of it. Promising to be his good little housewife, to be the mother of his children, yet always his good little girl. He had given up everything for the military, wartime, so he could give up everything for a domestic life that had ran far past the atmosphere of violence; give up everything for you.

He feels as you nuzzle into his chest, his arms wrapped around your entire frame, head resting at his shoulder.

"I think... I think we fucked enough for today." you said.

"You think so?"

"We had sex in the morning, practically you edged me during that long training session, and now you fucked me in your bathtub."

"Me? Edging you? I think you mean teasing."

"Teasing, edging, whatever — you had your chest pressing up all against me — your sweaty and massive muscles."

"That wasn't my intention," he said chuckling, "But coming inside of you was definitely intentional."

tags - @ottooctaviusswife, @love4lacey.

#.୨୧ fleur's writing.#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x f!reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut #call of duty mw2 #mw2 fanfic #female reader

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