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shotmrmiller · 17 days

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Uninvited, Unexpected.

a/n: it's nice until the very end. it hints at baby trapping. one solid sentence that's kinda degrading (i couldn't help myself ok) this was in the works for so long, i did so much research just to use words. english is hard. and ignore the plot holes, for my sake. my sanity.

this is SMUT. 18+mdni please (if im missing anything else, lmk)

ty to my wonderful beta readers @waves-against-a-cliff & @xoxunhinged

wc: 3,1K

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader

my contribution to the @glitterypirateduck ghost challenge. idc if i wrote it much earlier lol.

You're awoken by a loud noise. At first, you think you dreamt it. Exploding head syndrome, maybe. You strain your hearing but it's quiet, save for the occasional creak of the house settling, its old bones creaking in the dead of night. Rain gently patters against the windows, blurring the world outside.

A flash of sudden light illuminates the bedroom, casting elongated shadows across the floor, followed by a loud crack that rattles the glass. Thunder. You should've guessed.

The frantic beating of your heart slows to a gentle roll, and your eyes leaden with sleep. The soft pillows beckon, the warm blankets cradle you as you sink back onto the mattress.

Only for you to be snapped back into reality, drowsiness dissipating like a morning mist.

Someone's knocking on your door.

Your heart is in your throat as you quickly peel off the blankets, the chill of the floorboards underneath your bare feet seeping into your bones.

In the bookshelf sits the gun Simon had given you before he had moved out, the rumble of his voice a ghost in your ear. "For protection," he'd murmured, placing the cold metal onto your open palms. "Jus' in case."

Your trembling fingers fumble as you search for it in the dark, flinching as a couple of books spill from the shelf onto the floor, pages rustling in your urgency.

The knocking persists.

The metal of the grip is unyielding in your clammy hands. You've never tested it before, never had the displeasure. As you hold it close to your chest with a quivering breath, you hope tonight won't change that.

Simon's instructions echo in your mind as you approach the front door. "Thumb the safety. Hold the grip with both hands. Do not, under any circumstance, put your finger on the trigger unless you're plannin' on sendin' hate. Clear?"

Your throat tightens, a phantom snake coiling around the narrow passage, and panic grips your heart as you reach for the blinds, slowly hooking two fingers and carefully pulling down to look at who is—

Simon.

Simon?

Sweat-slick fingers flip the light switch before quickly undoing the locks, the hinges groaning in protest as the door opens.

"What the hell?"

It's Simon, disheveled— maskless— swaying on his feet. His eyes are half-closed and unfocused. Johnny's holding him up by the arm, struggling to keep him upright.

"S'ry, bonnie. We wen' out fer a few 'nd clearly, he's out 'is face. Quite crabbit, too. He said ye'd let 'em sleep 'ere," he slurs.

Simon's not the only one who's pissed. With a resigned sigh, you gesture at the couch with your free hand. "There, I guess."

That he thought of you even in his drunken haze tugs at your fragile heartstrings.

Johnny guides him to the catch, a quiet C'mon LT to spur him forward. Heavy boots thud against the floor as they stumble toward the living room while you carefully place the gun on the kitchen countertop before reaching for a water bottle in the pantry. Johnny snickers under his breath as Simon collapses onto the sofa, the springs protesting his weight.

Two bottles, then.

You watch Simon's head loll as you hand Johnny the water. "Tell me you aren't the one driving, Johnny," you grumble.

He takes it with a quiet thanks. "Naw. Cap'n's stone cold sober."

Small mercies.

Johnny gives Simon a rough slap to the side of his leg as he bids him goodbye, pulling you in for an embrace tight enough that your spine pops before walking out the door.

You let out another sigh as the lock clicked back into place. The tangy, sour scent of stale alcohol mixed with stings at your nose, as does the invasive smell of smoke.

His boots are mud-caked, and you'll be damned if he stains your nice furniture with his mess. "Shoes off." He groans but complies. The laces come undone quickly, and you tug his shoes off with a grunt. "Simon."

His glassy eyes meet yours. "Drink your water." The burning need to chuck it at his head is one you have to vehemently smother into embers. Moron. Only Simon would have the gall to show up unannounced months after the separation. And drunk.

You push the bottle into his chest roughly and make to go back to bed when he encircles his hand around your wrist and the world spins on its axis, suddenly finding yourself beneath him with his face nestled in the crook of your neck.

Simon's breath is hot against your skin, the weight of his body pinning you down so achingly familiar. It stirs up past memories that would have you pressing your thighs together if he wasn't right there, using his broad waist to spread them apart.

"Missed ya, love." A confession. "S'much."

The breath you draw is jagged, his slow-spoken words hanging in the air. You want to push him away, scream at him for stumbling in and disrupting your night, your rest, your carefully crafted peace. But there's a part of you that can't help but soften at the tenderness in his tone.

"Simon," you whisper. "You're drunk. You don't know what you're saying—" his lips find your fluttering pulse. You find purchase in his shirt, shaky fingers grasping at the hem.

"'M drunk, no' no liar." Your resolve wavers. No, he never had been. Honesty hadn't been the reason for the split. It wasn't the truth he'd spoken but the truths he'd kept to himself. A fortress around his heart, the bridge to its gates raised. Unwilling to share a burden, share a life.

His warm tongue licks a hot stripe up your neck reaching the lobe of your ear where his blunt teeth sink into it. A choked gasp spills from your mouth, spine arching in reflex— your treacherous body remembering his touch, yearning for it.

"Simon—" your words get caught in your throat; snag like fishhooks when he undulates his hips, arousal creeping along your veins like ivy.

"Don't ya miss me, pet?" You've asked him to not call you that because it never fails to stoke the fire in your belly, to sodden your knickers. Before you can chide him on his choice of words, he shifts. One arm, an inked column under the soft light of the living room, holds him up just enough to bring his rugged face into focus. His eyes, like a stormy night's sky, swirl with untamed desire.

You know it's dangerous to play with fire. Touch it and burn, ache, blister. But the passion of this old flame beckons like a siren with sharp teeth. Each drag of his prominent erection against your core only succeeds in pulling you away from the shore of clarity. It's disorienting, insistent.

Relentless.

"My pretty little love," he mumbles. Simon's gaze drags from your glassy eyes to the delicate contours of your collarbone. His fingers trace lines of intimacy onto the swell of your breasts before using the pad of his thumb to swirl the stiffened peak of your nipple. "Say the word 'nd it all stops."

The scent of alcohol clings to him, a bitter reminder of the loss of inhibitions it brings as it warms one's chest. Blurred lines he might not mind, but you do. Lost boundaries. Rejection sits on the tip of your tongue, on the edge of your teeth when he says something that frays the last threads of your resolve.

It comes undone.

"Please. Jus' tonigh'. All I need." His words sound like footsteps in winter mire, slushed, syllables blending together.

You'll just have to kick him out on his arse in the morning.

"Okay," you breathe. Just one night, you tell yourself. He's always been good to you in the bedroom. One last hurrah wouldn't hurt. Maybe it'll allow you to finally close this painful chapter in your life and start anew, with pristine white pages and fresh ink.

Your hands, trembling with nerves and anticipation, cradle his face. The roughness of his stubble in contrast with the softness of your palms is grounding, keeping you from being pulled under your own swirling emotions.

" 'M righ' 'ere, love. You're safe with me, always." He whispers the last words reverently, a vow. Simon's breath mingles with yours as he leans in for a kiss.

The world around you fades, your senses tunneled on the feel of his lips, the taste of him— mildly sweet with a hint of peppermint. He slants his head to deepen the kiss, and the bruising ache in your heart is replaced by another, one that burns brightly and threatens to sweep you away.

The lulling sound of the pouring rain outside is drowned out by the beating of your racing heart.

The bed creaks when Simon perches you on the edge of it, quietly ordering you to take your top off.

"What about my bottoms?" You bite down on the gummy inside of your cheek when he pins you in place with a look— a predator eyeing its prey.

"Those are mine." Resounding. Final. A gavel in a courtroom.

You fling your shirt off, tossing it into some forgotten corner in the room, and cheekily watch Simon undress. It's not methodical like it used to be. No longer a means to an end. Experienced fingers undo the buckle of his belt before he takes it off, the leather material snapping in the air, slicing through the silence.

A quip tumbles out of your mouth faster than you can stop it. "Gonna spank me with that?"

The air around you thickens— or thins, you can't be sure— when his eyes flash to you. He kicks off his jeans, one foot after the other, wobbling as he does. "Tha' wha' you want?" The words he didn't say ring out loud and clear.

Don't rattle the cage, sweetheart. This dog isn't muzzled.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from saying anything else, something that he might take you up on, instead focusing on the way his heavy cock hangs in between legs (dangling with each step forward—)

"M'eyes are up 'ere." Your nose scrunches at his joke. Cute.

He lowers himself onto his knees, your legs cradling his face as it hovers over your sex, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on your heated skin.

The sleeping shorts you're wearing are ratty and worn. They're thin too, practically translucent from constant use. Which means that he can see that you're not wearing any undergarments underneath.

"Hope you know I can—" Heat licks up the sides of your jaw, pooling in your cheeks as you cut him off with a snappy remark.

"Yes. I know."

The tip of his pointed tongue drags along the seam of your shorts, right along your slit. Your breath hitches, and you clench your jaw to keep from making a sound. Your back bows involuntarily, the feeling startling, intense.

"Can see tha' clear as day, as if lookin' through a windowpane, pet," he taunts. The words that are forming, almost ready to spill out, freeze in place when his mouth comes in direct contact with your slippery cunt. He licks once, twice, through your folds, slightly dipping into your slick entrance, only pulling away to nuzzle your pearl with his misaligned nose.

"Sweet as a peach, jus' like I remember," he purrs, the timbre of his voice buzzing against your puffy lips. "Missed this." A mewl slithers past your grit teeth when he gently sinks one thick finger into you, curling and twisting. Arousal drips onto his knuckle, tracing a hot path down to his wrist. He coos at you when he adds another digit, hissing at the sharp but brief pinprick of the stretch.

"Bloody fuckin' tight." Simon rises off the floor, the quiet sound of his knees popping swallowed up by your harsh pants. "Gotta let me in, love. Relax."

He keeps the thrusts shallow, his fingers dragging deliciously along your nerve endings. The sting soon fades, giving way to a gentle warmth that unfurls inside of you, letting Simon reach deeper until—

Your muscles stiffen, tight like a spring when he brushes over the rough patch of skin that has bursts of light appearing across your eyelids.

"Look at ya. Droolin' like a mutt with my fingers stuffed up your pretty cunt."

There's a pressure in your lower belly that's steadily building with each sloppy thrust of his hand, pulling squelching noises from your sodden pussy. He finally, finally, latches onto your neglected clit, lightly sucking on it in tandem with his fingers.

Your chin drops to your chest as everything nears a breaking point. The pressure inside you has your body wound tight. The fibers of your muscles contract, almost painfully, preparing for the release of what's to come, what can't be ignored.

The swirling of his golden tongue pushes against the boundaries of your endurance, pushes you to the precipice, where you finally hit the point of no return. You can feel something about to give, ecstasy trickling through the cracks in your foundation, uncontrollable, raw. Your fingers thread through Simon's hair, curling tightly, pulling it taut when you feel something about to give—oh fuck—

Snap.

The structure that holds everything in place collapses.

A sudden release of pent-up energy and emotion erupts like a dam bursting, a cleansing flood that washes away the grime of old wounds, of bitterness, leaving the edges softened so they can heal; knit closed and scar over. Closure. It touches every part of you, filling you with a sense of liberation.

Your heart beats freely, it throbs with life as a wave of relief washes over you, soothing, a balm over scraped flesh, a rush of cool air into starved lungs.

A lightness that comes after being weighed down with burdens for so long.

Simon's hands encircle your arms firmly— fingers digging into the meat of your biceps— and effortlessly maneuvers you toward the center of the bed as if your lethargic form were a feather caught in a breeze; weightless, insignificant.

Gentle but unyielding.

There's a ringing in your ears that muffles his voice, blurring the edges of his words, an unintelligible hum, as if you were underwater. The sensation leaves you feeling adrift in a tranquil sea, cradled in its silken embrace. The only anchor you have to the muzzy reality is his warm touch.

"'M sorry, sweetheart. I can't," he apologizes, hooking your right leg over his shoulder. You let out a sibilant hiss as he leans forward, pushing your knee to your chest, the corded muscle of your hamstring pulling to its limit. "Can't wait anymore, 'm sorry."

Simon gives you a sloppy kiss as his heaving length prods at your swollen entrance, the tip breaching your pussy with a warm burn that starts from under your navel and only flares, radiating from your core outward. It's searing, the initial bite of the stretch disrupts the haze in your muddled mind, bringing the world around you into cutting clarity.

A guttural noise claws up his throat as Simon sheathes himself halfway, his growled words not the salve he was hoping for. It only grates at already raw nerves, abrasive.

"Jus' a little more, you can take it." He winds a hand downward to draw messy circles on your slippery clit, to stifle the roaring fire in your stomach, your chest. "You already have."

His jerky touch does its job, transforming the sharp burn of him wrenching your walls apart fiber by fiber into a quiet glow; smoldering heat now simmering. You soften, mellow and pliant, accept him into your body as he sinks to the hilt with a quiet groan.

"There's my girl. Takin' all of it like you were made f'me." Simon's words of praise tangle around your spine, electric, prickling. Your heart gallops like a herd of horses, wild and free. "Liked tha' did you? Jus' about strangled my cock with your tight cunt."

He rolls his hips once, twice, searching for signs of discomfort, but when only warm pleasure laps at your heels, when the barest of moans spill from your open lips, Simon begins to put his weight behind his thrusts.

Through half-lidded eyes, you see a raw, primal hunger reflected in his eyes— his soul, the one he'd claimed to have lost long ago, back with his reason, his sanity.

Yet he looks down at you as if you were his only salvation. A lifeline he grabs onto with an unyielding grip, his only tether to hope, purpose. A lighthouse shining in a raging storm, a beacon calling him home.

Simon presses a large hand onto your lower stomach, his work-worn palm pushing until you wince, brows furrowing at the fleeting whisper of pain.

"Can feel myself right here," he sluggishly mumbles, drunk of the feel of your cunt, the taste of your skin on his tongue— sweet like ripened figs. The sensory overload has him sinking his fingers into your flesh until it dimples.

He murmurs something under his taxed breath, something akin to mine, only mine as his lips leave a slick trail of saliva on the dip of your collarbone, the gentle curve of your shoulder, the thin, soft skin of your bicep up to your inner wrist, where he laps at your pulse.

As if savoring the present. The precious gift he's unwrapped, here and now. The last taste of you, which he hopes with a reverence that borders on prayer, lingers on his tongue long after the fruit— the sweet evidence of this one last intimacy— falls from the bough.

Simon comes with his teeth in the crook of your neck, biting down with a crushing pressure that has an acute pain digging its spurs into your consciousness, cutting the blazing euphoria of your own release short.

His cock is still twitching as he fills you with his spend when he takes his thumb and collects some of your slick to take you over the edge one last time.

"F'me. You can take it, yeah? I'll go slow, I promise."

Simon presses a kiss on your sweaty temple, his large hand cupping your jaw as he lazily watches you succumb to sleep, your breath evening out.

He reaches for your arm again, feeling for the birth control implant you'd had there when the both of you were still together.

Gone.

Sweet girl. You'd let him in without a fight. (He makes a mental note to wash the beer off of his clothes tomorrow.)

He knows your cycle better than the lines that are etched onto his palm. Better than the voice of the captain who rumbles in his earpiece, ordering him to go for the throat.

From the moment you'd stepped into his life with eternity in your eyes and the warmth of the sun on your lips, you were his. And he'll do anything to remain in your orbit.

(left unable to distinguish prison from paradise when each poison-coated kiss softens the world he'll build for you and for what's to come.)

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod mw2 #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #cod smut #simon ghost riley x f reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley smut #GhostChallenge

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ervotica · 5 months

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hehe dark!rafe fucking jj's ex bc she spiraling after the break up and using hella drugs so he's just degrading & using her however bc she's beneath him and he can't help but record it and send it to the male pouge's

warnings; DARK, smut (18+ only), drug use, dub-con (r is HEAVILY under the influence and not very aware), throat fucking, fingering, slight daddy kink, breathplay, degradation (I may have gone insane with this one I fear)

A cruel hand is splayed against the top of your spine where the base of your neck begins, subduing you enough to keep you from thrashing as Rafe curls his fingers against the spongy walls of your cunt. You're alight with pleasure, the lick of a flame igniting your every muscle as you gargle into the sheets below you; you're not entirely sure how you got here but your drug addled brain is too hazy with the white-hot euphoria he is so kindly granting you.

He groans at your blank eyes, breath hot on your skin as he licks a long line against the column of your throat and bites down, taking great enjoyment in the way you wriggle and whine.

"Please," you gasp out, that coil in your belly drawing tighter the longer he keeps his fingers nestled against that spot deep in your pussy that makes you scream.

"Please, what?"

"Please, daddy. Lemme cum."

"Attagirl." His grin is wolfish, teeth pointed and bared like a predator. "Little fuckin' whore, aren'tcha, kid? Bet Maybank never made you feel this good."

You shake your head vehemently, almost incomprehensible where you're drooling into the pillow beneath your balmy face.

He tweaks his fingers once more and suddenly the dull flame of bliss has roared to life, squeezing every one of your muscles like tendrils as you gush and your hole clenches around his thick digits.

The muted roar of white noise is all you can hear for a good while; eyes rolling, lashes fluttering, limp and spent from just one orgasm.

You don't see him next but rather you feel him. A thick mushroom head prodding against your swollen lips, the taste of bitter precum on your tongue as he feeds his cock down your spasming throat. A gag rips through you but he pushes past it, unfazed by your own discomfort as he chases the feeling of your tender gullet tightening around him.

"Yeahhh, that's good," he unabashedly moans, deep and gravelly. His cock pushes at the thin skin of your neck, flesh bulging as he settles your nose in the thatch of hair at his pubic bone, heavy sack pressing lewdly atop your gurgling mouth with every rut of his hips.

Bubbles of spit ooze from the corners of your stretched lips and then you're suddenly blinded by white light. The flash of a phone camera crowds your vision and Rafe doubles down, hips pistoning against your slack face as he groans and grunts, degrading insults pouring from his mouth.

"Dirty slut, all you're good for 's takin' dick, right? Just a filthy little hole for me to use when 'm bored."

You purl and choke around him in an effort to voice your complaints, but all it seems to do is spur him on further.

"G'na have this throat trained in no time, kid. You're my personal cocksleeve from now on."

He wrenches himself away despite being seemingly on the precipice of blowing his load; you gasp and whimper as he turns to prop the still recording phone on the dresser behind him, twisting a large handful of your mussed hair around his hand and dragging you across the expanse of the king sized bed. Your neck contorts in an odd sort of manner as he positions you with your head hanging upside-down from the side of the plush mattress. It gives him ample leverage to use you without care; he's not bothered if you pass out, he'll use you either way.

It's rough, borderline abusive, how he fucks your throat. Hard and fast and unrelenting despite your almost continuous retching and slapping feebly at his thick thighs. The bulge in the divot of the soft flesh only becomes more prominent, his spongy head pushing from the inside as though it's trying to rip through you.

His hand reaches between his own legs to plug your nostrils and a menacing chuckle hits your ears as your vision blurs and your eyes lose focus and roll to the back of your skull.

He lets up just as you're on the cusp of unconsciousness, dick never leaving your warm cavern as he reaches blindly behind him for the phone. Forearms dig cruelly into your ribcage as he props himself up and zooms the camera in on your sopping, swollen cunt, parting your petal soft lips and slipping two fingers inside to bully another orgasm from you.

"If I were you, Maybank, I'd have never given up this tight cunt," Rafe rasps. "Fucked the poor thing dumb, already. 'M keeping her."

He presses send before you can protest- not that you'll ever be able to. You'll be too cockdrunk to ever notice what he's done.

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sincerelyneo · 2 months

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teeth | l.hc

“fight so dirty but your love’s so sweet”

💿now playing: teeth by 5 seconds of summer

❯ summary: Traditionally the caption of the cheer team and the captain of the soccer team are friends - some even date. But you and Donghyuck definitely aren’t friends - if anything you’re enemies. The two of you can’t go five minutes without an argument. So, why are you letting him fuck you in the locker room?

❯ pairings: haechan x fem!reader

❯ genre: college!au, enemies with benefits, smut

❯ words: 2.5k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, bickering, swearing, unprotected sex (don't do this!), hate sex, degrading names, general name-calling, manhandling, haechan is an asshole, but reader is also lowkey mean, choking, use of nickname 'princess', reader uses she/her pronouns, hardly any plot, it's literally just them hate fucking idk what to tell ya.

cheeky author's note: i'm very brtish, so referring to this as soccer literally made me want to rip my hair out 😀

“You don’t have to be so rough you know, Hyuck!”

"Will you just shut up and let me fuck you!?" He snaps.

The red metal of Lee Donghyuck's locker is cold against the skin of your bare back. Honestly, you don’t even know how it happened. But somehow the captain of the soccer team (and the boy you swear you hate) has you pinned against the boy’s lockers, one leg wrapped around his waist and the top half of your cheer uniform hiked up just enough to give him a full display of your tits. His left-hand grips your hip so tightly that you’re certain he’s doing it on purpose just to piss you off.

Not only that, but he also has your skirt bunched up around your waist. Giving him just the right amount of easy access to pull your panties to the side and tease his cock between your folds.

"Will you just hurry up and stick it in!?" You try to yell at him but, from the way he’s teasing the head of his cock at your entrance, the attempt comes out like a feeble whine.

Exactly on command, the scowl on your face quickly morphs into a wince, and the annoyed quirk on your lips disappears to form a small 'o' as Hyuck’s grip on your hip hardens and he pushes his cock quickly into your cunt. You can’t complain though - you did just tell him to stick it in.

"Shit," you squirm, hand coming up to his chest, pressing hard against the badge of his soccer uniform that rests on his right peck.

"Now look who’s needy," He teases. "I vividly remember you saying I’d be the shittest fuck on the soccer team."

"That’s what this is about!? You’re still mad that– uhh," you’re cut off by your own moan and your nails sink into the fabric of his shirt when he starts to move his hips. His pace is surprisingly slow - deliberately teasing - in comparison to his rapid first thrust inside of you.

"Christ! Even when you fuck you talk too much," Hyuck curses, his hand wrapping around your arm to free himself from the grip you have on his shirt.

"You're one to talk," You hiss back. "Even when you fuck you’re still an annoying little asshol– "

You gasp as he pulls out of you completely and then thrusts into you once again.

"You could've at least warned me, you dick,” You exhale, your walls readjusting to his size for the second time - and what a big size he was.

“Yeah, yeah, spare me the lecture princess.”

You can’t believe that even when he’s buried to the hilt inside of your pussy he’s still calling you that stupid fucking nickname. It’s not the word ‘princess’ itself that bothers you per se; it’s Lee Donghyuck’s intention behind the name that makes your blood blister with anger. He’s been calling you ‘princess’ since your freshman year in college but you’d only ever inquired about it recently.

You were at a party, and even though you hate the bones of Lee Donghyuck, you’d be lying if you said your social circles didn’t overlap. It was inevitable, he’s on the soccer team, you’re a cheerleader; honestly, the two of you should be friends. But you’re not. And because of your strained relationship, it was no surprise that the minute you walked through the door he’d picked a fight with you.

You can't even remember what the argument was about now, but you know the two of you had gone back and forth in a boxing match of insults that always ended with him throwing the word ‘princess’ at the end of his rebuttals. And you really couldn’t quite understand why. In your mind, being called a princess was a compliment, but to Donghyuck, princesses were “spoilt bitches who have no grip on reality.”

Safe to say you didn’t think the term was one of endearment after that.

And it was at that same party where you’d insisted Donghyuck would be the shittest fuck on the soccer team – something you’re currently finding out as being not true as he fucks you senseless six ways to Sunday. In all honesty, even when Yuta had asked you the question in a silly little game of truth or dare, you knew Hyuck was the cop-out answer. Truthfully, your real answer would have been Jisung or Chenle. They’re both a little younger and act more awkward with you. But still, you’d let hell freeze over before letting Lee Donghyuck think he was a better fuck than somebody else. However, you’re pretty sure you’ve broken that promise to yourself from the way you’re breathlessly panting and gasping from the vigorous drilling of his cock. That or hell genuinely has frozen over.

But still, what did he expect? The two of you couldn’t go half a second without a petty argument. Sometimes you find yourself just doing it because you were bored and he was there. After all, it’s just the norm between the two of you.

That’s why you can’t quite understand why he’s taking a stupid comment said in a passing game of truth or dare to heart. You’ve said worse to him, you're sure of it.

Hyuck pulls out of your pussy and the emptiness that lingers between your legs has you groaning – even if it’s just for a second. He doesn’t give you long to harp on the loss of friction because he wastes no time dropping your leg from his hip, gripping your waist and slamming the front of your body against his locker.

You want to make another snarky comment about his roughness, but you secretly love it. Well, it’s not so secret actually — Hyuck is well aware that you like his manhandling because he feels your wetness becoming more slick on his cock as he thrusts into you from behind.

His pace in the new position is still tortuous, slow and teasing, and so fucking annoyingly good. But you don’t know how much longer you can take the tormenting leisurely pace. You want more - you need more. If he didn't have your arms pinned behind you and you flush against the lockers, you’d claw at his back to make him go faster.

You feel a warmth on the nape of your neck as he nuzzles against your ear, placing a kiss so gently, that you’re shocked at the sudden contrast in his demeanour.

“This the shittest fuck you’ve had, huh?”

No.

“Yes,” you reply and he growls deeply. There’s a rough snap of his hips and it catches you off guard so much you have to bite down on your lip to suppress a whimper.

“Fucking liar,” he scoffs.

The insult makes your face screw up in a glare, but still, all you can manage is a breathy, “Am not.”

No matter how good the length of his cock is making you feel, you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting he was right – that he’s not the worst fuck on the soccer team. Not that you had much experience with the others.

But even though you refuse to use your words to tell him you’re loving it, your body betrays you by being so fucking responsive to his touches. And no matter how hard you fight against him, Hyuck never lets you gain an inch. In fact, every time you try to free your arms from his, he lets out a frustrated groan, and the sound only makes your pussy throb harder.

His hand slips up your body until it finds your throat, where his fingers dig into either side of your neck. He stops his thrusts.

“Well if you’re not lying, are you saying I’m a shitty fuck princess?” He asks innocently as if he’s about to be gentle with you, but you know better. After all, this is Donghyuck. “If you want to pretend like you don’t want this; if that helps you sleep at night, then fine, but your slutty cunt is so fucking wet, I can almost feel you soaking my balls.”

He ducks down to place a kiss on your jaw, and you feel his lips smile into it as you shudder from his words. Instinctively, you swing your head away from him, only to be yanked back by the hand around your throat. He chuckles against your skin, hips starting to move again, thrusting shallowly into your stretched cunt.

“If I’m such a shitty fuck, I supposed you want me to stop, huh?” He asks in a low voice, lips grazing your cheek.

Noises you’ve never heard yourself make before tumble from your mouth as you moan and sob shamelessly. You try to bite your tongue, try not to fuel his ego, but his rhythm is too good at tearing down your guard, which is why you find yourself crying out, “Please don’t stop!”

He laughs, fucking you harder and faster, the stings of pain from his cock hitting you so deep morphing into a hot ache of pleasure that coils tighter and tighter in your core.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he growls.

His fingers, still on your throat press into your skin, not hard enough to cut off your air supply but just enough pressure to force out strangled moans. Your shoulders rub against the coarse material of his soccer kit, grounding you against him as he fucks you in punishing thrusts.

You don’t want to admit it, but your body can’t resist it.

“Fuck, gonna cum,” you mumble, eyes squeezed tight together.

“Yeah? You gonna cum for me like a good little slut?” he murmurs into your temples

The low rumble of his voice has the tension in your core ratcheting higher, pushing you closer to your release. Your head feels like it’s floating as the tight spring in your stomach coils until it finally snaps and has your knees buckling beneath you.

Hyuck keeps his speed steady, fucking you through your climax and savouring the way your walls clench around him in rigid spasms. Your orgasm triggers his and he clenches his jaw.

“Fuck, I'm gonna cum,” he ruts into you harder, and all you can do is moan for him.

“Please,” you whimper.

He chuckles at your submission - he’s never seen you like this before - so needy and desperate. He didn’t think it was possible to love anything about you; but this right here, you fucked out and pleading for his cum, yeah, he fucking loves it.

He ruts into you a last few times with thrusts that are wild and more frenzied, his thighs slapping against your ass. He contemplates cumming inside of you, but he figures he’d save that for another day since the two of you had forgotten about a condom and hadn’t really discussed it.

And…did he just think about having sex with you again?

With a loud groan that rattles against the metal in the empty locker room, Hyuck pulls out of your cunt and jerks his cock until he’s cumming onto the small of your back. Unable to stop yourself, you moan softly and a stupid smile spreads across your face when you hear him sigh.

After that it's silent, only your rapid breaths echoing in the room. He’s pressed against you, face buried in your neck, holding you and your weak legs in place. You stay like that for a beat, but then you remember who it is that’s just fucked you.

Without any more hesitation, you shake his grip and push him away from you. "Christ! Stop breathing down my neck. Fucking gross."

If it wasn’t for the fact that he’s your arch nemesis you would have stayed tangled up in him a little while longer, letting yourself get soaked up in the fact that that was the best sex you’ve ever had.

As you turn around to face him, he looks at you with the softest expression you’ve ever seen on his face.

“There’s a towel in my bag if you want to…”

You scoff, “How chivalrous of you.”

You pull the towel from the bag in his locker and start wiping at his cum on your back. Your body is turned away from him but you can still feel his eyes lingering on you as you wipe away.

You stop to look at him, “What are you still doing here? We have a game in like 10 minutes. Shouldn’t you be like…warming up or something?”

“I think I’m already warmed up,” he mumbles and you shake your head with a smile, going back to cleaning yourself off.

“Seriously, get on the pitch,” you demand when you see him still lingering.

There’s a hand in his hair, scratching his head and he looks a little flushed. You never see him like this, it’s weird. The Hyuck you know and loathe is cocky, smug, arrogant, all of those kinds of words; but the one in front of you looks so awkward, flushed. Is it weird you kinda like it?

“Are you waiting for me to tell you you aren’t a bad fuck or something? Seriously Hyuck, get lost,” you try and joke, pulling down your cheer uniform.

“No..I…” he stumbles.

You groan, “Oh no, don’t do this. Don’t make things weird.”

“I’m not—”

“Can’t you just be like a normal guy and…I don’t know, say it felt good to fuck me like you hate me or some shit?”

His eyes sweep over your face as if he were studying you. His face softens and he steps closer.

“I mean I could say that, because it felt fucking amazing actually,” he says and you swallow thickly. “But you’re wrong about one thing.”

You pause, freezing as he comes towards you. You don’t even register how close he is until you feel his breath on your lips and his chest against yours.

“What?”

“I don’t actually hate you that much,” he admits, and your eyes widen.

“Yeah right, funny joke,” you roll your eyes and laugh sarcastically but he’s not laughing with you. In fact he’s just looking at you, deadpan, and it’s starting to freak you out.

When you realise that he is in fact serious, you cross your hands across your chest.

“You’re not gonna start doing all that cheesy shit they do in the movies, where you profess your undying love for me, and tell me you never really hated me and it was all just a miscommunication, are you?”

“Fuck no!” He almost gags at the mention of it. “Just because I said I don’t hate you that much doesn’t mean I like you? Are you crazy?”

“Well I’m just making sure,” you poke his chest.

He runs a hand through his hair and sighs, “But I do wanna do this again…” he trails off so quietly that you wouldn’t have heard it if there was anybody else in the room with you.

“This?”

“Yes, this. Us. Fucking,” he explains. “I fucking hate you, but fuck, I think I love your pussy.”

#nct smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #haechan smut #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #nct 127 x reader #haechan x reader #nct hard hours #kpop smut

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amandacanwrite · 4 months

Text

I would like to share a few head canons for Gale Dekarios being in love with tav/you. If you liked this one and have a request for another character let me know. These ones have just been percolating for a bit.

In Battle

He tries very hard to stay near you. He doesn’t like it when you go off on your own. He knows he doesn’t quite have the strength of Karlach or the sure footedness of Astarion, but he’s not just going to let you fight everyone on your own.

Sometimes he gets a little hurt that you always put yourself in harms way/take so much of the damage on the battlefield. Don’t you know that losing you would destroy him?

You have never witnessed it, but according to the other party members he goes feral if you’re knocked unconscious.

When you wake up it’s always with your head cradled in his lap as shadowheart works on the worst of the wounds.

He does this thing with his magic where he makes his hands really cold. It feels nice on your feverish skin as he gently smooths your hair away from your face, you don’t know why you feel so nauseous and sweaty after you black out but this little gesture helps you come back smoothly.

He has a hard time sleeping after a rough encounter. He keeps waking up and making sure you’re still breathing. In the end he gives up on sleeping and just reads by the fire, calming his nerves to the sound of your steady, stable breathing.

In Camp

He is hilariously fussy about what you eat.

“No, you ABSOLUTELY CANNOT subsist off of a loaf of bread, three olives and a bottle of wine. We are no longer young scholars barely SCRAPING by—“

Very resourceful when it comes to what you can scrape together out of barrels around camp. You were very skeptical when you watched him putting a variety of different bones into a cauldron as you left him back in camp one day. But you came back to a rich stew full of potatoes, some wild rice and even some cut up apple in the mix.

He likes it when you play with his hair. But he has to very pointedly avoid it if he’s in the middle of reading up on something.

“Darling, are you certain you’re not practiced in the arcane arts? I do think you’ve got some magic in those fingertips of yours, at the very least, with how quickly they can put me to sleep.”

When You’re Alone

It’s simple. He worships you. Perhaps it’s because his last lover was a goddess but it seems to come easy for him; the reverent words, the gentle touches, the utter devotion. Sometimes you catch him just… looking at you. His eyes softly hooded, a relaxed curve to his lips. It’s your favorite to ask what’s on his mind when he looks at you like that.

“Hm? Oh, nothing much. I’ve just been observing. Did you know you purse your lips when you’re reading something that you disagree with? Yes—hah—just like that.”

He loves to read WITH you. Especially loves to show you some of his favorite tomes. He’ll get you all nestled up against him and hold the book down in front of you. He reads much faster than you, so he busies himself kissing behind your ear or playing with your hair until you turn the page.

Gods does he love it when you ask him questions about something to do with magic. He loves watching the glint in your eye when he’s helped you understand something.

You love it when you get him rolling on a topic of theory that you know he doesn’t get to talk about much. Sometimes he loses you when he gets into the minutiae, but he’s so damn cute when he’s ranting about the wonder in the world.

In Intimate Moments

(Potential NSFW below.)

Of course it is not a surprise that he’s a generous lover. What is a surprise is how demanding he can be when he feels like it. He knows you are no stranger to a challenge and he loves to make things more exciting by presenting you with one.

“Of course I’m aware of our companions in camp. But it’s not as if we can afford ourselves more privacy. You’re just going to have to quiet those lovely little sounds you make while I touch you… let’s see… it was here wasn’t it? Ah, ah… shhhh, my love. Those pointy ears of Astarion’s might pick even that tiny sound.”

Gods does he know how to string words together to leave you completely undone.

Sometimes foreplay is mostly talk. He can get you going without even touching you.

“My love, I’ve not been able to stop thinking of the ways I want to touch you all day. Shall I tell you what’s been on my mind?”

His breath tickles against your ear as his hands smooth over your clothed body, telling you how he wants to take you. It’s all the more flustering when you know he always keeps his word.

Love making always starts with a kiss, deep and slow.

You feel him smile into the kiss when he slips his fingers into the front of your trousers and he feels just how aroused he’s made you.

“You are exquisite. A delicacy of the highest quality. Do you know that?”

He’s not one to bang it out for a quickie. He doesn’t like to feel like he’s stealing his time with you, or like he’s a young man again and hastily getting whatever he can before heading back to the dormitories. Every touch, every word, every thrust is slow and deliberate. He wants to relish the feeling of it all. He wants to soak you in.

Somehow, he always smells good. Like cinnamon and tea and… some earthen, herbaceous scent you cant place.

So many cuddles after you’re done.

#bg3 tav #bg3 tav and gale #gale headcanons #gale dekarios #gale x tav #gale x reader #gale of waterdeep #bg3 headcanons #bg3 romance

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saetoru · 1 year

Text

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。10:07 PM — AL-HAITHAM.

al-haitham asks you to marry him before he even realizes himself what he’s just asked. it’s a random tuesday night. you’re in worn out pajamas, he’s still got slight damp hair from his shower, and the both of you are curled up on the couch.

you’re rubbing his chest and his arm’s wrapped around your waist when you murmur, “we should get a place with more windows.”

he raises a brow, turns to look at you and scan over the side of your face. it’s familiar, the way you look so pretty under the dim light, on the same couch against the same walls in the same living room. but it’ll still feel like the first time even if it’ll be his last.

“is the design of our current home not up to your standards?” he asks, making you giggle.

“it’s nice,” you hum, “but it needs more windows. and a bigger kitchen. and maybe a backyard.”

“this home is conveniently close to our place of work,” he argues, fingers creeping up from under your shirt and rubbing circles into your hip. it’s soft—your skin, it’s warm and familiar under the rough pad of his thumb. it’s a touch that’s routine enough that you don’t squirm in surprise anymore when he finds your bare skin, and then he wonders for a moment if there are other routines waiting for him.

maybe he’ll watch you wait for him through the window as he comes home. maybe you’ll dance in the kitchen as coffee’s being made. maybe there’ll be picnics in the backyard as the sun sets. maybe, when you have a new house but the same home, he’ll find more of you in the walls and the corners of every room.

“haitham,” you huff, “a little extra walk won’t kill you. we should find our dream home.”

“our?” he asks after a moment, like he’s shocked. you only nod against his chest.

“of course, silly,” you chuckle, “i certainly won’t be house shopping with the general mahamatra—”

“we should get married,” he blurts.

“what?”

“my grandmother left a ring,” he instantly explains, “it’s a very nice ring, i promise. you won’t have to worry about having a bare finger—”

“that’s not what i meant—”

“and it can be a small ceremony,” he assures, “it shouldn’t take much planning. but if you’d like something fancier, i don’t mind either, it’s your wedding day just as much as it is mine—”

“that’s sweet, but wait—”

“and if you’re worried about time off for the honeymoon, as the former acting grand sage, there’s still a few strings i can pull for us both. i hear inazuma is nice during spring, so that gives us—”

he’s rambling. he’s figuring it out right here and now and it’s the last thing you expect of him, not having an elaborate plan—and it takes you by surprise. but he’s breathless and his eyes are wide and his chest is warm and his arm is still wrapped tightly around your waist.

and you couldn’t dream of saying no.

“you think you want all this?” you ask gently, “with little old me?”

“there’s no one but you,” he mumbles, holding you closer. and if there’s a slight bounce in his knee as he waits for your answer, you pretend you don’t notice.

“so you want to get married?”

“i want to marry you,” he corrects, “i want you. marriage is just the means of how.”

“okay,” you say with a hitch in your throat. after a moment of silence, you let out a shaky chuckle, eyes watery as you meet his. “okay. let’s get married.”

“okay,” he nods slightly, swallowing thickly.

“and we can have a house with more windows,” you add.

“and a bigger kitchen,” he agrees.

“and a backyard.”

“maybe a bigger study,” he adds thoughtfully.

you grab his face at that, with enough desperation that his cheeks are squished in your hands as you turn him, pressing your lips to his. you taste him, feel him pass through you as a breath of air, hear him ring through your ear as a muffled grunt.

he’s a part of you. he’s every inch of you. he lingers on your skin and knits into your bones. he’s yours now and somehow….somehow he’ll be yours forever.

“i’m going to get married,” you sniffle. “how exciting.”

“i’m going to marry you,” he murmurs, like he’s still processing the fact that you’re here, and his, and you’ve said yes.

“i love you,” you giggle, pressing your forehead to his.

his eyes close and his arm squeezes you gently. “i’ll always love you.”

edit: everyone stop fucking commenting about the authors note it was a joke and the comments are getting old :/ why don’t you actually leave feedback on the fic itself for once and show writers some support as you consume content

you people don’t fucking understand how insanely in love with him i am i want to make a fur coat out of his pubic hair and wear it on a cold winter day idc

#i had a dream about this so i woke up and wrote it and now i’m going back to sleep #teepods.writings #drabbles.#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #alhaitham fluff #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fluff

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upsidedownwithsteve · 4 months

Note

Emmy 🌸

Can I get a smutty little blurb of us and bestfriend!steve spooning in bed and it gets a little handsy😇 dry humping is underrated.

leighanne leighanne leighanne 🧡

18+

It was inevitable, really.

Too many nights sprawled in Steve’s bed, a movie forgotten on his television screen, the sun dying behind the houses across the street, sleep tugging at you both.

It was inevitable, really.

Too many hormones, too many close calls, too many what ifs? Too many glances at lips, too many jokes that suddenly sounded more serious than the week before.

You woke up with Steve curled around you, the TV dark static, the credits long rolled. It wasn't anything too out of the ordinary, bodies pressed together, your back to Steve’s chest, a heavy arm thrown over your waist and his nose pressed into your hair, his soft breaths telling you he was still very much asleep.

You would’ve slipped back into it too, if you hadn’t shuffled slightly, adjusting yourself against the boy and the pile of pillows around you, the stray popcorn kernels that had missed both the bowl and your lips.

It was inevitable, really.

You felt it then, hard and insistent, impossible to ignore - pressed against the small of your back. Steve’s sweatpants did little to hide it, the thickness, the length, the heat. You gasped, eyes wide, more awake than before and you knew it was wrong, you knew you shouldn’t have done it. But it was inevitable.

Wasn’t it?

You rocked backwards, feigned shifting in your sleep until your ass rocked against your best friend’s cock and it fit snugly against the curves of you. Bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you heard your heartbeat in your ears, felt it rattle your ribs, felt it shake the bed frame and when the boy didn’t stir, you did it again.

Hips rocking, shifting ever so slightly, ass moving up and over Steve’s cock, eyes slipping closed, squeezing shut and lip parting in a silent gasp when the head of him caught the seam of your folds underneath your flimsy shorts.

Steve sighed in his sleep, a husky, low moan and his hips canted forward to meet your own, eager, wanting. Right there, right on your clit, the perfect nudge, just right there—

“Shit, shit, I’m— I’m sorry, I— fuck—”

Steve woke, voice rough and sleep slurred, moving too slow, his brain barely catching up with the situation but you felt awful at the embarrassment you heard in his words and he made to move away, a little clumsy as the mattress dipped, his arm dragging from you waist.

You wanted to whine, you wanted to beg. So you caught his hand instead, kept it on your waist until the heat of it made your bones turn softer. It was easier to talk if you kept facing away from him, your cheek pressed to the pillow, your ass still popped out enough for the tip of Steve’s cock nudge against the swell of it.

“Stay, Steve.”

You heard the boy gulp, swallow tight and sharp, his hand flexing on your ribs. He paused, maybe to check if he was awake, maybe to check if you were. “What?”

“Keep going,” you whispered. “I don’t want you to stop.” You swallowed too, licking your lips nervously, suddenly terrified that this was the wrong thing to do. “You can keep going, if you want.”

Steve didn’t say anything, but he lay back down, closer than before, close enough for you to feel his lips on the back of your neck when they parted. His hand gripped your waist, fingers flexing over you until your shirt - his shirt - gave way and his touch found your skin.

“Yeah?” He whispered and his voice was rough, but so much more awake than before. His cock twitched, seeking out your heat, already leaking in his too tight boxers. “S’okay?”

You nodded, body burning, eyes focused on Steve’s closed bedroom door, waiting with enough anticsorion to make your head throb, hoping he’d make a move. “Felt good,” you told him.

You felt more than heard his soft “fuck,” breathed against the nape of your neck and before you could say anything else, Steve moved, all experimental, his hips rutting against your ass, his cock pushed between your cheeks, rubbing himself there.

“Shit,” he groaned, head falling forward until it rested against your shoulder. “Tell me if you wanna stop, okay? Just let me know—”

You shook your head, cutting him off with a plea. “Steve—”

The way you pushed back against him told the boy everything he needed to know. “Christ,” he groaned, eyes fluttering shut. He didn’t know where to look, the room just lit enough for him to glance down and see his cock nestled against your ass, a damp patch already spreading on the front of his sweats. “Say my name again, fuck, say my name like that, please—”

“Steve,” you complied, whiny and breathless and trying so hard to keep quiet. The dark gloom surrounding you both made it feel all the more forbidden. You took his hand from your waist, dragged it slowly enough for him to reject you if he wanted, your fingers tangled with his as you guided him towards your tits. “Steve, please, touch me.”

You didn’t need to ask again, Steve groaning low in your ear, his teeth scraping at your jaw as his big hand grabbed the cup of your bra, pulling it down so he could get his palm over you, squeezing roughly and soothing finger over your hardened nipples. He pulled at it, humped against you a little faster when you moaned into his pillow.

“Could come like this,” Steve whispered, nose knocking against the crown of your head as he moved closer, swearing into your hair when you lifted one leg and draped it over his, his cock slipping down to slot between the folds of your cunt, the dampness there making it easy for him to feel you beneath your shorts. “Gonna come like this, fucking hell, that okay? Shit— that what you want, babe? You wanna make me bust in my pants?”

You groaned, a hand thrown back to fist in Steve’s hair, pulling at him until he mouthed at your neck, more teeth than lips, nodding frantically when the head of his cock nudged up against your clit, rubbing through your folds.

“Yeah,” you agreed, “Jesus Steve, yeah, m’gonna come too, don’t stop—“

That was inevitable too.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington fanfiction #Steve Harrington oneshot #Steve Harrington blurb #Steve baby blurb

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muntitled · 4 months

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𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐇𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞

Farleigh Start x Fem!Reader

Summary: Hating Farleigh had never stopped him from using you

Content Warnings: Language, Fwb, Forbidden Relationship, Unedited, Dark Fic, Dark Humor, Coarse Jokes, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Smoking, Weaponizing!Ollie, Smut (+18), Minors DNI, Slight CNC, Breeding, Neediness, Exhibition Kink, Grinding, Extreme Degradation, Humiliation Kink, Praise Kink, Hate Sex, Hair Pulling, Rough sex, Messy Sex, Spitting, Orgasm Control, Dirty Talk, Choking

He'd definitely bully me if he was real, and I'd be in love with him

"It's not like we're actually going to eat anything. Mother only insists we all make use of the furniture," Venetia's rambling is incessant as she walks briskly into the dining hall. You know her irritation is the by-product of the undiagnosed anxiety that comes with being forced into an uncomfortable Dior slip on such short notice.

In all fairness, you weren't doing so well either. The dress you are currently wearing is just as suffocating and Venetia's Saint Laurent heels dig into your bone. Your outfit is a velvety, laced up nightmare.

A torture chamber.

You wholeheartedly wanted to crawl into your own bed and forget about everyone and everything. In fact, the only thing keeping you mildly excited for dinner with The Henrys happens to be-

"Gentlemen!" You exclaim, before cleverly adding, "And you've brought Farleigh with you."

You all congregate at the left side of the dinner table, while the Henrys and The Henrys wives all mill about the dinner party. There are'nt any rules to things like this. It's all so self explantory.

What was not all too self explantory was your seating positions. Venetia forces you to sit in between herself and a very vexed Farleigh.

"How interesting," Farleigh barely addresses you in his tired monotonous lilt, "You're almost, nearly, just about, decently dressed." You bristle as you lower your behind to your chair, all while Farleigh shoots you a tight-lipped smile.

"Wow!" Your words drip with sarcasm, promptly halting Farleigh from flirting with the man to his immediate left - one of the Henrys closeted sons, no doubt. "That almost, nearly, just about sounded like a compliment!" You exclaim before leaning over beside him in a daring display of confidence. You place your hand tentatively on his thigh before whispering, "Am I going to have to use my rape whistle?"

Farleigh's scoff sends a string of lightning shooting down your spine.

"You're such a slut, I think you'd enjoy probably enjoy it." His breath is hot against your cheek and would be considered vile.

It should be vile.

Why can't you bring yourself to find Farleigh as vile?

With his elbows lowered underneath the table like a good little gentleman, Farleigh lets his fingers crawl tentatively over your thigh.

The games are on.

Your heart is beating at a million miles an hour with your mind reeling at not only Farleigh's large warm palm finding its home on your ample thigh but his words.

They are in complete contrast to everything you two have experienced together thus far on your stay in Saltburn.

As his fingers inch their way towards your inner thigh you're absolutely breathless. All you can think about is your escapade in the pool the evening before.

Both Catton siblings had been immersed in a very Catton argument, leaving you and Farleigh to your own devices on the banks of the stone pool.

With both your arms leaning over the ledge of the pool and Farleigh pressed to your side, no one could barely tell that Farleigh already had two digits dipped inside your weeping cunt. His hand moved slowly and deftly, so as not to cause too much of a stir in the water and give you two away. And he did it all while leaning his free hand out of the pool, cradling his copy of Jane Eyre with his eyes glued on the pages.

"F-Fuck Farleigh, can I cum?" He sighed at your agitated state.

"Not until I'm finished with Chapter 18." He mumbled almost distractedly, as if your needy voice was something akin to a pesky fly interrupting his reading.

Chapter 18, as you'd probably guessed, had never ended.

His cousins were back from their argument and his fingers left your cunt just as quickly. You had both went back to pretending to hate each other and you were left to 'rub one out' in the safety of your room like some hormonal teenager.

You truly are furious with him.

"What's this I'm hearing about a rape whistle?" Felix pipes up from the other side of Farleigh, equally dressed up all spiffy for the Henry's "You didn't rape anyone, did you?"

Farleigh's response is more of a hiss, "Of course I didn't-"

"Surely there must be more savory topics of discussion at the dinner table other than rape?" Comes the quick mediation of Elsbeth, who sits at the head of the table, clutching her string of expensive pearls as if they weilded the power to rid her of all these insolent little kids.

"Of course there is," you exclaim before turning your head to smile at the presence beside Ventia, nestled quietly in his seat like a little pauper.

Farleigh's manicured fingernails sink half moons into the skin of your thigh, peeking up from the slit of your dress as you lean away from him and say, "You must be Oliver! It's a relief to see another commoner around here." It was so undeniably petty to weaponize Farleigh's greatest foe, but the vexation of not being made to cum the night before still hangs heavily on your shoulder. And at the end of the day, you really just were a petty bitch.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ollie!" Slightly leaning over Venetia, the boy looks pale. As if he was biting down on his words. God, his tongue must be riddled in scars.

"Pleasure to meet you." Oliver cooly mirrors the warm and inviting smile stretched across your face.

"Don't lean over me," Venetia mumbles, "I'm not a child."

Meanwhile, Farleigh scoffs once again. While he injects himself in your conversation, his hands move swiftly to cup your vagina, nearly raking a gasp out of your throat in the process. "She won't sleep with you, mate." his brown eyes are trained on Oliver's. "She's a slut but not that big of a slut."

The extreme degradation laced in Farleigh's voice is enough to have you nearly moan out in front of all your friends, their family, and all the bloody Henrys.

Farleigh knew exactly which buttons to push to have you melting catastrophically against his fingers. He knew what words could have you slipping into subspace and he knew how to get your cunt weeping.

"Jesus Christ, could we not do this right now?" Venetia asks, staring pointedly at her cousin, and not at the sight of your legs parting to further accomdate his lazy rubbing against your cunt.

"I'm sorry, Cousin," Farleigh replies, "but it's not my fault your best friend is a raging bitch."

A breathless chuckle escapes your clenched teeth, "I-I'm not a-"

"Yeah, I am so completely done with this conversation," Venitia says, before strangling the stem of her wine glass and chugging it down as if it was nothing but water.

You turn back to hiss into Farleigh's ear, "You're such an a-asshole-"

"Say that again but don't sound like you're on the verge of squirting on my fingers in the middle of dinner." His grin is shadowed by the dimness of crystal chandlier and all the little candles posted along the table. "This is what you get for being a bitch," he says, socasually it makes you break your resolve by shifting in your seat, to better grind your cunt against his fingers, even for a mere second.

It's almost enough to make you cum right then and there.

"Oh-ho!" He aims a guffaw at the sky, "You really are a needy little slut-"

"This dress is shit," you suddenly push yourself out of your chair, creating the minimal noise of wood scraping against the floors. Most eyes are on you and Farleigh slyly removes his hands from in between your thigh. He leans over the table, bringing his fingers to his lips before spreading them over his gums like you would cocaine.

"I have to go change." You say to Venetia, before promptly (and very rudely) bowing out of the dinner.

A few seconds later, you hear Farleigh mumble something about needing a smoke and your heart rattles wildly in its cage. His footsteps are brisk behind yours, and you can feel his eyes sinking into your figure.

While your feet carry you to your destination and you let your brain catch on, you're already sneaking into Farleigh's room.

"Ah! Trespasser!" He exclaims excitedly behind you, with his hands stuffed in his pocket.

"You're so fucking annoying!" Your complains barely escape your throat before he's attacking you in a sloppy, open mouth kiss. He steals the air right out of your lungs, until he's breathing for the both of you. Farleigh slips out of his Abercrombie suit blazer, discarding the material as if it truly meant nothing to him.

His hands are everywhere, with special interests in your breasts compressed tightly by the uncomfortable stitching of your dress.

"This dress..." you mumble distractedly.

"Fuck this dress." He says, and you wholeheartedly agree. Perhaps it was desperate of you to turn in haste. Lifting the ends of your hair to present the zipper to him.

"You look fucking ravenous." He admits in a grave whisper, with his lips grazing the side of your neck, "I wanna fucking eat you." He says, "I wanna be inside you."

"You have such a dirty mouth, Farleigh," the groan that escapes his throat as he zips down your dress lets you know that you may have found your way in.

As the dress spills around your heeled feet, followed by your lacey underwear, Farleigh reattaches his full lips to the skin of your back. "What did you say?" His voice is like the rough gravel encircling Saltburn and you let your eyes roll to the back of your head as you arch backwards against him. His hardness presses against your ass and your fingers weave their way into his curls.

"I said youre a dirty boy, Farleigh." He ruts against you, almost as a second thought. "A dirty fucking boy,"

"Fuck," his hands dig into your hips, rubbing you against him. All as he pleases. "Fucking, fuck. I'm not gonna cum like this-" He says suddenly before spinning you back around.

It is few and sparse moments when you're reminded just how much taller Farleigh is than you and eventide it happens, the wind is knocked out of you. Farleigh advances on you like a literal predator until you're forced to fall backwards on his bed.

He barely undoes the bowtie, and only a few buttons go loose enough to showcase the beautiful expanse of his chest.

"You're absolutely soaked aren't you?" He asks, hovering on the bed above you.

"I need to cum, Farleigh, please-" You knew it was the only way to get what you wanted. You had unashamedly resorted to begging for a man who hooked his nails into your hair, forcing you to sit upright as he parted your legs.

"Look at you," he whispers before cackling maniacally. "You're so stupidly wet, you filthy fucking girl-"

"O-oh fuck, Fuck Farleigh," Your try by all means to grind your cunt into the mattress but is doesn't happen.

"When are you going to learn that I own your orgasms?" He whispers, with his other hand furiously undoing the belt of his fitted pants. "You don't cum until I say. You don't touch yourself until I say. You don't even fucking think about cumming until I say-"

"You're such a big little baby," you spit back, "A big needy, little b-"

You're once again pushed backwards and Farleigh's mounting you with his leaking cock locked tight in his fist.

You automatically lift your legs to present your cunt to him and he groans at the sight.

"I'm going to cum inside of you." He promises.

"I want you too."

Farleigh's eyes are heavy as he slides himself inside you. He looks down at you like you were the most precious thing in the world to him. A treasure trove.

"Fuck- I need you to carry on talking." Farleigh says before shutting his eyes tightly. "Fuck you feel so good-"

"You're doing so well, baby," his hips rut inside you, accidentally pushing his cock in way too deep, way too fast and you both hiss and moan. "Such a good boy," you say with your hair finding his own curls, "You're being such a good fucking boy, Farleigh-"

"Open your mouth," you comply robotically. Farleigh places his hands on the underside of your chin before tipping your head backwards. His chains dangle above you as you stick your tongue out and he spits directly into your mouth. "Such a slut," he says, "Such a filthy fucking good girl." His words have you grinding your cunt against his cock until soon, you're both on the precipice of cumming.

"F-Fuck-"

"Such a good girl," he whispers, with his breath ghosting yoir face and the sound of skin slapping against skin only grows louder and louder. "S-So fucking good-" He whispers over and over again until your cunt clenches around his cock, promting Farleigh's orgasm with a quickness.

His cum spilling inside you has you slipping unceremoniously into your own orgasm and Farleigh wails in both the pleasure of your cunt milking him dry, or your fingers still pulling his hair like crazy.

"Fuck!" He exclaims before slumping on the bed beside you, "Get your fingers out of my hair, you psycho-"

"You love it, though," there's a teasing lilt in your voice, and all Farleigh does is scoff before patting down the pockets of his pants.

"You give me endless reasons to smoke," he says, before tipping his head back, unknwongly leaning into your embrace as your fingers coil through his soft curls.

"You'd smoke anyway."

#saltburn #saltburn x reader #saltburn smut #saltburn x you #farleigh start #farleigh saltburn #farleigh start x reader #farleigh start smut #oliver quick x reader

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h0rnyauth0r · 1 year

Text

ghost wants to help teach you how to snipe! (but it turns into… something else)

i know i haven't posted in forever but i'm doing so much better so we'll see what happens <3

ALSO 1K??????? THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH AHHH

word count: 2.2k

tws: choking, unprotected sex, reader with vagina, pussy eating, cum eating, fingering, rough sex, cumming inside

you hate how cold it is on the rooftops, slow gusts of winds chilling your bones completely. you would normally complain, but with ghost being right next to you, you truly can’t. his large body blocks the majority of what should be hitting you, and you can’t help but feel giddy getting to spend time with him alone.

he gives off heat, thick layers of clothing doing nothing to stop the way his gloved fingers and muscular arms touch into you as you try adjusting the rifle appropriately. his eyes are looking you over to make sure your positioning is right; it’s not.

“you need to move some.” his voice is barely above a whisper, sending shivers down your spine as you turn your head slightly and only then realize just how close you are to him.

you gulp and nod your head, heat bubbling up in your tummy as you try to adjust yourself and the rifle once more. you can feel his eyes on your every part, silently judging how you just seemingly can’t do this right.

the darkness of the night is all that surrounds you, rifle aiming at some lit up targets prepared on base for you to use. you opt to fire with the newly adjusted position, but it’s no use.

the bullet whizzes into the very edge of the target, just scraping it. ghost sighs frustratedly, deciding to move closer to you so he can help (force) you into the right aiming position. you don’t expect his arms to wrap around you the way they do, causing you to jump a little as you’re moved around with ease.

once he stops, he’s speaking up. “try now.”

you nod, aiming down the sight and pulling the trigger. excitement courses through your veins when you notice the bullet hit the center of the target, a smile forming on your face.

“nice! did you see that?” you say, turning your head to him and immediately becoming hyper-aware of his face only inches away from your own. he nods, eyes staring down at you in a way that makes you feel a lot less cold than before.

it’s the sultry look that he always has that makes you break eye contact quickly, clearing your throat as you turn away from him and decide to take another shot.

following his prior movements of your body, you try once more to shoot and that’s when your confidence skyrockets. once again, a direct hit.

“yes!” you say happily, grinning and glancing over to the man. he nods at your work, opting to put a hand up for a high-five as opposed to using his words for the moment.

your eyebrows raise at such a random gesture, slapping his gloved hand gently and then move the gun over to the side of you. “did you want to practice at all?” you ask, swallowing harshly once you’re looking into his eyes again.

his eye contact remains so sharp in a way that sends spikes of heat in between your thighs, head shaking as he looks between your faltering smile and your bright eyes.

“i think we both know i don’t need it.”

you nod knowingly, almost feeling embarrassed. obviously he wouldn’t want to practice, he’s the best sniper on the base. you feel stupid for even asking, eyes wandering to the edge of the rooftop and looking around at the night sky.

the lights directly above the two of you make the view less visible, but it’s still beautiful nonetheless. you can’t help but wish you were able to stay out with ghost, that maybe this would be a date instead of him doing his job.

you decide to move around some to prepare to get up. “well, i suppose i should get going. i don’t want to take up anymore of your time.” you mumble.

as you move to get up, his hand stops you with a strength that has you wondering just what other parts of you he could move around so easily. you gasp out, looking to your side at him.

“stay.”

his eyes look pleading, emotions held in them that have you nearly melting into his touch. you immediately falter, getting back into the same prone position you were in before.

you don’t know what to say, so you say nothing. it’s like that for a while, silence between the two of you and the weight of unspoken words creating tension. you choose to take a glance at him, almost forgetting to breathe when you see the way he’s staring at you.

“it’s nice out tonight.” you’re embarrassed saying this, knowing it’s completely random to even mention how the weather is given the current circumstances.

he nods along though, which comforts you in some way. “better than normal.”

you sigh, shutting your eyes tightly. “why did you want me to stay out here?” you don’t want to pry, but it’s needed now. with the tension in the air and the crickets chirping away, your mind is left wandering.

one of his hands gently touch you, eyes pulling open from the pressure of his hand guiding you toward him. your body leans against him, his other hand snaking around your waist. you wait patiently for his words, but nothing is said.

instead, he’s adjusting your bodies so that you’re on top of his body, thighs on either side of his hips as you look down at him. the movement happened so quickly that you can’t think properly for a moment, just staring at him blankly.

your insides feel like they’re on fire from pure lust, face growing hotter from the feeling of a bulge pressing against your clothed pussy. you want to kiss him so badly right now, eyes desperately looking between his eyes and where his lips would be underneath his mask.

“please…” you whisper breathlessly, eyes fixated on that one spot. you unconsciously grind your hips against him, feeling his hands shoot to your hips where they dig in and he pushes up into you.

“fuck it.” he mumbles, hand flying up and pushing the mask up just enough so his lips are showing. you immediately lean down and press into his lips roughly, kissing him with every bit of passion you can muster.

your lips move against each other heatedly, one of his hands grabbing onto your neck to push you in more. you let out a whine when he starts grinding up into you more, the pressure absolutely soaking your panties and probably your pants, too.

the stimulation is just enough to have you gasping his name into his lips desperately, teeth clashing and wet sounds echoing in empty outside air. the hand on your hip is rubbing circles into it, making your body twitch as you push your hips down harder and harder.

he abruptly ends the kiss between the two of you, hands hurriedly pulling your jacket off before he hesitates to take off any more of your clothing. “will you get too cold?” he asks.

you nod, “it’d be best to leave my shirt on.” you mumble, trying your hardest to catch your breath. but he kisses you again, this time fumbling with your belt and then the button of your pants.

you stand up and quickly pull them off with your underwear in a rush, settling back down on him with your bare pussy resting against him. he reaches down and lightly presses his thumb against your clit, making you whimper out.

you kiss him again while he plays with your clit, eventually sliding down your slit and playing with your hole. his finger stretches you out and your teeth accidentally bite down on his lip as you gasp.

a second one pushes in as your lips leave his again, eyes looking down to where his fingers are thrusting into you and biting your bottom lip. your hips grind down and push him in deeper, eyes rolling back as you come closer and closer to your orgasm.

he slides his fingers back out though, looking you in the eyes as he slips them into his mouth and sucks gently. the sight has you moaning pathetically, a hand reaching down to palm his dick in his pants.

he grunts and pushes your hand away, quickly undoing his pants and pulling them down enough to free his cock. “are you sure you want this?” he asks.

you nod, hand reaching out and jerking his cock several times before lining it up and pushing just the tip in. you slowly sink down onto it, eyes clamping shut from the size and just how good he feels inside of you.

“fuck…” he groans softly when you clench around him, and you almost cum just from how sexy he looks. eyes glazed over, lips still revealed and puffy, and fists clenched roughly at his sides.

you start to move against him, grinding up and down on his cock as you reach out and grab onto his hands. he uses this to his advantage, pulling your body forward just a little as his hips start thrusting up into you quickly.

your mouth falls open, a mix between a gasp and a whine coming out of your mouth. “more…” you cry out, eyes widening when he pulls out of you. his body is moving yours around, your ass in the air as he adjusts himself to be behind you.

he slowly pushes himself into you from behind, fingernails digging into your ass as he bottoms out. the angle is much better than before, his hips slapping into your ass as he begins thrusting feverishly.

“so tight and pretty. and all mine.” he growls out, hand reaching around and gripping onto your throat as he fucks into you harder.

you can barely keep your eyes open, but you do when he leans your head back to look at your face while he thrusts. you can feel the pressure building up in you, a steady orgasm bubbling up from the pressure of his dick hitting every little spot that you know gets you going.

he squeezes your throat and you wheeze out, eyes rolling back and clit throbbing hard from the sensation. you can’t help but cry out loudly, even more so when his other hand moves from your ass to your clit to rub circles into it.

your whole body shakes as his movements quicken, his fingers pushing down on your little button as your orgasm hits you hard. you feel your thighs shake and you’re sputtering out incoherent words, a mix between his name and different curse words.

“that’s a good girl. so good for me.” he whispers in your ear, tears streaming down your face from the overstimulation and a content noise coming out from his praise.

he doesn’t stop after you come down from your high, hips never faltering but fingers leaving your clit after you try to squirm away from them. his hand remains tight around your throat, occasionally squeezing.

it’s not long after when you notice his hips sputtering and becoming more and more sloppy in movements, and eventually you can feel his cum fill you deeply. it’s leaking down your thighs, mixed with your own release and sweat as he finally pulls out.

you sigh out, exhausted but entirely satisfied. “that was amazing.”

he pushes your back into the ground, “i’m not finished with you yet.” his words are stern, and you let out a squeak when you feel his breath against your thighs.

he licks up your pussy, lips finding your clit and beginning to suck hard. you cry out, a hand slapping over your mouth to calm yourself as his tongue begins completely violating you.

his tongue runs along your clit in circles before moving back to your stretched entrance, sliding in and out of your hole before moving to your clit once more.

your orgasm approaches quicker since you’ve already cum once, a loud moan escaping your lips as you release against his tongue. he coaxes you through your orgasm, humming softly once he pulls back.

“you taste as good as you look.” he says shamelessly, and you don’t respond. your whole body is shaking beyond belief and you don’t think you can move anymore without falling over.

“i can’t move.” you say quietly, and he’s looking at you smugly as he pulls his mask back over the bottom half of his face.

he decides to help you put your clothes back on, hands gently taking care of everything and wiping your wet thighs down with a towel. “i can carry you.” he says, shrugging.

you shake your head quickly, “no! we’re not going to do that. it’d be so obvious we just fucked out here.” you disagree, arms crossing as you sit down criss cross on the floor.

he leans down to your ear, “you think they don’t already know, love? you were screaming my name. everyone here knows.” his voice is low and makes you shiver, your face going hot as you realize just how right he is.

needless to say, ghost carries to your room with knowing eyes glaring at the two of you the whole way there. but you really can’t care, knowing that this won’t be the last time it happens anyways.

taglist: @wwwurmomdotcom @kovieky @chibijusstuff

(send an ask/dm to be added or removed from my taglist!)

#ghost #ghost x reader smut #ghost smut #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod smut #cod #call of duty #call of duty smut #x reader #female reader #smut

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sordidmusings · 6 months

Text

Let Go and Grip Me Tighter

Moot request! Mihawk struggles with guilt from the nature of his fantasies about you and begins pulling away. You won't let that happen.

A/N: Omfg this one was cooking for awhile but it's finally ready. It starts with some angst (living without sex ed or resources on that causes Problems) but then there's like a lot of smut then a quick wind down with some aftercare! Has some “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails vibes 💀

Word Count: 9.3 k

Warnings: afab!reader, fem!reader, NSFW all over the place, dom!Mihawk, sub!reader, edging, overstimulation, spanking, praise, degradation, biting, marking, rough treatment, claiming, prone bone, missionary, creampie, manhandling, established relationship, Mihawk is very deeply in love with you and struggles with wanting to be a strict dom, he gets condescending 👌🏻, Mihawk orders you around, miscommunication angst up front

@fanaticsnail thank you for your patient encouragement 🙏🏻🖤 so much love for you

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

More than anything else, Mihawk was certain that the depths of his guilt were vast enough to have the breadth of the seas shrink to a mere droplet in their stead. He loves you so, so much, but his mind has been tormenting with thoughts he feels unforgivable. It started small; his fantasies of you started to latch onto that whiny, pathetic moan you’d let out when he grabbed you a bit too hard. He began to imagine himself purposefully digging his hands into you to leave bruises there, which then turned to smacking handprints into your skin. The thought of your ass red and bouncing with each hit had him cumming faster than he’d like to admit the first time it played behind his eyelids.

He began to get used to those ideas and started to get a little more… creative. What would your neck and shoulders look like littered in bruises and bite marks? Would your moans be as whiny and pathetic if he tied your hands and feet to the corners of the bed, leaving you with no option but to struggle and beg? Maybe he could just tie your hands behind your back and use his grip on the rope to pull you back to him harder on each thrust. Maybe he’d grab you and move you around as he liked, overpowering any attempts to move on your own and eating up the high-pitched whines from the force. He’d hold you down and fuck you until any unease became begging, and begging became “too much!”.

Mihawk felt a feral place in his heart burn every time he spit filthy words at you in his dreams. Tucked away in his nightly unconscious entanglements, he claimed you as his whore, his cocksleeve, his slutty little love. Many claims came and went but they were always possessive and you were always perfect, just as you were in his waking life. The heart that held such devoted and worshiping love for you ached at the idea of calling you such insults, but they set his cock aching just as greatly and he felt as if he was splitting in two.

How could he want to treat you in such a way? Mihawk loves you. He loves you and you love him and you always treat him with ceaseless care and support and he repays you by cumming to the thought of hurting you? Would you run from him if you found out? You knew the power he held; you’d helped him wash off the stains of those foolish enough to challenge him many times. Surely you would flee if you knew that the wielder of such power held ill intent towards you.

No - ill intent wasn’t right. He couldn’t hold ill intent towards you if he tried. So what was this then? He didn’t want to hurt you but he wanted you to enjoy being hurt by him. He wanted you at his whims as far as he could press before any real damage could happen. He wanted to come at you, teeth bared against your throat, and have you respond by offering your jugular. He wanted you to take pleasure in being moved and taken by his charge. That was it then - he wanted to own and control. To dominate. But how could he ask that of you if it required such beastly treatment?

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

Mihawk’s hands on you have felt different. Normally, you could feel their comforting weight resting on your body or their firm press, born of the need to keep you held tight. You are still held but more by the will of gravity than Mihawk himself. Laying half draped over his body, as you are now, is one of your favorite ways to end the day. The unfamiliarity of his hands, though, will not let you find rest. Where is the sweet indulgence of fingers threading through your hair and scratching gently at your scalp? Where is the healing service of kneading fingertips releasing you from the aches of the day? Where is the steadfast protection of the grounding hold anchored to your hip?

In place of these daily devotions are the hesitant, whispering touches of a man you’ve never known. Your Mihawk has always been sure in his movements. That was certain from the very first touch - a tender grip on your fingers and lips at your knuckles, then a quick flip of his wrist so that lips could move to warm the inside of your wrist. Your Mihawk doesn’t know how to falter. He can wait and assess and test but none of that encompasses the way he shifts to shy away from your seeking touch. It happens incredibly slowly to hide from your notice, but you need his touch too much to overlook its retreat. Your body and heart take to it like roots to water, always reached out and ready to soak in the vitality it brings.

You lay and continue to wonder fruitlessly at the nature of the trailing fingertips moving from your shoulder to your elbow. The endless circling thoughts are wearing at you, and you snuggle your cheek further into his chest for comfort. At the feeling of his meager caress stuttering in response, you resolve to find and fix the problem immediately.

Lifting your head up, you seek Mihawk’s gaze. His head remains tilted away and his eyes remain shut despite the fact that he can definitely feel you staring at him. After giving him a few moments to do it on his own, you bring a hand to his chin and guide him to face you. You delicately trace the lines of his facial hair, which look extra sharp in the shadows cast by the warm lamplight. He opens his honey yellow eyes and circles them all around your face. He meets your gaze last.

“You’re hiding from me.” You state it as what you know it is; a fact.

“I do not hide-”

“Yes, you do,” you interrupt. “Every time you’re afraid to talk about something, you live in that head of yours.” You shift your hand to cradle his jaw, brushing your thumb lovingly across his cheek. “But, you’ve never pulled your presence from me too. You know we always figure it out, love. What has you like this?”

Mihawk closes his eyes again. Your answer is kept somewhere behind those lids. You wait for it to appear, but it seems less likely to happen with each passing second.

“I miss you,” you whisper. The little warble that snuck into your voice twisted the pit in Mihawk’s chest. His eyes open to mirror the concern roiling in your own.

“I’m right here,” he says, finally using his hold to press your body into him. The gesture pleases you but not enough to distract you from the way his words weren’t reassuring; they were begging to be believed. You let him have some time to try and let his eyes speak to you when he could not. Deliberately deep and measured breaths set rhythm for the way his chest floats you like calm waves beneath a ship. Taking in his unspoken cues, you could only understand that he was putting in great effort to hold something back. The conflict you felt in him between the need to shield you and the need to comfort you set you on edge. What could he hold in himself that he thinks so catastrophic? What does he know that could cause you such harm?

“Mihawk, please,” you beg. Your plea works against you; his eyes and grip harden.

“No.” Mihawk maneuvers you off of himself and moves to get up. You chase right after him, trailing rumpled sheets behind you. He makes it two steps from your shared bed before you catch him, locking your arms around his waist. You burrow your face into the warm skin between his shoulder blades and press your body as close to him as you can, clinging desperately. He remains silent but his hands move to your wrists in warning.

“Don’t run from me,” you plead, throat tight to hold back the whimpers starting to build in your lungs. He’s never left you during an argument - he had said it’s because he couldn’t stand to leave you upset. This sudden change leaves you shaken, holding tight to him in the hope that he is still your greatest stability and comfort. He begins pulling your arms away. The distress you feel lets him.

Mihawk at least turns around to see the damage he has caused. You see his regret in wet eyes, bowed head, and caving shoulders. Contrition compels him to rub circles on the wrist he still holds and the affectionate gesture pulls the first tear from your eyes. He begins reaching to brush it away but instead pulls back, his hand curling into a fist at his side. In a quick burst of anger, you snatch that hand and push it to your face. You hold it there even after it opens to embrace your cheek, scared it’ll leave you again. Mihawk hates the tears wetting his thumb and the shakiness of your breath, feeling the weight of his guilt become unbearable in their stead. He shrinks into himself even further from the way your eyes have narrowed in accusation.

“Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me with your problems?” You bite out at him. He can no longer look at you, choosing to gaze unseeing at the floor instead.

“No,” he mumbles like a child facing the rage from authority.

“Then what is wrong?” You press, voice turning from vicious to exasperated. “Whatever it is, I’m here for you. I love you, Mihawk, that won’t change! And I can help-”

“No you can’t!” He roars, snapping his head back up to bare his teeth at you. “You can’t help me! Not with this.”

Wide wet eyes stare back at him, shaken of their fight. Your lips tremble around stuttering breaths and his own angry breath puffs out into the small space between you. They’re all you can hear while you try to process his anger and the way his fingers begin to sink onto your wrist and jaw like claws.

“I-I’m sorry,” you say, trying to get things back under control. “I shouldn’t have pressed so hard when you weren’t ready.” Mihawk scrunches his eyes shut and bears his teeth again.

“No. You don’t understand,” he starts. A deep breath flushes his whole body and rattles him on the way out. He’s staring right into you again. “I want to hurt you.”

Confusion strikes you before fear has a chance. “What?”

Both of Mihawk's hands are now cradling your face, and the pressure of his fingertips betrays the controlling nature of his hold. He steps in close so your bodies just barely brush and he looms his head and shoulders into your space. His golden eyes burn molten, looking down on you.

“I want to hurt you,” MIhawk repeats, beginning to stalk forward to force you backwards. “I want to grip you ‘til you bruise, bite and leave marks.” You simply listen and follow as he speaks and the relief of releasing his fantasies has the confessions rushing out of him. “I want to force you down and fuck you so hard you scream.” Your calves hit the bed and you sit down on it when his hands continue leading you back. Your easy compliance has his mind blurry and spinning, now beyond his own will.

“I want to control your breath.” One hand clamps down next to your neck, shoving you quickly onto your back. Mihawk’s thumb presses threateningly into the base of your throat, not enough to halt your breath but enough for your veins to pound back against it. “I want to bend you over and watch your flesh tremble and burn red while I strike you.” His knees spread your legs wide, before he lifts one knee onto the bed, forcing your leg up with him. “I want to tie you like a captive and fuck you while you’re bound and have to take it.” His other knee is on the bed, making your other leg open up for him too. He’s hovering over you, letting some of his weight bleed into the grip beside your neck before releasing it. The hand moves to dig into your upper arm. Mihawk crawls forward into the middle of the bed, using that grip and his shoving thighs to drag you with him. “I want to own and command you.”

You have never felt so small and exposed and it’s sending an addictive thrill through you. Your heart is pumping bubbling adrenaline through your veins, most of it moving to boil between your hips. Looking up at the fierceness of Mihawk is bringing back temptations you had locked away long ago. Your hands move to fist into your own shirt, too unsure to touch him but needing to hold onto something.

Despite his rough grip, the way Mihawk bends down to brush his forehead against yours is reverent. “I want you to let me touch you however I want, fuck you until I’ve had my fill, until neither of us can move.” His eyes close and his hold softens and his nose nudges yours. His breath is soft against your lips, smelling sweetly of the wine you shared over dessert. His voice loses its power and creaks with defeat. “I want to do so many awful things to you, but you’re my love - my life.”

You tilt your chin up to press a soft kiss against his lips. Mihawk stays still, simply letting you mold your lips to his, until his resolve breaks and he’s lunging forward to kiss you ravenously. He’s in immediate control of the kiss, needing to take everything he can from you while you’re still willing to love him. His hand moves to the side of your head, helping guide you to follow his frantic movements. You’re immediately lost in the heat of his touch and tongue, relieved to receive his affections again. Needing to feel more of him, you brush your thighs against his, your skin sliding easily against his silk sleep pants. When your thighs make it over his hips and you feel the muscles of his sides tickling the insides of your knees, you hook your legs around him. He fights you when you try to pull him down.

“Dear heart,” Mihawk manages to say between tasting you, “I should not.”

“You should,” you gasp back against his lips. Your kissing has grown to match his in hunger, filling him with joy and guilt. Another light squeeze of your legs fails to bring him down to you. This time he pulls away to look at you, eyes shining with conflict.

“I do not deserve-” You cut him off by using the strength of your legs to pull your hips up to meet his. The thin silk he wears does nothing to hide the shape and warmth of his hard cock. You earn a low moan from him when you grind against it. Trying not to fold to your temptations, Mihawk keeps on his hands and knees while you hang off of him.

“I want you,” you assert, “And you want me.” You grind along his whole length to emphasize your point. Your thighs burn with the effort, but the way his eyes flutter at the bliss makes it worth it. “And I-” you pause and swallow, stealing yourself. “I want all that too.”

“What?” Mihawk asks urgently. He grabs your chin, keeping you centered on him.

“I want all of that stuff too,” you say, letting yourself fall from him and back to the comfort of the mattress. He’s still staring at you with the unreadable, analytical face he usually saves for opponents, so you elaborate. “Your control. You own my heart, why not the rest of me?”

“And the harm?” he prompts bitterly. Not wanting him to pull away, you smooth your hands into his hair and massage at his scalp, trapping him to you in the gentlest way possible.

“That too,” you admit quietly. Your body flushes hot again, but this time with shame. “There were times when I would see your fierceness in battle and find myself more attracted than I should be. The first year we were together it was unbearable and I would fantasize about what it would be like to feel the force of your strength and will on me.” Mihawk’s breath halts and his face slackens. His hand releases your chin to brush fingertips across your cheek in awe. “I’d dream of you throwing me around, commanding me, punishing me. I got myself to stop over time because wanting something like that? I mean, there must be something wrong with me.”

“Never,” Mihawk growls. “You’re perfect.”

He descends on you and all you know of the world shrinks down to only Mihawk. Grasping hands rove over the both of you, pulling at hair and clothes and flesh. This time his hips are chasing yours, lighting your nerves on fire at the pressure of his grinds sinking your hips into the mattress. Your canting moans are muffled by his lips and tongue, but he hears them all the same and feasts on them greedily. One of his hands finds its home at the back of your head, fisted into your hair. You let out a high whine when he pulls back and holds you still.

“You will tell me if I do something you don’t like,” Mihawk commands. Unable to speak with the way the head of his dick is teasing your clit, you nod your head. “Words,” he growls, tightening his grip on your hair.

“Yes, my lord!” you answer, half gasping, half moaning. The pull on your hair relents and his fingers massage your scalp, soothing it.

“And you will tell me to stop if it becomes too much,” he continues, watching your face intently to make sure you’re truly hearing him and understanding what you’re agreeing to. He also needs to soak you in to make sure this is real, that you really want this. You focus in on the violent yellow of his eyes, taking in the seriousness and desperation you see in them.

“Yes, my lord,” you breathe out.

His lips cheat you of your next breath, but you don’t have the will to care. Everything of yours is his anyway. You’re just relaxing into the kiss when he’s pulling away to sit up.

“Get off the bed,” he orders. You only hesitate a moment before crawling your way to the foot of the bed and standing up from it. You turn to look at him for more direction, hands fiddling with the hem of your shirt while you wait. The way his eyes roam over you, assessing you, does little for your nerves; you feel like an unprepared student.

Mihawk turns and gets up from the side of the bed. He prowls over to you, taking his time to unsettle you further. The way his tall form slinks over to you treats you to a show of the shapes of his sloped muscles cutting lines across his body. His Adonis belt in particular catches your attention, on full display by the low rise of his pants. You shudder in anticipation when you follow those lines to the large bulge between them. It keeps your attention until he is stopped in front of you and you trail your gaze up to meet his neutral face. You know him well enough to notice the desire darkening his eyes. He leans his upper body forward, forcing you to crane your head back to maintain eye contact.

“Undress me.”

You fall to your knees, looking up at him while you sneak your fingers into his waistband. Slowly, you lower his pants down his thighs. You miss the way his cock bobs in front of your face when it’s freed, unable to look away from his eyes staring into your own. You let the pants fall when you reach his knees and place your hands on his warm thighs. Still looking to him, you begin smoothing your hands up his legs. Feeling emboldened by touching him, you look down to take in his length. While Mihawk may look unaffected, the truth shows in the flushed and leaking cock in front of you. A thick vein on the underside tempts you to lick it, but when you lean forward a punishing hand holds you by the hair.

“I didn’t give you permission,” Mihawk warns. The way you look up at him with big contrite eyes has his cock twitching but does nothing to change his resolve.

“I’m sorry, my lord.” You get no response except his hand petting down your head and gently cupping your cheek. He leaves you waiting a few breaths while his palm warms your cheek and your eyes soften his.

“Undress yourself.”

Your hands drift slowly from his hips to the hem of your shirt. In a smooth motion you lift it over your head, only losing eye contact when there’s fabric between the two of you, and lay it on the floor next to you. Your thumbs hook into your underwear, holding their position while you stand up to rid yourself of them. Despite your nudity, his eyes stick to your own.

“Back on the bed.”

Mihawk watches you while you crawl onto the mattress, enraptured by the way your ass sways back and forth as you move. The teasing peaks he gets of your pussy as you move test his resolve to take his time commanding you before he sinks into you. When you get to the head of the bed he notices you hesitate, staying still on hands and knees before peeking over your shoulder for direction. The way you look to him, pleading for guidance, has his heart pounding and his mind running feral. He reels it in with a slow breath.

“On your back. You need to be able to look at me for now.” You follow his command, ending up propped on your elbows with your bent legs acting as a barrier between you two. Mihawk has seen you naked almost daily for a handful of years, but you find yourself feeling shy and exposed. This is a deep fantasy finally coming to fruition for the both of you, and what if the real you doesn’t measure up?

“Spread yourself.” You shiver at the command, absolutely dripping from the hunger rumbling in his voice. You look down to your knees and falter, worrying at being completely exposed to his voracious gaze.

“Precious,” he calls, bringing your eyes back up to him. His face is still stern but there is a touch of gentleness in his voice when he softly prompts, “Go on.”

Choosing to focus on your most beloved yellow to ground yourself, you slowly spread your legs apart. They end up in a wide v, still propped bent with your feet planted in the soft sheets.

“Good girl,” he purrs. Mihawk takes his time admiring the curves of your spread legs before he can no longer keep his gaze from your exposed cunt. He admires those curves and lines too and is flooded with delicious memories of having his face stuffed there. Fresh heat washes from his chest to his cock, and he has to swallow from the way his mouth waters.

Your previous worries leave you when you see how Mihawk looks at you. He’s a man possessed, taken and corrupted in the face of immeasurable riches. You see the men of myth, who scheme and steal under the noses of angry gods, in his face. That look of his snaps up to your face and you turn into prey. You love the way it has you feeling so alive.

Mihawk finally makes his way over to you. He takes his time, letting you feel each shift in the mattress from the weight of his limbs. It gives you time to feel smaller and smaller as he overtakes you, overwhelming you as his broad shoulders get higher and higher over your body, enclosing you between him and the bed. Strong arms plant themselves on each side of your head, caging you into his dark gaze. His handsome face, haloed by dark curls, looks striking in the dim lamplight, his sharp features casting shadows across pale skin. You can’t resist the call to reach up and caress him.

“Did I say you could touch me yet?” Mihawk growls, snatching each of your hands from his face. The threat in his tone and the forceful grip squeezing your wrists has bright adrenalin bursting in your chest and tingling in your limbs. He presses your hands down in the sheets next to your hips and releases them as he tells you, “Lay on them.”

Hesitantly, you arch your back and clasp your hands together in the new gap. When you lower onto them, you scrunch your nose at the uncomfortable feeling of your knuckles rubbing into your spine. Mihawk notices and gives you a disapproving look. He places a spread hand on your stomach and presses down, making your knuckles and spine roll over each other. He keeps some pressure there; a reminder of your disobedience.

Your hands grip hard into each other when Mihawk finally lowers his hips flush to yours. The feeling of hot skin is such a relief to your frazzled nerves and pleading pussy. His dick fits perfectly within your folds, rubbing deliciously through them as he ruts against you. There’s no distracting pinch or catch; you’re wet enough to cover him and spread over any skin he touches. A shiver shakes up Mihawk’s spine at the feeling of you clenching around nothing against the base of his cock. He’s treated to the sweet sounds of your whimpers and moans, pulling especially delightful ones from you each time he angles to circle more firmly around your clit.

“Please, sir,” you whine, “I need you inside me.”

“Such a greedy whore,” Mihawk chides, tone so condescending it almost sounds bored. You whimper back to him, but he catches the way your hips twitch and press more firmly to him. He takes pity on you and gives in to his own needs to feel you around him.

Mihawk is big but it was never a problem because he enjoyed taking his time when pleasing you, so the prepping happened naturally by the time he was ready to make his way inside you. Today though, Mihawk finds himself overcome with the need to force you open when he shoves two fingers in and feels you clenching tight around them. He spreads those long fingers to press against your plush wet flesh and keeps pressing as he slides them back out. His fingers move to hold his cock, which is soaked from grinding into you and the precum he’d been uncontrollably leaking, and line him up with your entrance. He starts pushing into you immediately, groaning at how you clamp down tight in surprise.

The way your breath hiccups as he keeps inching his way into you has his mind spinning. He bites into his cheek to keep himself from bottoming out in one brutal thrust; he wants to feel every flutter and twitch of your cunt and body as they try to accommodate him. He needs you to feel every second of him taking ownership of your body, needs you to feel how much more powerful he is. Wet fingers dig into the meat of your hip as he tries to hold himself back. You feel the sweet mix of the smooth slide of every ridge on his cock playing at your nerves and the burn of your muscles stretching almost too far. You surrender fully to your trust in him, releasing all tension from your muscles and all thoughts from your head.

“Much better,” Mihawk breathes against your lips. He stares deep into your eyes and watches them become fully dilated and hazy. You stare right back and give him a lethargic smile for the praise. The rush of giving up control while he takes your body leaves your brain and body feeling like liquid. You almost move to touch him again, but his words are the only things still held in your mind.

Mihawk pulls back slowly, treasuring the way your body tries to suck him back in. You get halfway through an inhale before a quick thrust knocks all the air from your lungs. The satisfying clap of his hips on your ass ricochets through you. You get a chance to breathe when he stays deep in you and circles his hips to feel every inch and detail of your pulsing cunt. Overwhelmed, you whimper, “Mihawk-”

“Not my name,” he snaps. His hand flies up to your mouth and shoves two fingers in, pressing the taste of yourself into your tongue. You suck on them, looking up with apologetic eyes, hoping to placate him. It doesn’t work. “And to think I was giving you time to adjust.”

That’s all the warning you get before he sets a rough pace, each impact bouncing through your body, shaking your thighs, hips, and breasts. You shut your eyes against the onslaught, each nerve screaming its pleasure at you loudly. You feel unbearably full of Mihawk but also unable to feel enough of him. You need him in your hands, on your tongue, ringing in your ears, pulling you apart. The closest you can do now is tilt your hips up to feel him even deeper and offer more room for his hips to rub your skin at the end of each thrust.

When he feels your thighs squeeze tight to his waist, Mihawk falls to his elbows under the instinct to curl into you. With frenzied motions, he readjusts his forearms to be beside your chest, pressing your upper arms into your ribs. His hands clamp down on your shoulders, keeping you trapped against each pound of his thick cock into you. His claim on you flushes through your veins and seeps into your bones. Your mouth, now free, hangs open to pant and moan for him. His forehead presses to your temple so he can feel your breath deliver each sound directly to his ear, persuading him further and further from sanity. His lips hovering so close to you lets you hear his own harsh breath and hushed groans.

“My lord, sir, please,” you beg, needing more from him but too lost to say how. You know he’ll figure out what you need, he’ll take care of you, push you as far as you can go before you snap and become pure pleasure.

“Fuck, treasure,” Mihawk moans, hot breath tingling on your neck, “just be my good cocksleeve - lay there and take it.”

He switches his rhythm, starting to pull out slower to draw out his time in the grip of your cunt. Each push into you is still punishing, taking advantage of his curve to shove the head of his dick across your g spot. The steady hammering has pressure building between your hips quickly. “Sir -hah- I’m so -nngaaaah- ‘s so good I’m -hahnn- my lord -aah-” you continue babbling pleading nonsense to him, trying to let him know how close you are.

Mihawk can tell even without you senseless moaning; your thighs have begun to tremble and jump and you get impossibly tighter with each thrust and he’s sure he’s found heaven in your cunt. His face buries in your neck, sucking harshly at your delicate skin and savoring the light flavor of salt on his tongue. His teeth begin to come into play, worrying against little sections of your neck, mixing a sweet sting into the flurry of pleasure surging to your head. He feels you tip your hips away from him and wiggle in his grip, trying to hold off your orgasm so you can cum when he does and he hates it.

“Don’t run from me,” he snarls, snapping his right hand to grip the back of your neck. You obey immediately, but sob out at the overwhelming pressure pulsing behind your clit. The sound has Mihawk’s balls pulling tight and his cock pulsing but he’s chasing your orgasm, not his. He wants to feel the violence of it being forced out of you. His left hand moves down your back, fingers dug deep into muscle the whole way, and covers your clasped hands with his own. Mihawk licks up the side of your neck to nibble your earlobe. His tone is biting when he taunts, “Cumming already little whore?” and you’re gone.

He manages to keep his pace through your orgasm, each press of his cock making another wave of bliss crash through you. High moans knock from you in time with his hips, but you're deaf to them from the buzzing between your ears. His cock twitches hard in the threat of release, and he bites down meanly into the meat of your shoulder to muscle his way through it. The feeling of you trapped beneath him, legs clinging to him in desperation while you cum is better than any of his fantasies have granted. Through your settling fog, you feel deep moans vibrating into your shoulder through Mihawk’s teeth.

“Thank you, sir,” you rasp, “feels so good.” Teeth release from your shoulder and thrusts become circling grinds.

“Ah but you were supposed to be making me feel good, weren’t you?” Mihawk chides. He licks his burning hot tongue over his bite mark, pleased with how deep the indents are.

“Sorry, my lord,” you whine pathetically, “I couldn’t -hahn- couldn’t help myself.”

Mihawk turns to nip at your jaw before hovering his face above yours. His piercing eyes narrow down at you as he mocks, “Oh, poor you.”

He’s detaching from you, getting up onto hands and knees, leaving you empty. Your eyes widen in panic and you almost reach for him. Instead, all you can do is whimper at him while he pulls your legs from around his waist and hope your sad eyes will entice him back. Mihawk takes them in with a twinge of remorse, but mostly they send arousal shooting through him. At first, he thought of rewarding you for keeping your hands still and letting your legs go limp while he maneuvered them, but he wanted to push you more first.

“Flip over. Chest down, ass up.”

You blink twice to process his words then get to work. Your movements are sluggish and sloppy, your muscles still recovering from your orgasm. Seeing how weak you’ve become from his touch has Mihawk resisting the urge to surge at you again. The sway of your movements causes your ass to wag in front of him and he’s glad you can’t see the way his jaw slackens at the sight. You look divine - no, more like sin incarnate. Your lax muscles cause your upper body to sag fully into the bed, making your ass arch obscenely high in the air. Your tired face is buried in your arms and the sheets. The display has his mouth watering and he can hardly tear his eyes away from your glistening pussy peeking out between your thighs.

“So perfect,” Mihawk purrs, reaching a hand out to touch you. You jump slightly at the first touch then relax into it, humming appreciatively. He massages his thumbs into the curve where your ass meets your thighs. When you ease into that touch, gently swaying with the oscillating pressure, he slides his large palms onto your skin. For a short while, he simply takes greedy handfuls of you, switching and shifting his grip so that every bit of your ass and hips have been squeezed. Your lax body continues to follow his hands as his lovely marionette.

“Since you’ve forgotten the one reason you’re in my bed, I’ll have to take my pleasure from your punishment instead,” Mihawk drawls. He wastes no time delivering the first smack onto the thickest part of your ass. You jolt with it even though it was barely a fraction of his strength, just barely enough to sting. The warmth of his palm settling over the sparking skin soothes any hurt into pleasant tingles. You’re beginning to mourn the fading of the feeling when his opposite hand strikes your other cheek just as hard. This time you gasp and arch your ass higher, forcing Mihawk to take a deep breath to keep his steady pace.

“Careful now or I might think you’re enjoying this,” Mihawk chastises. Beneath his flat tone, he’s positively bursting with excitement. He had worried that you only thought you would be okay with this, but you’re leaning your hips towards him just as eagerly as you do the days he spends hours unraveling you on his face, fingers, and cock. There’s a buzz settling under his skin that’s making every touch feel so sharply in focus. You let out a slightly embarrassed wine, but continue to display yourself to him shamelessly, begging for more.

A harsher smack stings your right cheek, sending ripples down your leg and up your side. You shiver at the burst of brilliant sensation. In anticipation for the next one, you shorten your breath, feeling on edge that you have no clue when it’s coming. The air of the room is electric as it brushes against the goosebumps on your body, vibrating with threat and promise. A breath too long passes with the hand gone and you tense up, immediately receiving a strike to the left in response. It rattles through your bones more with the tensed muscle, knocking the air from you in a loud moan. Your already burning flesh is struck over again, tripling the number of pin pricks you can feel dancing under his hand. You moan, “Sir!”

“Is that all you can take, precious?” Mihawk’s tone is just a touch gentler. He’s smoothing his palms over your marked skin, unable to stop his need to keep touching you. Staring down dark eyed at the first budding handprint, he desperately hopes you’ll let him make more. He’s barely got himself held back as it is now that he knows that sting on his palm, the sight of your ass shaking, the sharp clapping sound, your gasps and moans, the rush of absolute control. His breath is shaking with the need to overwhelm you and fill himself with as much of you as he can shove in his nerves.

“No,” you promise. You shuffle your knees just an inch closer to your chest and give an enticing wiggle of your hips. “More, please, my lord.”

“Good whore,” Mihawk groans. His hand digs into the flesh of your left hip and his right delivers two sharp slaps, each punctuated by a moan from you. You feel the hits fizzle in your skin and echo in a wanting burn rolling through your cunt. Your used pussy already felt swollen but now that’s amplified by bright pounding, feeling like your heart has fled your chest to beat between your legs. A thumb digs and swirls into the center of the bubbling handprint on your skin before disappearing again. You expect another hit, but instead you feel two thick fingers slipping through your entrance, causing you to moan long in relief. You greet them by eagerly pressing your hips backwards, trying to get his fingers to sink in deeper. Mihawk stops at the last knuckle and offers you two indulgent grinds of his hand before it rests still.

“Pleeeease,” you whine. Mihawk responds by adding another handprint to your ass, this time on the left side. His mind is swirling with the sound of your eager squeal, but he’s truly lost at the feeling wrapped around his fingers. He can feel the power of his own hit through you but it is the strong pulsing of your cunt that really makes his hips jerk with want. Mihawk presses his fingers down towards your belly button, seeking the way your pussy trembles with each successive spank. His punishing hand and your body’s spasms have his fingers hooked and twitching over your g-spot and you can feel another climax start to build with each throb of your clit.

“You were made for me weren’t you, treasure?” Mihawk asks, voice tight with desire. Time and time again, his mind has played out the dream of you under him like this but it never could have prepared him for the rush of you getting off to it just as badly. Seeing you become a needy wreck for his strength and will has his heart pounding and cock aching near painfully. He wets his lips and swallows, barely holding back from replacing his fingers with his tongue to taste just how sweetly you’re dripping for him.

You cry out when his fingers leave you, earning a lighter smack to your hip in warning. You claw into the sheets in frustration but aren’t left wanting for long; fingers reenter you and your neglected right side gets groped. His hand massages deep, helping you loosen up again and enjoy the feeling of his fingers on both hands digging into you. Mihawk marvels at the sheen on your flesh where his fingers smeared the wetness from your leaking cunt. He can’t help but leave a harsh strike right on top of the wet patch. With the encouragement of your panting and moaning and writhing, he continues on, making you feel boiling hot and boneless.

At this point you’ve begun grinding back on his fingers, fucking yourself back onto them shallowly, afraid that anything more obvious would have him pull them out for good this time. That fear is more instinct at this point than an actual thought; your mind feels like soup and you only know how to feel and react. It’s becoming clear to Mihawk from the way your voice strains higher and your body squeezes down on him that you’ve got a strong climax building in your core. All you can recognize is more and more pressure gripping through your hips and more and more delicious friction earned with each curl back on his fingers.

Suddenly, that friction is gone.

“Nooooooo, no si-hah-irrrr,” you sob. You’re set adrift with the coil tightening in you beginning to unwind. There’s a hand holding each hip but it’s not stabilizing you at all.

“Be good for me, precious,” Mihawk warns, removing his left hand to tap his finger above your clit. It sends unhelpful jolts through your skin, teasing the nerves you need him to smother.

“I’ll be good, sir, promise, promise,” you cry. The way you move and arch your ass in an attempt to earn his touch back is obscene and has Mihawk's hand planting bruises into your hip. You twist your neck to show him one teary eye over your shoulder. “I’m yours, my lord, pleeeeeease. I’ll do anything!”

“Anything?” he presses. His voice is just above a whisper, unwilling to interrupt any of the gasps and whines coming from you. You nod fervently. “Then don’t cum.”

Three fingers shove into you, slightly curled and thrusting with the force you’ve been begging for. The wet sounds from each dive of his fingers fill the air between your pants and moans. Mihawk’s arm hooks around your right thigh so he can start steady swirls of his fingers over your clit, timing them perfectly with the thrusts from his other hand. He tries to resist the urge to bend even closer to you, but he’s helpless to the pull. You feel the thick hair on his jaw brush over your right hip. The loving caress is soon replaced by warm lips and nipping teeth, adding even more sparks to the fire he’s tending in you.

It’s feeling more impossible by the second to obey Mihawk. The muscles in your legs want to curl and lock up and your hips are shaking against Mihawk’s hold. You’re open mouthed and pleading, not quite sure what words are actually coming out, just sure that you have no ability to keep any of them in. Your hands are clawing into the mattress, hoping to find some purchase to center yourself. The rhythmic bursts of pleasure that Mihawk is diligently working from you are so strong you’re not quite sure if you’ve tipped into cumming yet except there’s been no promised snap.

Mihawk is unmeasured in the way he bites and sucks at your flesh, but his hands are another story. He knows your body - has studied your reactions for years - and uses that to slow and lighten just enough each time a wave of pressure around his fingers gets a little too strong or your writhing stills to a tremble half a second too long. Instead of pulling you back or pushing you forward, he keeps you exactly at the edge of climax where he can actually test your will. He’s hard set on knowing how hard you’re going to try to obey him, the thought and sight of your struggle for him filling him with addicting arousal.

Your will over your body is just about to give out so you snap your teeth into the meat of your thumb to pull some attention away from the bliss of Mihawk’s touch. His attention goes up to see the bite when he hears the pitiful moan sneaking past your clenched teeth. He moans deeply at the site. “You’re being so good for me, fuck.” He presses his cheek hard into the burning handprints on your ass and unconsciously mimics the grinding of your hips with his own, finding no relief for himself. One more uptick in force and speed into your plush swollen pussy has you jerking. With digging teeth and a yelling moan into your hand, you manage to hold back against the raging tide of your orgasm.

Mihawk pulls from you and you collapse against the bed, taking in gasping breaths. You’re jostled as Mihawk shifts around quickly, moving to cover you. His breath is loud behind you as he settles there, legs stretched out between your and upper body help up only on his left elbow. That hand has shoved under you to flip around and grip your shoulder tight. His right hand anchors on your hip, guiding you back against his starved grinding.

“You did so well for me, my little whore,” Mihawk breathes into your ear. He nibbles at it before moving down to suck more red marks into your neck and shoulder. The slick way his cock glides through your folds has him burn with satisfaction. He made this pathetic mess of you. Having you soaking for him was no rarity, but the whiny mindlessness, the complete take over by your needy instincts, that was new and only had his need to tear into you grow stronger. He rumbles into your shoulder, “My perfect precious cunt, cum as much as you want.”

Mihawk is guiding himself into you and you shoot right back to being so close after only a few thrusts. You manage to slide your legs a little wider apart across the bed despite his heavy body, packed with muscle, pinning you under him.. It lets his balls tap at your clit with each thrust and just a handful more have a violent orgasm tearing through you. You cry out your bliss every moment you aren’t simply gasping and feel the muscles all the way up your core join the squeeze of your cunt, making the bright ball of pleasure feel like it’s reaching just as high. Your whole body is ringing with the echoes of it, everything feeling so overwhelmingly good.

Mihawk’s hips stutter for only a second before he’s continuing his ruthless pace. His body and mind are flooded with you and he folds to the torrent. A ravenous “more” is mumbled against your skin, barely reaching you through the whiteout in your head. His left hand shoots down to help keep your hips tilted and steady, leaving the weight of his chest to push you deeper into the bed. You’re completely smothered in him, his sweat damp skin pressing and sliding over yours. Unable to fully inhale under his resting bulk, your world gets a little fuzzier. There’s not a single part of you that cares; you feel trapped and controlled and protected and desired. You feel truly wanted and owned, being fucked into the matress under Mihawk while he holds you like a lifeline, sinks teeth into your shoulder, and speaks dark praises to you. When you come back to yourself more fully, having long been suspended somewhere between the crest of your orgasm and settled pleasure, you make little attempts to please Mihawk more. He notices the little turns and grinds of your hips and rewards you by slithering a hand under you to begin petting circles over your clit.

“You feel delicious, precious, you’re so fucking good, held out for me so long.” Mihawk’s voice is a moan and growl and sigh, sounding more untethered than you’d ever heard him. “Need to feel you forever -nnnnnghh- give me more.” The last word is all snarl and he’s shoving his face harder into the crook of your neck, sinking teeth back into your skin.

You aren’t sure if you have more to give him but still try, unquestioningly following his will. You don’t think you’ll need to try for long; both of you are wound precariously tight. Mihawk has lost his will to pull from you, so he moves against you in strong deep grinds. You’ve never felt closer; every sense is filled with Mihawk, every breath, every thought, every piece of you. It feels like he’s fucking you deeper than he’s ever reached, teasing your cervix with his thick tip, pulling you apart as if he’s somehow gotten bigger from the way your muscles have tightened around him. Mihawk feels the telltale buzz of his end flash through his nerves. Desperate, he bites out one more order, “You’re mine. Say it.”

You find the breath to chant, “I’m yours, I’m yours, yours-”

One arm shoves upwards, trapped tight between your breasts and crushing you back into him. He groans out, “Fuck, precious,” before his hips jerk and his cock is pulsing in you. His forehead presses to the side of your head and he’s moaning right into your ear. Fingers twitch against your clit and you feel his hot cum pumping into you and his arms cage you right to him and the friction of it all sends you right into another climax. This one is just as overwhelming as the last but sits in your body more smoothly. It’s a satisfied heat radiating through your muscles, rolling through you instead of jerking. You fall limp under the force of it, left to lay prone and take in every second of your body clutching and reshaping to Mihawk. He guides you both through it with the slow grind of his hips and the points of clarity where his hands grasp you.

“There you go, love, you are divine,” Mihawk praises quietly, as the aftershocks begin to settle out of you both. He gets his arms under him to lift some of his weight off of you and allow you to breathe deeply. He noses at your cheek, peppering you with kisses. You come back to your body slowly as he moves his kisses over the tender skin of your neck and shoulder. Testing the feeling, you open and close your hands, releasing the scrunched sheets. They feel inflated and clumsy, but it will do. Your right hand searches behind your head and quickly finds its way into Mihawk’s soft hair. You scratch lightly at his scalp while your other hand slides across the sheet to find his. Before you manage it, he puts his hand over your own, entwining your fingers in a comfortable hold. Mihawk rests his head behind yours, taking some time to breathe and bask in your touch. He decorates the passing moments with gentle praises, content sighs, and brushing thumbs.

Eventually, he gains the will to pull away from you to prep you both for bed. The moan you give him when he starts to pull away is endearingly grumpy like a spoiled pet roused from a nap. He’s just standing up when he notices your weak and begrudging attempts to get up and follow him.

“Stay down - you’re shaking like a newborn fawn.” The light insult is softened by a loving kiss to your temple. You’re more than used to his dry tone and direct comments anyway, knowing something like that had no cruel intent and that’s simply how he talked. That didn’t stop you from pretending to be a bit upset from time to time for apology affection. You’re pretty certain he was onto you. You were also pretty sure he enjoyed playing along.

You float thoughtlessly in your body, feeling like you’re napping pleasantly without going under. You startle when a hand lands on your shoulder. It’s hot and damp and you understand why when a soft cloth begins washing over your skin. Continuing your heavy-bodied haze, you lay there and let Mihawk wipe over your whole body, only moving to the patient prompts of his hands nudging and turning you. You wince when he works over your ass and pelvis, earning extra affectionate words and touches. You’re on your back, peeking up blearily at him through heavy eyelids, when he finishes up.

“Bathroom?” he prompts and you hum a lazy affirmative. You’re carried like a princess to and from the short stop and are thankful there’s no longer anything to keep you from or possibly interrupt your coming slumber. When you’re placed back onto the bed, Mihawk follows you with the sheets and comforter in tow. With practiced ease, you cocoon together in the bedding. On nights like this, where Mihawk has extra need to feel like he’s surrounding you, he pulls your back flush to his front and curls around you. His skin feels soft on the many places you’re molded together, but you notice it most while you both shift your legs to intertwine.

“Dove?” Mihawk calls, wanting to know you can still hear him. You hum and snuggle your cheek further into his bicep. “I love you,” he whispers into your hair, punctuating the declaration with a lingering kiss.

“Love you, too,” you promise, adding one last gentle squeeze to your hold on his arm.

Tomorrow he would wake you with gentle kisses and caressing hands. Your favorite morning drink would be ready for you to sip on while leaned back against his chest, enjoying the way he massages the soreness from your thighs. A bath with your favorite salts would await your tired body. Mihawk would sit with you and feed you both fruits and sweet bread. Once the candles saturate the air, he would set about cleaning you head to toe. He would gently tend each bruise and bite mark, murmuring his gratitude and devotion. Each act of loving worship would be a balm to you both, affirming that connecting to and caring for each other is both your greatest want and deepest need. For now, you settle into each other for some much needed rest.

#mihawk x reader #opla mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk #opla mihawk #one piece smut #thirst hours #my writing #mihawk x you #mihawk x y/n #x reader smut #one piece #opla #afab reader #mihawk smut #fem reader #x reader

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kishibei · 1 year

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LICK BACK

leon s kennedy x reader | smut, 18+ | >1k words

summary: back in your RPD training days, rookie leon was just too easy to pick on. now that he's all grown up, leon is dead set on getting his lick back in the way he thinks best: finally getting the chance to fuck you.

cont: f! reader, morally grey (?) leon, revenge plot, light degradation, choking, manhandling, rough sex.

just having turned twenty-one, the bright-eyed and blushy virgin who you thought had no real understanding of how the world worked, was just the perfect target for your teasing.

but running into leon who's all grown up now is such a trip. he's changed much more than he'll ever know, a seasoned expert at practically everything. you can tell he’s witnessed unspeakable horrors; everyone has, but his weary expression betrays that fact more than anything else, the perpetual downturn of his lips telling his entire story.

and despite everything leon's been through, he's still hung up over the little things; running through almost every single time you poked fun at him back in RPD, eyeing you from above with a steely gaze. he speaks slowly, making sure you hear it all from him, just a small reminder in case you'd forgotten all these years later.

you laugh awkwardly as he brings it up, fiddling with your hands before looking up at him with a timid smile. he was such a loser then, practically begging for the chance to be with you. but as he stands here now, you can't help but to notice exactly how much he's grown. that scrawny little frame you remember all too well had matured so well into this leviathan of a man, the very mountain of muscle and bone that towered over you.

he knows you find him attractive, it's evident in the way you shift your weight from one foot to the other, how you flutter those pretty lashes, and lean in real close when he talks, pretending you can't hear what he’s saying.

he smiles a bit crookedly now, and when you part those perfect glossy lips to speak, he can't think of anything else but slamming his cock down your throat, making you eat every last one of your mean words to him.

leon knows he should forgive you, really… you were so much younger then, unaware how deep the teasing had actually gone for him.

yet still, all leon wants to do is settle the score, to get his lick back for all the torment you put him through. he thinks for a moment, a quizzical expression flashing on his face for a moment. what better way to exact his little plot of revenge than by getting exactly what you'd been denying him of for years?

he's been waiting for this chance for ages, ever since the day he laid eyes on you at base. this was his opportunity; the opportunity to finally fuck you.

engaging in this conversation is all part of his newfound game, and when he’s finally got you split open on his cock, he knows he’s won.

...

"fuck, leon! 's too much!" you cry out, the words leaving your lips in the whiniest manner.

it's almost pathetic really— the way fat tears start to well in your eyes, just threatening to spill as leon pumps into you. he's got you folded in on yourself on this shitty mattress; long gone flat with springs exposed, stained with grime and the remains of other unidentifiable fluids.

it's so dirty, almost filthier than the way leon's fucking you now; pressing your legs so far into yourself that your knees practically muff your ears, just barely lowering the sounds of his slamming back into that sloppy cunt.

leon's pace is unrelenting, and when you look up at him there's something dark clouding his gaze; like this means more to him than you think it does. you can't help but to think it's the result of all your bullying back then, and you know you're not too far off when he grabs your neck, squeezing at your throat like a man gone mad.

your eyes roll into the back of your head, panting and whining as he fucks you like this, but soon your vision grows hazy and a certain panic starts to settle in your bones.

"leon... lee!" you strain, voice coming out a small whisper as you begin to claw at his hands, trying to pry his fingers off of you.

he's so much stronger than you, always has been— even back when you would push him around during training, you knew it better than anyone. and here he was: the same wimpy little leon, using that very strength against you, closing around your esophagus while he fucks you into oblivion.

you're gonna die, you think— no, you know. you've convinced yourself of it when you stop scratching at his fingers, just moaning wantonly as tears roll down your cheeks. he leans down to press a kiss against your ear, releasing you for just a second before he's back at your neck.

"stupid, ungrateful, bitch..." he seethes, spitting the words at you like venom as he drags his cock out of you, only to ram it back in again and again.

the words are mean— hurting just a little worse than the bruises you know are forming under his fingertips. but your body betrays you, that messy cunt just clamping down on him as he whispers those cruel words over and over.

"stop! just stop, leon!" you babble, gasping for air as he let's go of you for another moment, bringing his lips down to kiss all over the bruises he's just made. leon's eyes flick up to yours, a wicked grin taking over his features.

"you don't mean that, y'know you don't..."

he's right, more than that.

so you let him fuck you, whispering obscenities far worse than the one's you've called him all that time ago as you cry and wail for him, overcome with equal parts pain and pleasure.

"lee... leon, i can't!" you whimper, fingernails clawing at his back as you tense up, legs shaking while you hold onto him tightly.

"yes, you can... you're fine." he sighs.

his response is surprisingly reassuring, and the way he strokes your cheek as it leaves him causes the tight coil in the pit of your stomach to snap, making you spasm beneath him with weak cries of pleasure.

"see? there you go..." he cooes, looking down at you with a softer gaze now. "feels good when you aren't fighting, doesn't it?"

you cant say much, just whining as he delivers his last few strokes with a grunt, filling you to the brim with thick, hot spurts of cum.

"shit..." leon pants.

"isn't this the part where you tell me you're sorry?"

6K notes · View notes

inkykeiji · 7 days

Text

⋆₊˚⊹♡ alastor + asking to ride him

character: alastor warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, fem!reader, heavy pet/master dynamic, use of Master and Sir, toxic relationship (alastor is mean!), overstimulation, dacryphilia, use of pet as a term of endearment and degradation, minimal prep words: 3.4k

notes: whew!!! this ended up being waaay longer than intended ehehe but!! once again exploring riding alastor and all of the fun that comes along with it. pls enjoy and as always heed the warnings!

It’s late when you appear in the threshold of his bedroom door, lip caught unsurely between your teeth and gaze veiled by thick lashes. Sock-clad toes overlap, toes wiggling unsurely as your fingers twist into a knot in front of your body.

He sits across the room in one of his plush armchairs, legs crossed and attention focused on the book in his hands, casting you a single, second long disinterested glance as he asks, what is it, sweetheart?

“Can I—Can I ride your cock?”

Crimson eyes flick up from the pages, interest piqued, steadily holding your stare over the edge of the novel. Your features twist in a cute little wince, eyes squinting against the intensity of his gaze, but you don’t dare to look away, baring yourself to him.

His scrutiny burns, tears your skin from your bones and gouges your eyes from your skull, pries apart your ribs one by one and rips into muscle, ravenous to reach your core.

And all the while you let him, quivering form standing vulnerable and raw in front of him, offering to him, as his unblinking stare combs over your entire body—from the top of your head to the tip of your toes, unhurried and invasive, climbing back up to reach your face, eyes lidded with indifference.

Finally, he shrugs a shoulder, muttering out a nonchalant, “Hm. I suppose so,” through a contradicting slimy smile.

But when you scamper over to him, so cute, so eager, so fucking pathetic, ready to straddle his lap, he informs you that you’ll have to do all of the work on your own.

You’re the one who wants it, after all. Why should he have to put in any of the effort?

You suppose he has a point. Either way, it makes no difference to you, dropping to your knees the very instant he informs you, body wedged between his spread legs as dainty fingers creep up his thighs, muscles tensing with the ghost of a shiver as your touch skims over them.

They don’t undo his pants—they don’t even make it to the fucking zipper, opting to cup his soft cock in one palm and his balls in the other, rolling and rubbing in a gentle circular motion.

And his legs spread infinitesimally wider.

An invitation, a silent urge to keep going.

So you do, like the obedient little pet girlfriend you are, watching with glazed eyes and gaping pupils as his cock fills with blood beneath your teasing touch, twitching to life, hot and hard in your little hands.

Grinding the heel of your hand into it, it jerks in response, a playful little giggle dripping from your lips, two fingers stroking the shaft, then pressing slow, hard circles into the head.

And, oh, aren’t you just fucking precious, nuzzling your cheek into it adoringly, breathing out a devoted oh, Master, so airy and melting on your tongue, dense and hot and soaking through his trousers.

“Fuck,” he pants out, the curse nothing more than a wispy murmur.

Looking up at him, you run your tongue over the head in hard, slow laves, dragging the slick muscle along his straining cock, the flames from the fireplace flickering in your bleary eyes, licking at desirous pupils.

The cotton is rough against your tongue, abrading your sensitive tastebuds and leaving tingles in their place, but you don’t care, administering heavy rhythmic licks along his shaft, long and languid.

His cock throbs under your lapping, another one of those silent persuasions, and you nestle into it again, your own nonverbal response, rubbing the tip of your nose into the slit and smearing a dewy drop of pre-cum across your skin. Another dollop oozes through his trousers, pearly and glittering, eager to replace what’s been lost.

The garnish incentivizes you, entices you, and you press an open-mouthed kiss to the yearning head, lips curling around it in a warm, damp embrace, and then sucking slightly, siphoning another drop of that sticky salt to seep onto the slick muscle.

It’s delicious, his essence, so acrid it stings your sensitive skin, copper and decay painting over your tastebuds in thick streaks, each rub depositing another ropy line.

A moan vibrates around the head, and your tongue glides over it firm and fast, desperate to encourage more of the bitter substance, eager for another taste of his seed. Your lips pucker as the force of your suction increases, slicked and glittering with your own sick drool, viscous and pooling at the corners of your mouth to trickle down your chin, tinted slightly milky.

“Hungry, are we?”

Another sound of obscenity gurgles past your lips, head nodding in messy strokes, as if you’re drunk off merely a few drops of pre-cum.

“Maybe you don’t need to ride Master after all.”

Your motions freeze, the haze his taste had cast over your brain instantly eradicated, tongue mid-lick as your lidded gaze drifts back to his, wide and terrified.

An eyebrow quirks, the smug arrogance smeared across his face stretching, daring you to retaliate.

“N-No,” you mumble against him, body starting to tremble between his knees, fingers scrabbling against his thighs. “No, Sir, please, I—I want it—”

A heavy palm smooths over your hair, thumb caressing the crown of your head in a manner that feels almost condescending before thin fingers tangle in your strands, hard, yanking and pulling your face up, dense strings of saliva slapping against your chin.

“You have it,” he says, a gleeful malice glinting in his irises, smile spreading wider to reveal razored teeth. “You just want more.”

Shifting his hips up in a small jerking thrust, he nudges your chin with his clothed cock, cotton soaked all the way through with your spit, a smudge of pre-cum shimmering at the tip.

“Do you think you could get off on just this? Sucking me off through my pants like some desperate little bitch?”

You could, you’re nodding, nose twitching as you swallow the sob clawing at your throat. You could, but you really don’t want to.

“Yes, but—I want to ride it so bad, Master—Need to feel it inside of me, Master, need your thick cock fill—filling me up!” you hiccup on a sob, pleading. “Please, let me ride it, Master. I need—need—”

“Need, huh? Is that so?” he hums. “I’m not entirely convinced. You seem quite content with simply suckling on it through my pants, swallowing mere drops of pre-cum,” he tilts his head in mock thought, eyes glittering, “but I guess it doesn’t take too much to satisfy a whore like you.”

And it’s true, you do seem content with such scant amounts, keenly siphoning another dewy drop of precursory pleasure onto your tongue, rolling the drenched muscle over his cockhead slow and purposeful, a soft moan vibrating in your throat as it pulses beneath your mouth again, dribbling more syrup.

“No, no, Sir—Master—please, let me ride it!”

Oh, how pathetically precious you are, gazing up at him with glazed eyes, tears perilously balancing along your lash line, fat droplets of crystal clinging stubbornly to pretty black wisps—one single blink would send them cascading down.

Alastor’s brows raise. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t be content with just this?”

Sharp glints of sadism flare in his eyes, impossibly wide smile twitching as it tugs up at the edges.

“My, my, what a greedy little pet I’ve got myself.”

“No!” you cough, spitting out the denial so fast it tangles on your tongue. “No, no, not at all, sir.”

“No?”

“No,” you repeat, head shaking with vehemence. “I will be satisfied with whatever Master will give me.”

You recite the statement dutifully, but the painful sincerity ringing in your voice clear and high indicates that it’s authentic nonetheless.

“And?”

“And I will be thankful for it,” you breathe out, blinking up at him obediently, the words an oath on your tongue, twin streams of salt shimmering on your cheeks attesting to their veracity.

Crimson beams down on you, smile smeared across his face wide but close-lipped, indifference lidding his unrelenting gaze, contradicted by the sheer power glowing brightly in his irises.

He holds your eyes for a bit—stretches the moment, lets it linger, lets the desperation grow, lets you marinate in it—before he finally murmurs out good girl, the praise packaged with a patronizing but much-appreciated pat to the head.

You don’t dare move, though, your stare staying entrapped in his own, body rigid and motionless as it awaits a direct order, pliable putty in his palms.

“Now,” he says in a calm breath. “Get on my cock.”

Finally, permission.

It has your body bolting like a flash of lightning, set alight by a handful of such simple words, snapped into action by his demand.

Then you’re clambering into his lap, avid fingers popping the button and tugging the zipper and pulling his cock free from its confines, massive and heavy in your soft palms.

A tender noise sounds in your throat, something caught between awe and desire, and you can’t help but grind on it a little, head gliding over your swollen clit easily. Your juices glaze his shaft, leaving a pretty glimmering film coating his veiny skin.

Your cunt isn’t properly prepped, but that doesn’t really matter (it’s your own fault, anyway, for spending too much time worshipping his cock), slit already slicked and dripping with arousal—so fucking easy, you are for him; so fucking wet you are, all from barely touching his cock—that he slides in fluidly enough, one of your hands wrapped around the base steadying him as you sink down on his cock.

A grunt stutters in his throat, half-stifled by his wide, closed-lipped smile, harmonizing with your low whine of pain as your cute little hole stretches, splits, struggles to swallow him whole in one slow gulp.

But it strains around his girth ardently, delicate skin tearing into tiny stinging fissures as your sweet cunt gorges on him, salivating and voracious.

You always manage, every single time, no matter how much it burns, because then he’s bottoming out, head of his cock pressed snugly against your cervix. Your hips shift in little experimental ruts, grinding the tip into the sensitive mound of tissue and whimpering.

A hiss slithers through clenched teeth, your whole face screwing up in pain as your cute cunt flutters around him. A dull ache begins to simmer deep in the pit of your belly, a small palm instinctively pressing to your gut, whining a bit when you feel him, burrowing into the tissues from the inside out.

“Does that hurt?”

“Uh—Uh-huh,” you gasp out, eyes still scrunched shut tightly, head nodding in tight, tense little motions.

“Tell me.”

“It hurts, Alastor,” you mewl, lids lifting to stare at him, to show him the agony simmering in your irises, fresh tears beading your lashes, teetering precariously on the points.

Arrogance softens his features—that smug satisfaction dimming the glint in his eye and the edges of his smile—and his gazes falls from yours, refocusing on the worn novel he had been reading before you so rudely interrupted with your neediness.

That’s your cue to begin.

You’ve become fairly proficient at using him as a toy, fingers curling around the plush top of the armchair, palms planted on either side of his head for leverage and stability as your hips begin to rock—slow, almost shyly at first; hesitant, cautious, testing.

But you can never keep that up for long, far too eager to allow the build-up of that delicious tension, far too greedy to not chase after the immediate high, vying and ravenous and entirely addicted, unable to grant yourself more than a handful of moments to savour it, desperate to fuck him like some sort of wild, primal animal.

It’s what he loves most about you—your fervour.

Your fervour to obey, your fervour to cum all over him, your fervour for whatever part of him he will so graciously gift you—his cock, his cum, his attention, his discipline; it doesn’t matter which it is, it’s all the same to you. Him. Any part of him, every part of him.

And even though he always makes you do all of the work, riding him is your favourite.

Because the best part about riding Alastor isn’t even getting to cum—it’s getting to watch him cum; clear and sharp and so, so beautiful.

No blurry tears to obstruct your vision, no hair curtaining his face as he folds you in on yourself and pounds you into oblivion, no involuntary scrunches of your lids snapping shut in excruciating pain, just his face, open and accessible, expression entirely unadulterated.

Pure.

The pleasure smashes through his facades, through all of his pretences and carefully crafted masks, leaving him wholly unfiltered, raw, real.

It’s the closest to authentic that you ever get. That you’ll ever get.

But the fact that he allows you to orchestrate it, the fact that he allows you to witness him in such a vulnerable and personal state? Well, that’s something special to you. That’s what makes this position the best.

It’s a difficult feat to get him there, to have his cock throbbing and filling you, hot and sticky and so, so much, without the use of violence or sadism, but you manage.

Because there’s just one other thing that works: Power.

Angling your hips just right, you fuck yourself with his cock, rolling the head over that plush spot, fleshy and engorged deep within you, assaulting it harsh and fast, just like he usually does.

“Sir, Sir, Sir,” you’re chanting out in time with the gyrations of your hips, eyes glassy and shining with devotion.

“Hm?” An eyebrow raises, disinterested, gaze refusing to leave the pages in front of his face.

“Thank you, Sir,” you gush, words flowing in an appreciative stream. “Th-Thank you for allowing me to ride you.”

His eyes flick up for a moment, clear and sharp, holding your own, a question imbued in the subtle motion.

“It—It’s so good, Master,” you answer in a whine, staring at him with such stark sincerity it almost hurts, irises twinkling. “Your cock feels so g-good!”

Pomposity polishes his features, lidding his eyes and curling his smile.

“Yes,” he hums out, stare returning to his book. “You are quite a privileged little girl.”

“I am, I am,” you agree with vehemence, voice tapering into a whine. “I’m so lucky, Master.”

“And yet, you are still a greedy little brat.”

“Can’t help it,” you moan. “I jus—I jus’ can’t get enough of it, Master; of you, Master.”

His hips jerk slightly—a barely-there motion, something you’d never notice if you didn’t know to look for it—and you whimper loudly, bouncing accelerating, his little movement a non-verbal demand to ride him harder, to fuck him faster, to give him more.

And you happily oblige. Even when his orders are silent, written inconspicuously in the shift of his pelvis, you still instantly obey.

God, he’s got you trained so well.

You can see it engulfing him, this potent power he holds over you, ultimate and absolute. Authority cloaks his shoulders, the glow in his eyes glaring bright, his chest puffing out just a touch as his spine straightens.

“I know you can’t, pet,” he says, arrogance wispy in his tone, brimming with a type of hedonistic pride. “It will never be enough for my selfish little girl, will it?”

No, no, no, your head is shaking, compliments pouring from your mouth, encased in thick strings of drool.

“I—I love it s’much, Master,” you’re babbling, half-delirious, hips gaining speed with each rock forward. “Love your cock so much!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah,” your head nods, loose and slack, words slurring a little. “Feels so good, Sir; feels the best, Sir.”

“The best, huh?”

“The best, the best, the absolute best—Better than any cock I’ve ever ridden in this life and every other.”

“F-Fuck,” he breathes out, static eradicated from his voice, leaving it raw, naked. “Even without Master doing anything, it’s still the best.”

“Still the best,” you confirm. “Still my favourite.”

A half-stifled groan sounds in his throat, something he tries to swallow down, something that refuses to be silenced, pleasure clawing at the back of his tongue.

The burn in your thighs intensifies as your pace increases, muscles flexing and gliding beneath your skin, your lungs stinging with each ragged inhale, chest heaving with your uneven gulps.

“Fills me up so perfectly,” you continue, words fading into an airy mewl, high and needy. “Better than anyone else ever could, ever can, ever will.”

“You’re goddamn fuckin’ right,” he growls out, and even though his eyes are framed by heavy lids, his irises are incandescent, power staining them a radiant blood red, deeper and darker than normal, gaping and starved. “No one but your Owner could ever make you feel like this.”

Your head moves in frantic motions—yes, yes, yes!—fingers curling over the top of his armchair, nails scraping against the upholstery and leaving shredded little gouges in their wake.

“No one compares, Alastor—No one could ever, ever compare!”

“Christ,” he nearly whines, the curse shattering at the end as his hips stutter up—involuntary, instinctive.

Three more grinds over that plush spot, hard and fast and rough, and then you’re convulsing in his lap, cute little cunt clenching almost violently around his cock—a desperate plead of sorts, begging him for his cum; please, Master, give it to me, please, Master, I want it so bad!

The words fall from your mouth in a tangled stream, fucked sloppily from your throat as your hips continue to buck, each swipe of your clit over his slick pubic bone forcing another vicious ripple of chills to shudder through your form.

It hurts, body shocked with erratic jolts of overstimulation, but you don’t dare stop, drops of sweat sprouting across your skin, tiny jewels strung along your hairline and adorning your temples, jagged little yelps slipping past your gritted teeth.

And it’s your dedication that finally sends him tumbling over the edge, your borderline religious commitment to ensuring his pleasure even at the expense of your own, book falling from his palms and fingers digging into your flesh as his hips jackhammer up.

Two merciless pumps of his cock before he’s spilling into you, giving you exactly what you’re sobbing for, stuffing your little cunt full of his seed until it can’t take anymore, until it’s too much, until it’s seeping past the tight seal of his shaft to dribble down his balls in thick dollops of cream—and more, Alastor, more, more, gimme more!, your thighs tensing on either side of him as your little hole constricts purposefully, desperate to milk him for every last drop, the rolling of your hips turned ravenous, ruthless.

“Fuck, fuck,” he’s hissing, claws piercing your hips as he forces you to stop, little trickles of crimson oozing from the tiny punctures. “S’enough.”

“S’never enough,” you whine dreamily as your body slumps forward, head buried in his shoulder, little tongue lapping up droplets of dewy sweat in kittenish licks.

“You really are such a spoiled little pet,” he says, but his voice is gentle, a palm petting the back of your head.

A hum vibrates on the back of your tongue and you nuzzle your face further into his damp neck, tongue flattening against his skin and following the curve down to his sharp collarbone, lips latching over one of the protruding knobs and sucking.

“Can’t help it,” you sigh out, muffled, the words humid and slick on his skin. “It really is my favourite thing in the whole world, Sir. I adore you.”

The tender confession beads along his neck, your hot breath turned to tiny droplets of condensation, and he sighs, the tension coiled in his muscles beginning to ebb. His limbs unwittingly melt into your own as he rests his chin on the crown of your head, quivering hands retrieving his book and finding his previous page.

When he speaks again, his voice is soft, so quiet you nearly miss it—would’ve missed it, had you not felt the words rumble in his throat.

“I adore you, too.”

More than he wants to. More than he should. More than he could ever adequately express.

#alastor smut #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin smut #alastor headcanons #inky.alastor #inky.hazbin

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shroomdreams · 27 days

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needs of the flesh

the doctor finds himself extremely aroused by your casual nudity

cw: afab!reader, fingering, pussyjob, spooning -> prone bone, creampie, slight overstimulation, bro is jealous of a game, usage of ratio's first name

ratio just cant help himself.

how do you expect him to act, when you kick your legs in the air while laying down on your stomach, swaying your hips as you played on that infernal console of yours?

why werent you dressed yet, anyway? shouldnt you be in your pajamas by now? either way, ratio lets out a dreadful sigh as he begins disrobing himself. you dont look up from your game as you called to him. "hey hun, rough day?"

"yes," ratio replies, joining you in bed and pulling you close to him, scowling when you adjusted your body so his chest meets your back, effectively making him spoon you.

you and that stupid game- dont you see that he wants your attention as well? "must you play so late in the night?" he muttered, nibbling your neck as his hands began to roam your body. he gripped your hips, palmed your legs- and yet you continued to play.

"i just got to the final level, veri." you replied, seemingly unaffected by his touches. ratio huffed. the hands on your hips began to move again, this time towards the intimate space between your legs. your breath hitches as ratio cups your pussy, squirming when he keeps his hand there.

"veritas-" your grip on the console nearly falters when ratio's middle finger began rubbing your clit, legs trembling from the sudden pleasure. ratio groans into your ear, grinding his hips to your plush ass, a hard pressure poking you. it isnt all that often ratio initiated intimacy with you- whatever happened must have really pushed him over the edge.

"ill give you a challenge," ratio whispered, his breath tickling your ear. "if you can finish that game despite my actions, i'll let you continue in peace. but-" you whimper as he dipped his finger inside your folds, feeling your warmth flutter around the digit and wetting it with your juices. "if you lose, you'll have to answer to me the whole night. are we clear?"

you won't lie, it turns you on to feel the neediness emanating from your boyfriend. you nod. it wouldnt hurt to play along.

the next minutes or so went smoothly at first. despite ratio's fingers pushing in and out of your cunt, you managed to play up until a decent chunk of the level. however, ratio starts getting a bit impatient. you let out an 'eep' when he suddenly removes his fingers and lifts up your leg, sliding his hard length over the lips of your pussy. ratio sighs and groans, feeling the warmth and wetness of your cunny coating his cock in slick. the console in your hands nearly slip at the newfound sensation, body trembling as ratio deliberately teases himself. he wont stick himself inside just yet, theres still a challenge to win.

its not like you can concentrate that well at the moment, however. feeling ratio's length rub against your cunt, the tip just barely grazing your clit-

"v-veritas!" you cry out, your console slipping out of your grasp and falling onto the mattress. ratio wastes no time, slapping the tip against your clit a few times before aligning the head to your entrance. ratio lets out a loud groan as he immediately plunges deep inside, one hand nearly crushing your hip while the grabs at your neck. the walls of your cunt quickly get stimulated by the rough pace set by ratio, his cock barely leaving your warmth as he groans all sorts of filth into your ear, making you gush around his cock. your moans are drawn out of you as you near your climax, ratio's length consistently hitting that one spot over and over again.

ratio groans when he feels your walls constrict him, a creamy ring forming at the base of his dick as you moan and cry out his name. "see what you do me?" he growled, stuffing himself deep inside and rolling his hips. you gasped in short breaths, barely having time to relax when ratio pushes you back on your stomach and starts pounding into you again, his hips smacking against your ass in a lewd cacophony of noise. you grip the sheets as you wail into the pillows.

"mine, all mine- hnngh~" ratio gritted out, gripping your hips tight as he watches his cock disappear into the gooey warmth of your pussy. "you'll come apart for me over and over again," a sharp thrust into your pleasure spot has you seeing stars. "ill make sure of it- ugh~"

"veritas, i'm gonna-! i-i'm!"

"together-" he gasped out, leaning his whole body over you, hips a bruising pace as he chases both of your highs. a loud groan spills from ratio as his release coats yours walls, nudging his cock deep inside your pulsing warmth, your own orgasm covering his lower abdomen with an abundance of slick. ratio flips your positions so you end up laying on top of him, his cock still nestled deep inside. though your lungs burn for air, you cant help but messily kiss his flustered face. going all shy after fucking your brains out... thats just like your silly boyfriend.

"why were you naked, anyway?" ratio asks after you both catch your breath. you shrug.

"i dunno, i just felt like it. but if youre going to do this everytime i decide to be nude for whatever reason, then maybe i might just do it more." you giggled, tracing a heart on his chest.

ratio doesnt answer, instead holding you close and thrusting his hardening cock into your sensitive pussy.

you didnt get to finish your game after all.

#shroomie.fic #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader #dr ratio smut #dr ratio x reader #might make casual nudity a series tbh

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juuuulez · 28 days

Text

📰 | first times.

you make lip work for it, and the first time you have sex he’s surprised by the intimacy.

like, lip is a fast and rough kinda guy. tammy said it herself: jabby (LOL!). when you first go out, like on an actual date, he’s confused when you won’t fuck him. why? you had fun, right? but you tell him not yet, you don’t wanna rush this, and it’s weird… lip spends the night debating whether or not a bone is really worth it, but eventually decides yeah: he wants this.

so the first time it actually happens, you’re slow with it, kissing over his face and neck while lip’s hands are pawing at your clothes. his rough hands pull at your buttons, your jeans, quickly trying to remove whatever fabric separates you. it ends with you, naked, on his lap. when you undress him, it’s slow, kissing a path over each inch of skin exposed.

“th’fuck taking you so long?” he’ll rasp, but doesn’t make a move to hurry you, despite how long he’s been waiting for this.

and you’ll smile against his skin, licking a long stripe up his sternum, lips sucking at the tattoo on his chest. he’ll grunt, hands squeezing your hips, but your gentle assault on his body continues.

“just wanna enjoy it,” you mumble, rewarding him with a firm grind against his clothed cock, “don’t you?”

he won’t respond, hands urging your movements into a steady rock, moving with lazy fever atop him. lip doesn’t have it in him to rush you, but you can feel his need under you, hard and strained in his jeans.

“you’re very pretty.” you’ll whisper into his neck, trailing kisses back up his neck, to his face. it renders him speechless, because what? pretty? instinctually, he wants to say that’s weird, he’s not pretty. but your cunt is bare and hot against the tent in his pants, and your lips are warm on his skin, plush and soft.

you pay his nose extra attention, gently licking the curve of it, before following the path of his cheek. your kisses trail back down, lingering just over his lips, and he feels just about breathless. his eyes are closed under the sheer pressure of intimacy, lashes casting a shadow on his face, so he can’t see your grin.

so you ride him slow and deep, hands wrapped around the back of his neck, lip’s forehead resting against your chest. his mouth is perpetually open in quiet grunts, his hands faltering at your hips, feeling that incessant need to go faster, harder, but knowing that’s not what you want. suddenly, he wants nothing more than to please you.

it’s different to anything he’s ever felt before, and you eventually relent, allowing lip to roll over and push you into the mattress. he’s gotten the hint by now, fallen into a soft rhythm, slow and steady and impossibly deep.

you know it’s a lot. that it’s different, that lip isn’t used to love like this. so you take it slow. well, as slow as you can, because you just want to show him all of the love you have, let him learn that it’s completely overflowing.

#wow wow wow i need him so bad #lip gallagher smut #lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher x you

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roosterforme · 1 month

Text

In the Line of Duty | Rooster x Reader

Summary: During preparations for a dangerous mission, Bradley finds comfort in writing his thoughts down for his unborn child to eventually read. There's always a chance that he won't make it back, and his final plans involve safeguarding the most important item he brought on his deployment with him.

Warnings: Angst, deployment, pregnancy topics

Length: 2800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

Bradley was in the same tiny room with the same seven people for the nineteenth day in a row. He was sweating, too aware of his surroundings. He could hear Reuben breathing next to him. He could hear Admiral Turner's wristwatch counting off every second. He could hear the plans being laid out, but he could barely focus on them.

"The political climate is rapidly changing," the admiral said. "This bombing run is essential, however it will undoubtedly lead to a hostile environment for our allies. Getting the timing just right is essential to a successful mission."

He'd been telling the aviators the same things for days, and while Bradley knew somebody's best interest was at heart, he wasn't really sure it was his. Or Reuben's. Or anybody's in this fucking claustrophobic room. But what choice did he have but to sit here in his flight suit, reeking of jet fuel until he was released?

"Also," Admiral Turner said, his voice laced with exhaustion, "we'll be keeping a close watch on the weather. If you fly this mission, it's going to be a rough takeoff and an even rougher landing. And that's not even mentioning the elements you'll encounter in the air."

Bradley could feel it. The aircraft carrier was a massive vessel, nothing like a cruise ship or anything smaller. It was built to withstand typhoons and hurricanes, but he could still feel it. The movement was getting worse by the hour now. There were deckhands and petty officers walking around with seasickness bags. People were running from the mess hall left and right. The only thing that could be said of this small group of aviators in this tiny ass room was that professional fighter pilots had all traces of motion sickness eliminated from their bodies during flight training, never to be heard from again. He wasn't uncomfortable, but he could still feel it.

"And with that final precaution, I've made my selection for the three pilots who will fly when I say it's time to go." Bradley knew it in his bones even before he heard the admiral say, "Vandal. Patches. Rooster. Everyone else will remain on standby. You're all dismissed."

As he stood, Reuben stuck his fist out. "Congrats, man," he said, and Bradley reached out as well to bump fists. Being chosen was an accomplishment; Bradley always wanted to be chosen. He always wanted to perform to the best of his ability. But his thoughts were so heavy now, filled with new hopes and fears.

"Thanks, Payback," he replied, following his friend from the room and into the noisy reprieve of the cool hallway. There were people rushing around as the two of them made their way to the mess hall. "But if I have to sit in that room for another day, I'm going to lose my mind."

Reuben laughed as he started to load a tray with food. "I love how the weather is too bad for us to do any training runs, but in the same sentence, we're told to be ready to fly a mission in this. It's like they're steering us right into the worst of the storm."

They were. Bradley could tell they were. There was something strategic about the open water location, but they were absolutely heading into the worst of it. He just hoped it would clear up before he was called out on deck to fly.

"It's a good thing I haven't barfed in a Super Hornet since that very first time," he said, also piling food that he knew would taste like cardboard onto a plate.

"This shit sucks," Reuben muttered, biting into a roll once they reached an empty table. "We got any more of your wife's cookies back in the bunk?"

Bradley smiled as he looked at the questionable meal in front of him. "A few." He bit into the steak and grimaced. Everything you cooked at home was better than this. He'd trade his whole plate of food right now for half of a grilled cheese sandwich made by your hands. Just thinking about it had his stomach growling louder. "You already ate most of them."

Reuben popped another roll into his mouth and chewed it up before saying, "Rooster, you've got a hot lieutenant commander who can cook for a wife. And a baby on the way. Come on, man. The least you can do is spare some more of those cookies."

Once he let his thoughts drift, Bradley knew it would take hours to get focused on his job again, but he couldn't help it. When he left home, you looked the same as you always did. You'd been complaining about your weight gain and bloating for weeks, but you looked just perfect to him. He wanted to get back home to see if you had a bump yet. He wanted to get home and talk to the Nugget. But he'd already been gone for three weeks, and he hadn't been given a single chance to call or FaceTime with you.

He hated having no idea how your most recent doctor's appointment went. There were probably new ultrasound photos sitting right on the kitchen counter, but it could be weeks before he got to see how much the Nugget grew since last time. He should be a home, catering to your every whim and building the massive jungle gym for the backyard.

"Are you excited?" Reuben asked, breaking through his thoughts. "You've got what, like five more months to go before you're a dad?"

"One hundred and eighty-six days until the due date," Bradley replied with a grin. "And yeah, I'm pretty fucking excited. It's all I can think about." He tried to finish all of the food, but he set his plate aside and said, "Let's go eat some of those cookies."

An hour later, Bradley was sitting in his bunk, nibbling on the rationed baked goods while Reuben snored across the room. He took this opportunity to get out the pink and blue striped notebook which he affectionately referred to as the Nugget notebook. He'd filled half of it with his musings, and he figured it would be full by your due date. It was silly, just his random thoughts and some sporadic story telling, but he liked the idea of his kid having all of this to look at later. He uncapped his pen, jotted down the date, and started writing what was on his mind.

You'll never guess where I am right now. No really. It would be impossible, because even I don't really know where I am! But it's somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, I know that for sure. And while I'm really, really far away from you and your mom right now, the two of you are all I can think about....

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

The weather was so bad a few days later that the gym was closed. Bradley and Reuben stood in front of the locked door in their gym clothes looking at each other.

"This is fucking wild," Bradley muttered, deprived of the only activity he could think of to keep himself busy. The hallways were pretty empty at this time of night, but everything still felt more deserted than usual. The dining menus had been pared down, presumably because half of the kitchen staff was too seasick to make everything. He was starting to feel anxious. "Let's go workout in the bunk and then finish the cookies."

"Sounds good," Reuben replied. They took turns churning out sets of fifty push ups while the other ate a cookie. They did this until they were both sweating and all of the cookies were officially gone.

"Now what the fuck are we supposed to do?" Bradley asked, but any response was cut off by a knocking on the door. He jumped up, glanced at Reuben, and then opened the door for a petty officer.

"Bradshaw?"

"Yeah?"

"You requested a FaceTime call? Report to the lounge in thirty minutes."

"Thanks," he said, heart beating wildly as he closed the door. He rushed around the room, grinning and grabbing everything he'd need to take a quick shower.

Reuben just laughed and said, "Please thank her again for the cookies."

"Will do," Bradley replied, making a mad dash for the showers. If he did the math correctly, he figured it was between four and five o'clock in the morning back home in San Diego. He hated calling you in the middle of the night, especially when you were pregnant and exhausted, but he knew you'd forgive him. And he desperately needed to see your face and hear your voice.

His hair was still damp when he jogged along the quiet corridors toward the lounge and took a seat in front of one of the computers. He quickly entered his credentials followed by your phone number, and then he waited and waited. "Shit," he muttered, gripping the edge of the table, afraid the call was going to ring through and then cut off. But then he heard you screech his name and saw you as you reached for your glasses while the light from the lamp on your nightstand illuminated your face.

"Bradley!" you practically screamed again, your voice scratchy from sleep. "Roo! Are you okay?"

"Hey, Baby Girl," he said, feeling calmer than he had in weeks as you juggled your phone around and tried to sit up fully in bed. "I'm fine. Sorry it's so late."

"No, no, no, this is perfect!" you insisted, rubbing your eye behind your glasses as you tried to stifle a yawn. "This is great."

Bradley laughed and said, "I miss you so fucking much. Wish I was in bed right there with you."

"Me too," you insisted, and he could see the sincerity on your face. "It got chilly here tonight, and Tramp isn't as snuggly as you are."

He wanted to kiss you. He wished he could somehow dive through the screen and end up next to you where you'd pull him right into your arms. His voice was just a whisper as he said, "Tell me about the Nugget."

Your smile was soft, and you bit your lip. "Dr. Morris said the Nugget looked great when I was there two weeks ago."

"Two weeks ago," he groaned, rubbing his rough hands along his face. "Sweetheart... I already missed so much." When he looked at the screen again, you were out of bed and on the move. "Where are you going?"

You flipped on the hallway light and said, "To get the ultrasounds to show you. I left them on the kitchen counter."

The fact that he knew that's where they would be made him smile. When you propped your phone up next to the stove and turned on the light, he felt tears stinging his eyes. You held up one of the photos so he could see the baby, and he had to blink past his blurry vision. "There's my Nugget," he said, voice thick with emotion as you held up a second image. "Fucking cutest baby I've ever seen."

Your laughter sounded beautiful as you showed him a third one. "I liked this one the best. I think it looks like the baby is waving hello."

"Shit," he gasped. "You're right. I can't wait to wallpaper our bedroom with copies of these."

You pulled the baby picture away, and he could see your face again as you said, "You're probably not even joking."

"I'm definitely not even joking."

You leaned on the counter and got a little closer to your phone as you said, "Another week or so, and I can go in for an anatomy scan."

Now Bradley felt like crying for a totally different reason. "You get to find out if the Nugget is a boy or a girl."

"Yeah," you said with a nod. "But I don't really want to do that without you there too."

Bradley looked at your beautiful face and the perfect curve of your cheek. He imagined a little baby in your arms with the same flawless features. "I wish I could get home in time to hold your hand and find out in person. But you know I don't care one way or the other. The only nice thing is that we can start narrowing down baby names soon. I actually wrote down a few that I kind of like in the Nugget notebook earlier."

Your smile was brilliant as you told him, "I can't wait to read all of your notebook entries. And if you're not home for my next appointment, I'll be practically vibrating with anticipation until I get to tell you if it's a boy Nugget or a girl Nugget."

Bradley opened his mouth to say he couldn't wait to come home and spend a full day curled up with both of you. He was about to ask you to pull his UVA shirt up and let him see what your belly looked like now. But the lounge door swung open so hard, it sounded like it was going to fall off the hinges.

"Bradshaw!" barked Admiral Turner. "It's time. Get into your flight suit."

"Yes, Sir," he said before glancing back down to see your face as you started to cry.

"You have to go," you sobbed.

"I do," he said quickly. "Right now. Listen, I love you. More than anything. You and the baby both, okay? I love you."

"I love you, too," you sobbed as your lips trembled. "So much."

"I'll be home soon," he promised, even though he knew he couldn't guarantee anything of the sort. "I love you."

After he ended the call, he ran back to the bunk where Reuben was already in his flight suit and pulling on his boots. It was late enough now that it had to be dark outside, so he was either about to fly another mission without the use of one of his senses, or they were sending him out at first light. Either way, he knew what he had to do, so he pulled his own flight suit on with shaky hands.

The call with you had calmed his nerves right up until the point when he had to abruptly end it. What he wouldn't give to be back home within a week. He'd drive you to the appointment in his Bronco and hold your hand the whole time. Dr. Morris would let you know if he was going to be the dad to a daughter or a son. His little Nugget.

"You ready?" Reuben asked as Bradley finished lacing up his boots.

He looked up at his friend as he stood. "Actually, no," he said, pulling his duffle out from under his bed. He started rooting through it as he said, "I need you to potentially do me a favor."

"Sure," Reuben replied, "but we gotta get to the meeting room now, Rooster."

"I know," he mumbled in response as his hands connected with the most important thing he had with him. He held up the pink and blue notebook, his voice calm in spite of his nerves as he said, "Just real quick, you see this? I need you to take this back to my wife if anything happens to me."

His friend was silent for a beat before he said, "Alright. I can do that."

Bradley's fingers tightened around the spiral binding holding together all of his thoughts about fatherhood and how much he loved his unborn child. And now his voice shook a bit as he said, "This is very important to me."

Reuben nodded and said, "Understood. I promise I'll take care of it if the need arises."

"Thank you." Bradley kissed the striped cover and propped the notebook up against his pillow, giving it one last look before he followed Reuben from the bunk.

At first light, Bradley made his way out onto the carrier deck through the rain and whistling wind. The mission was on. The weather was miserable, but the plethora of Naval officers deemed this the best opportunity they were going to get to help their allies.

It was time. Time for Bradley to trust himself. And if he failed, he trusted Reuben to take the notebook back to San Diego and get it into the hands of his wife. Then you'd take care of the notebook for the Nugget. Because if there was one person who was never going to let him down, it was you.

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

I can't deal with how much I've been hurting my own feelings with these two. Should we start a new series? Would that be okay? A tragic, new series? Thank you for reading about and loving them! Please stay tuned. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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