#it feels like nothing can topple
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do you believe me now?
in which fem!reader is insecure around spencer until she finally asks him to take matters into his own hands (literally)
part two
18+ (smut)
warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, fingering, softdom!spencer my sweet sweet beloved angel, sub reader, praise, you know he talks you through it, brief mention of drinking wine, i think that's it
a/n: i hope u guys like this ! slightly different dynamic than my other stuff maybe but let me know what u think!! i love feedback and i love YOU!!!
“You’re so pretty.”
It’s the first thing Spencer has said since you two landed on his couch, exhausted from one of Rossi’s extravagant soirées. It was your first of many, if Spencer’s entire team is to be believed. More nights featuring Italian food and wine you could never afford don’t sound half bad—but for now you’re drained. You barely had the energy to kick off your heels and topple into Spencer’s lap five minutes ago. The silk dress still pools over his knees and your hair still falls in curls around your face. He brushes one aside as he continues.
“I mean—you always look beautiful. But I’ve never seen you all done up. You’re obscenely gorgeous.”
You groan awkwardly, burying your face in Spencer’s collar as your face heats. Taking compliments has never been your strong suit, especially from someone who you perceive to be so out of your league. The relationship you have with Spencer is relatively new, and sometimes you worry delicate; like one slip-up revealing the real you and he’ll go running. So far, though, he seems hellbent on proving you wrong.
His hand finds the bare skin of your arm, passing up and down gently. “Why don’t you believe me?”
“…I do.”
It’s unconvincing. Spencer scoffs.
“No, you don’t. You never believe me when I compliment you.”
The cadence of his voice is light enough, but it’s evident that there’s some genuine frustration there, lurking just under the surface.
Your head lolls over his shoulder and he angles his neck to look down at you. Hair falls over his eyes, and you’d fix it if he didn’t look so damn perfect. Everything about him looks intentional, like he was designed by someone who took great pride in their work. Not at all like you—a collage of features and spare parts you guess whatever force created you had lying around. Nothing about you feels on purpose. But that’s a hard thing to explain.
“I’m sorry. I know it’s impolite. It just feels disingenuous to accept compliments like that.”
Goosebumps arise on your arm where he touches you.
“You being polite isn’t what I’m concerned about. I just wish I could make you understand that I mean it when I compliment you. You’d know if I didn’t. I’m a terrible liar.”
That earns a giggle from you. Your boyfriend smiles, sparkling eyes darting over your face like he’s trying to bottle the sound, the memory—and you realize he probably is. What a terrifying thought. You look away, abashed once more.
“I’m a woman, Spencer. I’m not allowed to like myself. That’s the whole thing with Eve and the snake and the apple and whatever. Eternal inescapable shame.”
“Are you trying to justify your self-loathing by making it biblical? You know I’m the last person that would work on, right? Both as an agnostic-leaning-athiest and someone who thinks you’re beautiful and wonderful.”
Another groan claws its way from your throat as you slide down in embarrassment.
“You’re killing me here, Spencer.”
“What can I do to do to make you believe me?” he murmurs, carefully brushing tangles from your hair as you now rest practically prone across his lap. The ceiling light stretches behind him, haloing him in a soft glowing crown and making everything a bit more hazy and tolerable.
“It’s not your fight.” It’s meant to be playfully dramatic, but it hangs from your lips with a painful amount of earnestness.
“If it’s yours, it’s mine. That’s kind of the whole point of a relationship, right? Being a team?”
His fingers are nimble and warm between yours as you interlace them, steepling and bumping them together as you speak.
“Well, if you know so much, why are you asking me? It sounds like you know exactly what to do to make me magically love myself.”
A dangerous twitch plays at the corner of his lips as he gazes sleepily down at you.
“Oh, I have a few ideas. But I’m asking what you’d be comfortable with.”
“Whoa!” you blurt, giggling self-consciously, covering your face with your (and inadvertently one of his) hands. “Where did that come from?”
He smiles at your response to his mildly suggestive comment. “I lose my filter when I'm tired. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
You sigh gustily, dragging his hand down to fall over your collarbones. His fingers twitch over the delicate skin, like he’d graze it if your hand wasn’t weighing his down.
“No, no, you didn’t make me uncomfortable, you just… surprised me. I’m really bad at talking about this kind of thing.”
“Sex?”
You yelp, slinging your arm over your face and hiding in the crook of your elbow. “AH! Don’t say it!”
He laughs again, a little less reserved this time.
“What? You can’t even listen to me say the word?”
“No! Too scary!”
Eventually you peek out from under your arm to find Spencer still watching you. The humor has faded from his eyes and been replaced by a kind of serene calm. He brushes a lock of hair from your shoulder.
“Come here,” he says—a request more than a demand. With some wriggling and a bit of help, you manage to reorient yourself into a sitting position across his lap once more. His touch is warm even through the fabric of your dress when he kisses you, hand sliding over your waist before moving to trace your jaw and ending up on the back of your neck, urging you closer ever so slightly. You kiss him back without hesitation or restraint, as you delight in doing when he gives you the opportunity. What you may lack in experience and refinement, you make up for with affection and enthusiasm. He pulls away after a minute, much to your dismay, and brushes his thumb over your lips. For the first time, you think you see a hint of worry in his eyes. Guilt claws at your heart when he quietly asks, “you’re not scared of me, are you?”
“No!” You assure quickly, looping your arms around his neck. “No, it’s not you. You’re perfect and I’m sure you really mean all of the nice things you say. But I just… sometimes I worry I’ll scare you away once you realize I’m not as pretty or… good as you thought.”
“That’s impossible.”
Once more you let your head fall onto his shoulder. “You don’t know that.”
His hand begins running up and down your back, soothing your sympathetic nervous system in a way that all the deep breaths in the world never could.
“I know that I really, really like you. And there’s not one part of you that I don’t find genuinely beautiful. I can’t imagine not feeling that way about you.” Your eyes flutter shut and you hum against him—a non-answer, but he doesn’t push it. Minutes go by quietly, ticking later into the night as he continues mindlessly rubbing your back and watching you breathe. “Do you want me to take you home?” He finally asks after a long while. Again, you don’t respond. He smiles. “I know you’re awake.”
The corner of your lip twitches as you attempt to suppress a grin. Spencer sighs.
“I guess if you’re already asleep you’ll just have to stay here. But it would be convenient if you’d sleepwalk to my bed so that I don’t have to carry you.”
When you begin stirring and sitting up (one eye cracked to navigate) he laughs, hands on your waist. “Would you look at that. Who knew she would be so suggestible in non-REM?” You snort as you push yourself to a standing position using Spencer’s shoulders to support yourself, and ruining the whole act. He smiles up at you like you’re something divine and lets his hands trail over your hips.
“I sleep with my eyes open.”
“Do you often have coherent conversations in your sleep, too?”
You shrug. “I’m full of surprises.”
“I’m sure you are,” he agrees, finally standing himself. “I’m assuming you don’t want to sleep in your dress?”
“I have shorts on underneath I can wear, but a shirt would be helpful.”
“Then we’ll get you a shirt.”
———————————————
Ten minutes later you’re in Spencer’s bathroom, wearing your shorts and one of his sweatshirts (you cannot imagine Spencer in a hoodie), and wiping black sludge from your eyes with makeup remover he claims was left by a friend after a particularly festive Halloween party. Hopefully he’s telling the truth—you can think of more dubious potential origins of the eye-makeup remover in his bathroom. No toothbrush—you use your finger and a generous amount of toothpaste until the red wine stains fade.
Spencer is fixing the pillows when you exit the bathroom. You hold up your hands which are completely obscured and then some by the thick fabric of his sweatshirt.
“Fits like a dream,” you say. A smile tugs at his lips as he finishes his task, before raising his eyes to you. The smile promptly fades and it’s like the sun disappearing behind an oppressive gray cloud. In an instant your stomach curdles and you feel like crawling out of your skin.
“…what?” you mumble, absolutely terrified that the thing he’d said was impossible just minutes ago has already happened. Without makeup, without a fancy dress, you’re just you, and maybe that’s not good enough.
“Uh…” He blinks, as if he’s buffering for a moment, before snapping back into action, and notably looking away from you. “It’s—it’s nothing. Do you, um—here, I tried to make it—“
“Stop. Just tell me what that was. You got all weird.”
Another pause—he looks back up at you reluctantly with a sigh.
“I did not get all weird.”
“Yes, you did. You’re still being weird. It’s freaking me out.”
He’s utterly unreadable, which drives you fucking insane, when he eventually says, “come here.” This time, you think with a chill as you shuffle on your knees across the bed to sit in front of him, it really sounds like a demand. Spencer grabs your face in his hands, studying you intently. “I know you think I’ve finally decided you’re hideously deformed, but it’s actually just the opposite. I’m trying to figure out how to keep things polite for you.”
Realization dawns on you and the swarm of new butterflies in your stomach. The usual molten gold of his irises has been encroached upon, masked by blown pupils. Your face gets hot and your voice caves when you speak.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” he agrees quietly. “Do you believe me now?”
And to his credit, you really do. The hot skin, the vibrating cells in every fiber of your being, the racing heart—your body knows he means it. Part of you, the more confident, more desirous part, drags you closer to him, ghosts your lips over his. He chuckles.
“Now you’re getting brave?”
“Am I not allowed to kiss you?” you whisper, draping your arms over his shoulders.
“You’re allowed to do whatever you want.”
The words make you shiver—the lowered, gravelly tone of his voice you’ve never heard before snaps your resolve and you lean into him, connecting your lips with a deep urgency. Spencer inhales sharply, hands wandering to your waist and bearing down firmly as you press against him. When you lean back, he follows you, insists without saying a word that you don’t stop kissing him. It sends a thrill down your spine and between your legs, which both gives you pause and eggs you on. In the end, after a very brief internal struggle, curiosity and desire win. You drop to the bed and drag him down with you—he, your willing follower, blindly searches for purchase on the plush comforter. Now he’s on top of you, legs slotted together so that his thigh is temptingly close to your core. Too shy to actually do what you want to do, you clamp your thighs around his and tilt your hips, desperate for friction. He exhales heavily, slowly pulling his lips from yours like it’s the last thing he wants to do. Fingers dig into the flesh of your hip, not enough to ache but enough to draw your attention to your movements.
“What are you doing?” he asks, firmly, but not like you’re in trouble—it’s a probing question. He’s trying to figure out if you’re aware of the way you’re nearly riding his leg.
“I don’t know,” you admit breathlessly.
“You just told me you couldn’t even listen to me say the word sex,” Spencer reminds you. “You said it was too scary.”
A frustrated whine seems to catch him by surprise, and he laughs.
“That was a long time ago. I’ve matured since then.”
“Is that what happened?” he teases.
“Honestly, I’m just really turned on right now, please—" you cut yourself off, crashing your lips into his once more. And he almost relents.
Almost.
“Slow down.”
He ceases kissing you for a second time and you’re starting to really get annoyed.
“What?” you groan. “I thought you wanted this.”
His thumbs brush over the apples of your cheeks, demanding your attention.
“I want you. In every sense of the word. If you make a bad choice tonight and it means you don’t like me anymore tomorrow, that is the opposite of what I want. I’m not saying no. I’m just asking you to think about it for a second.”
You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and attempting to steady your mind and see beyond the thick fog of lust. What you find is a (mildly surprising) complete lack of fear. You’re not scared, like you thought you’d be; you feel utterly safe underneath him, with his hands on you and his heartbeat against your chest. This is a kind of intimacy you want to have with him.
Your eyes open to reveal his, close enough you can see the tiny flecks of green. And so much warmth. Everything about him is warm.
“This is what I want,” you assert. “I promise.”
His gaze flits between yours for a moment, pulling the truth from your soul like he might be able to find an imperfection there. But you mean it—and he seems satisfied. He trusts you, like you trust him.
“Okay.”
A sigh of relief never quite finds completion before he’s kissing you again. Immediately the fire is stoked once more, the heat between your legs getting warmer when he experimentally pushes his thigh against you. You breathe into the kiss, pressing down on him and surrendering to the unconscious rhythm of your hips. He lets that go on for a minute or two until you’re so distracted that you can’t kiss him back.
Unexpectedly he pulls away, disentangling himself from your legs. You stammer in frustration until his fingers hook under the soft material of your shorts. “Hips up.”
Wordlessly you comply, succumbing to his gentle words and touch. He bows to kiss you as he slides the fabric down unhurriedly. Once the shorts are gone, he sits up, and carefully lifts one of your legs over his lap, gaze unabashedly glued between them.
“Eyes up here,” you try to joke, but it’s steeped in self-consciousness and your heart is pounding. He manages, stroking the inside of your knee with a thumb as he leans down again.
“But you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, before he’s kissing you again. “Just like I knew you would be.”
You whimper when his hand skates over your stomach, lower, and lower, and—
“Tell me one more time, sweetheart.”
Your plead is just as hungry and yearning. “Please, Spencer?”
It works for him.
When his knuckles brush over your clit, you forget to breathe. When they barely skim your entrance, collecting arousal to drag back upward, your brain malfunctions. It is not enough, maddeningly so, but when he finds a careful, introductory rhythm, it’s immediately bordering on too much, too good.
Your stomach tenses and you are surprised by your own sighs and hesitant gasps as you try to adjust to the feeling of someone else’s hand between your legs.
“Does that feel good?” he murmurs against your lips.
“Mhm,” you chirp. Slow but insistent circles elicit a cry that gets caught in your throat, melting into a hum. Your eyes are closed, but you can hear the smile in Spencer’s voice.
“You’re sensitive, huh?”
“S—sometimes.”
He hums contemplatively.
“Sometimes? Can you tell me about that?”
You can’t hardly think around those gentle movements of his hand, let alone speak. He touches you like you’re something delicate. It’s torturous and perfect. But you try to answer anyway, managing to keep the stammering to a minimum.
“About what?”
“I want to know what you think about when you touch yourself.” The smooth words in tandem with an incremental increase in pressure earn you first real moan. Timid and unpracticed, but very genuine.
The answer comes immediately afterward; thoughtlessly and on a shuddering exhalation.
“You.”
“Yeah?” he smiles. “Good answer.”
Your eyes open fractionally to study his expression. You’d felt so much shame every time you’d imagined him in your bed late at night.
“Really?”
“Really. And now look at you. Letting me do it for you.” As if to remind you, he speeds up the motion of his hand. On instinct you bring your fingers to your lips as you moan through a closed throat, partly to stifle the noise and partly because you don’t know what to do with the hand that’s not gripping the duvet. “Do you only touch here?” His fingers slide down to your slick entrance and your hips buck, mourning the loss of stimulation. “Or do you touch here, too?”
You shake your head, breathing hard as he teases a finger around the soft place you’ve never really bothered to explore. “Never feels good when I try.”
“We’re gonna make it feel good, okay?”
You nod hesitantly, leaning back into the pillows when he kisses you again.
His lips are so distracting, so intoxicating you almost forget what he’s doing until he does it. It’s a foreign sensation—not entirely pleasant or unpleasant. For a moment or two your brows furrow as you focus on the feeling, worried that maybe you’re broken just as you thought—until you feel a slight stretch and you realize he’s pushing a second finger into you now. A kiss lands on your cheek when you grab his arm with a choked gasp, and he mutters, “deep breaths,” into your ear. “I know it’s new, honey, just breathe.”
“Fuck,” you whimper as you look down, and you didn’t realize you were going to say it until it’s already passed between your lips. Pressure begins melding with the promise of pleasure, and something about watching his hand move between your legs—the tendons flexing and wrist bending as he eases into what is clearly a perfected motion—arouses you so much you moan at the sight alone. Flipping pages is all you thought that hand was meant for. It’s like a secret revealed as you watch it do something so salacious, and to you.
A hot spark of pleasure flares deeper in you than you’ve ever felt. It catches and grows faster than you’d of thought—suddenly you can feel everything and it all feels better than you thought possible. Your jaw drops and a surprised huff of air blows a strand of your hair away.
“Oh my god,” comes your breathy little whisper, unprepared for and intimidated by how good he’s making you feel. Filthy noises come from between your legs and you clench around his fingers. You had no idea you could make those noises. You had no idea you could get so wet.
“Yeah, there we go.” His voice sounds a little further away now. You manage to tear your eyes away from all the action to his face. Much like you, he’s transfixed by the sight, brow furrowed and pretty lips parted in what could be concentration, or some sort of empathetic pleasure. His face has more color to it than usual and his breaths come heavier—it’s a very pleasant sight. Suddenly his fingers brush against a spot deep within you and your hips cant upward, a mewl pulled from the depths of your throat that has more control over you than you do it. Spencer’s eyes flash back to you, a grin playing at his lips. He does it again, looking right into your eyes, and you whine so pitifully your face flushes.
“Too much?” he asks. You shake your head firmly, arching your back when he unconsciously slows down. At your response his fingers begin rutting into you again, committing to that spot inside you that makes you see stars. “Of course not. You’re gonna take whatever I give you, huh?”
“Uh-huh,” you nod. You’d do just about anything for him right at this second. Spencer holds an immense amount of power over you in this moment, and potentially in all future moments moving forward. But you trust him with it.
“You don’t have anything to prove to me. I just want you to feel good. You’ll tell me if it’s too much, right?”
But it’s really not too much. It’s exactly right. Your verbal capacity is acutely limited right now, so you can’t exactly say it, but you lock eyes with him and whine shamelessly, hips twisting against his hand. You think he gets the message.
Hair falls over his face and he doesn’t fix it, opting instead to alternate his gaze between your cunt and face, cursing to himself lowly. You wouldn’t want him to stop and fix his hair—what you want is this, for him to keep pushing you toward that elusive edge and to keep looking at you like you put all the stars in the sky.
“Look at you, my pretty girl. I’m so proud of you. I know this isn’t easy. I know you were scared. Thank you for letting me do this, honey.”
It’s the unexpected tenderness of the words, perfectly misplaced in the context of the moment. It’s the devotion, the honesty in his eyes, shining through the haze of lust, which makes your stomach drop and all your muscles tense. A million thoughts jumble in your head, dizzying and thrilling and confusing, but mostly all you can think is Spencer, Spencer, Spencer. Is this how it always is? Your hands tangle in the sheets—and then all the thoughts vanish. Everything is warm and fuzzy and sparkling clean, no worries, no lingering thoughts, no self-awareness at all. It’s nirvana. It’s revelatory. It’s ridiculous that he did this all in under five minutes and you haven’t been able to do it once even with very concerted effort.
Slowly you float back into your body, breathing hard and watching through half-lidded eyes as Spencer gently pulls his hand away. Without him you feel weirdly empty and cold, like he should have been there all along. But his touch isn’t absent for long—he runs his hand over the bridge between your hips, little finger dipping into the crease of your thigh.
“That’s never… I’ve never done that before,” you admit, slurring your words only slightly.
His perfect features contort into a half-frown, half-smile.
“You’ve never had an orgasm?” You nod. His head tilts. “Really? You didn’t tell me that.”
“When would I have told you?” you laugh, finding his waist with your hand and encouraging him to settle his weight on you. He does, burying his face in your neck and exhaling heavily.
“Well?” you ask shyly, skating your fingers over his back. “Did I do it right?”
Spencer snorts, but presses a sickeningly sweet kiss to the curve of your neck.
“Did you like it?”
“Yes,” you admit, voice smaller than you’d have liked. He pushes himself up onto his forearms and kisses you softly.
“Then we both did it right.”
“But…” you stare up into his warm honey eyes, searching for any bits of hidden truth you can find. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, utterly unconcerned. “You know what I mean.”
“I do,” he agrees, “and I’ll say this because I know otherwise you’re going to worry about it forever.” He studies your face reverently for a moment, before parting his lips to speak. The words are slow to come, like he’s trying to figure the sentence out as he goes along. “You… are going to be, problematic, for me.”
Your whisper is almost as small as you feel under his heavy gaze. “What d’you mean?”
“I mean,” Spencer begins, voice low, “I think I liked that too much. Do you see why that’s troubling?”
The flame you thought had been quenched flickers back to life like a pilot light. Your thighs press together to alleviate a growing ache in a still sensitive area and you answer, “no,” with a small shake of your head. His thumb tenderly traces your jaw, ever-patient despite the fact that you’re obviously playing coy.
“Because I can’t have you all the time.”
“Yes you can,” you say without hesitation, though your eyes are fluttering. “You can have me whenever you want. Right now.”
He hums, pressing a kiss to your cheek.
“Not tonight. You’ve had enough. You’re tired.”
“I’m wide awake,” you slur, tangling a hand in his hair even as you lose the battle against your eyelids.
He sighs good-naturedly, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrist and brushing his lips over the delicate skin.
“You’re shockingly precocious.”
You hum.
“You just unleashed the beast. You’re like Doctor Frankenstein.”
He chuckles, sitting up and finding your shorts. You manage to be semi-helpful, lifting your legs at appropriate junctures as he tugs your clothing back on. “And you’re a nerd.”
“I don’t need to take that from you of all people.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Spencer says, and the smile in his voice makes you smile, a quarter asleep as he leans over to turn off the lamp on your side of the bed before tugging the covers over both of you.
He pulls you close in the dark, releasing a deep sigh as you curl into him. His heartbeat is steady against your ear, his arms warm around you. You can imagine making a home for yourself here. And you don’t know if he’s thinking it, but you hope he is, as you are silently repeating to yourself with every beat of his heart;
I love you
I love you
I love you.
#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid smut#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid fic#criminal minds#criminal minds smut#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds imagine
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rip my ribcage open (devour what’s truly yours)
zoro x f!reader
word count: 2.1k
warnings: tummy-pusher zoro, squirting, oral (f!receiving), overstimulation, prone bone, chokehold, slight breath play, creampie, violent imagery, religious imagery, bit of aftercare.
zoro thinks you might be trying to say his name.
he’s knelt between your legs, sitting back on his haunches and rocking his hips just enough to fuck you with the fat tip of his cock. there’s a rhythm to the unsteady rise and fall of your chest. short inhale, long exhale, the same way you always sigh his name when he’s reduced you to this.
tears dotting your lashes, drool seeping from the corner of your mouth, hips bucking mindlessly trying to get him to slip in deeper.
fuck, you’re hungry for it.
zoro is not a man of many indulgences. he doesn’t allow himself to be. having too many vices can only lead to a weak mind and an even weaker will. he eats but he does not savour, he sleeps but he does not dream.
but he’d be a shit swordsman if he didn’t understand the balance in all things. denying himself all of life’s comforts would make for a rigid spirit, brittle and easily broken. so he’ll sip on some sake and enjoy its fire in his belly, he’ll nap on sunny’s deck so when he wakes, it’s to the sight of his crew set to the backdrop of the setting sun. and when the sun dips below the horizon, there’s nothing to stop him from finding you in the dark and pulling you into a hungry kiss.
that balance is what makes nights like these all the better. knowing that having you like this, spread open and vulnerable, is good for him. that you’re making him a better man, a stronger man, just by letting him take you apart and make a mess out of you. there’s no need to resist the temptation now of bending low to press his lips to your trembling ones in a slow, ravenous kiss.
you taste like need and the sweetest of sins and he licks at the roof of your mouth, knowing he’s damned himself long ago to crave you for as long as he lives.
"if you want something, you have to ask,” he says, pulling back and idly groping at your tits, pinching your nipple when you don’t answer. you throw your head back at the sudden sensation and a wild heat blooms in his chest at the sight, scorching his ribs. how easily you bare your neck for him. how thoughtlessly.
"please, zoro, please. want you deeper, i wanna feel you here,” you take his hands, sliding them down your body until they come to rest on your lower stomach. irritation, sharp and sudden, cuts through his haze.
“don’t fucking beg,” he says, low and even, “you don’t have to beg. ever.”
it’s so far beneath you to plead, he has to swallow down the growl building in the back of his throat. zoro would topple empires for you, would cut the very moon in half if you asked, and you think you have to beg him for anything?
he doesn’t wait for you to nod before he starts pushing in. it doesn’t matter if you understand yet or not, he’ll fuck it into you until you do.
there’s a moment after he’s bottomed out inside you where neither of you move a muscle. he grits his teeth from the effort of holding on to the frayed rope that is his restraint and letting you get used to the wide stretch of him. ages pass before you reach up, slowly as if to not startle the beast above you, and cup his face in your soft palm. you stroke your thumb across his cheek, just on the edge of his scar. your touch is warm and gentle and cracks something inside him wide open.
the rope slip from his fingers. he lets it.
there’s no warning, no build-up before he’s pressing both palms down on your stomach and fucking into you. you reach up to hold on to any part of him, settling around his neck, a balm on his flushed skin even as your nails dig and bite into him.
“you feel that? hmm?” his smile feels jagged and sharp, more demon than man but you only moan at the sight of it, “you feel me in there?”
it’s a strange sensation, feeling himself carve a space inside you, the push and pull. it’s filthy and more intimate than it has any right to be and he fucking loves it.
“fuck, feel you i feel—” a rough thrust cuts you off and when you catch your breath, you’re still rambling, “—so good, you’re so good.”
zoro’s been called many things in his life but good isn’t one of them. it’s never bothered him before. good men don’t claw their way up in the world and leave a trail of slaughter in their wake. good men don’t scream at the heavens and demand to be heard.
zoro is not a good man. but he can be good. to you. for you.
“breathe, baby,” he says, “don’t forget to breathe.”
he presses down a bit harder and your reaction is instantaneous, legs kicking out, the tears that have been threatening to spill over since he stuffed a pillow under your hips finally sliding down your cheeks. you take him so beautifully and something barbed wraps around his heart and squeezes at the sight, shredding him to bloody pieces.
he knows you’re close before your eyes start to flutter, can feel it building like a storm inside you and chases your pleasure with reckless abandon.
“zoro.”
short inhale, long exhale. his name a sigh on your parted lips as you clench tight around him and cum. he doesn’t stop moving for a second, doesn’t let up the pressure even as he feels you gush all over him, soaking his cock, his thighs, his stomach. his strokes stay sure and steady as he fucks you through your high.
you shudder beneath him before relaxing back into the bed and he slows to a stop to let you catch your breath. it hurts to look at you, all divine and fucked out. it’s a sight too holy for a hellbound man like him to behold but he drinks it in anyway, burns it into his mind.
what’s one more sin to a demon?
zoro slips out of you with a hiss through gritted teeth, taking a moment to admire the creamy ring around his base, your arousal and cum still dripping off him. you’ve marked him as yours and yours alone without even trying and his cock twitches at the thought.
“no why?” you whine as he pulls back further, “give it back.”
“turn over,” even as he speaks, he’s manhandling you until you’re laid out on your stomach, hips propped up with the pillow he takes care to push under you. zoro kisses down your spine before settling between your spread legs and greeting your cunt with a broad stroke of his tongue, “i ever tell you that you taste good like this?”
“like- mmm fuck,” you say, all breathy as he circles around your swollen clit, “like what?”
“stretched out,” he murmurs, “open.”
you’re past the point of words as he grabs two handfuls of your ass, spreads your sticky lips open with his thumbs and buries his tongue inside you. he savours the sweet little gasps you let you like the finest sake, groaning into your pussy as you start to rock your hips and grind your clit against him. he can’t catch a full breath, thinks he might be suffocating, and moans a bit louder.
a swarm of words bubble up hot and fast in his lungs, taking up space where breath once lived. half-formed thoughts try and fail to take shape in his mouth, weighing down the tongue that makes you writhe in the sheets.
he can’t bring himself to speak but if he could, he’d show you. zoro wants to crack his ribs open so you can see the bloody wreckage you’ve caused, let you crawl in and keep you safe next to the heart that’s always, always, been yours. he’d probably burst into flames with so much goodness inside him but that’s alright. at least he’d keep you warm.
the words stay trapped where they are though and all he can do is all he’s ever known how to. he goes to work. zoro is singleminded in his task, fingers digging into the fat of your ass to keep you still while he devours you whole and it doesn’t take long before he’s pushing you off the edge he never let you stray too far away from.
he laps at your folds until you start to squirm away, crawling up the bed and away from him. he lets you put a bit of distance between you, lulls his prey into thinking it’s escaped before he pounces. between one breath and the next, zoro’s on you, draped along your back, licking at the sweat that beads down the nape of your neck. you arch into him, pushing back against the hardness digging into your ass before he rests his weight down on you, forcing you flat on your front.
“where do you want me, baby?” he asks, kissing behind your ear, “tell me where you want me.”
in this moment and in all others, zoro would do anything you told him to. you could make him hump you like an animal until he cums and lick your skin clean or stand across the room and jack off by himself with nothing but the lingering taste of your pussy to help him get off. he’d do it and he’d do it without an ounce of shame.
“want you inside,” you slur, “wanna be full.”
his entire being in the palm of your hands and you choose to be merciful.
“you sure?” he lifts up off you just enough to get a hand around his base and nudge his tip against your clit, “not too sensitive?”
“yeah, pl- i can take it.”
his grin is all teeth when he hears you correct yourself, “that’s my fucking girl. stay still, baby. let me take care of you.”
you’re soft and slick from his spit and two orgasms and when he bottoms out all at once, it’s with a low groan in your ear that echoes behind your breathy moan. sinking back inside you feels like rapture, like something he’s done nothing to deserve but basks in anyway with an endless greed.
he wraps his arms around you, one across your front groping at your chest while the other hooks around to put you in a headlock, keeping you pressed flush to him as he starts to rock into you. zoro is quiet in his worship, purposeful, and you’re nearly as quiet in receiving it, the room filled only by your soaked cunt and ragged breathing. though you don’t say anything, he can hear you loud and clear.
short inhale, long exhale.
a holy call he’s helpless to answer.
zoro fucks you to the rhythm of his name, short, devastating thrusts with his whole weight thrown behind him. he wants to live in this moment, could spend the rest of his days with his cock dragging along your walls slow and sure, relishing the way you tighten like a vice around him every time he flexes and cuts your air off mid-gasp.
but he swore an oath at your altar and zoro has always been a man of his words.
he cums with a sigh of your name, spilling inside you for what feels like ages before he collapses over you boneless and spent, his softening cock keeping you plugged nice and full just like you asked so sweetly for.
“you okay?” he asks, pulling out as gently as he can and helping you roll over when your trembling arms make it clear you can’t do it on your own.
“mhmm,” you pull yourself up until you’re nose to nose with him. zoro holds still as you scatter kisses across his face like stardust. his temple, his scar, the corner of his mouth. there’s no order, no pattern he can discern to the affection you bestow but he accepts it the way all blessings should be received. with silent gratitude.
“nothing hurts?”
“no. but you’re carrying me to the bath.”
“okay.”
you tuck yourself into his side, reaching up to idly roll his earrings between your fingers, “and washing my hair.”
“okay.”
“and i’m gonna wash your hair.”
“okay.”
“say something else.”
he thinks for a moment, thinks of all he could never put to words and lets them stay as thoughts. instead, he meets your eyes and settles on a simple truth, “you’re beautiful.”
a smile, radiant and bright, breaks across your face. what happens, he wonders, when a demon is the cause of something as divine as your smile? it’s a question he doesn’t mind spending his life searching the answer to.
dedicated to: mah wife @katslutski and the loml @saotoru
#zoro smut#one piece smut#zoro x reader#one piece x reader#roronoa zoro smut#roronoa zoro x reader#god this has been in my drafts for so long
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It takes a lot to break a ghost. After all, even death didn’t keep them down for long, not in any way that mattered.
There is, however, a sure fire way to utterly crush a ghost’s core without even touching it.
Find their grave, and defile it.
It is the height of cruelty. It is the ultimate act of disrespect. It is violation, of the deepest kind, an act that can never, ever be allowed to go unpunished.
As Danny stared at the remains of the toppled over rock tower that Tucker and Sam had made for him all those years ago, to honor his death, he wasn’t sure if he could survive this.
——
Please.
Zatanna looked around. The magician knew better than to write off the sound as a trick of her mind.
You have to help him. Please. He’s just a child.
“Who? What’s wrong?” Zatanna asked, heart aching for the grieving whispers of the young voice.
My brother. His grave. It’s been destroyed. Please.
Zatanna’s hair stood on ends. “What’s his name? Where is it?”
Amity Park. His name is Phantom. Please. Hurry.
Her heart skipped a beat. Phantom. The name of the Infinite Realm’s Champion, the future king.
“Shit. I’m on my way. Can you lead me there?”
I can’t. I won’t be here for much longer. Tell him Jazz sent you. Please. Help him. Help him.
“I will.”
When Zatanna portals out of her dressing room, she catches a flash of red hair.
——
“CONSTANTINE!”
“Gah! Zatanna?” John Constantine fell out of his chair, legs slipping from their place propped onto the table.
“Emergency! Infinite Realms level. Someone destroyed Phantom’s grave.”
Constantine scrambled upwards, pulling on his coat as his mind all but bleated like a highland goat at the sound of “Infinite Realms” and “Phantom’s grave.” Destroying a ghost’s grave might destroy the ghost, but if they survive the initial splintering, right before their final death, they’ll explode in a ball of fury. Normally, it would be slightly less of a problem. Normally, it wouldn’t be the most powerful ghost in the Infinite Realms. Normally, this wouldn’t happen. Normally, even if it did, it wouldn’t risk a war none of the universes would win. The Infinite Realms loves prince Phantom. Their grief over this… even if he survives, the consequences would be unimaginable.
“You contact the League. I have to go fix this, right now.”
John doesn’t bother going for his hottle, because he unfortunately needed to do this sober.
“Go, go!”
——
Danny doesn’t turn even as he hears the crunch of grass blades. He sits, staring blankly at what used to be his grave marker.
“Hi, there,” it’s a woman. She sounds sad. Danny understands, because all he feels is a whistling hole where his heart used to be. “Are you Phantom?”
Danny sighs, ice crackling at his lungs. He knows, when this is over, he’ll find it in himself to rage. If he doesn’t shatter from this, he knows he’ll take Amity out. Perhaps he’d spare this one. It’s been a long time since anyone bothered visiting or even knew about his grave.
“Your highness…your sister sent me. Jazz?”
That got Danny’s attention. Glowing green eyes peeked from the curled ball of ghost to stare Zatanna down.
She swallowed.
“She… had red hair?”
“Why are you here?” Why did she send you? He doesn’t say. Zatanna seems to understand anyways.
“To help. Please, will you let me help?”
Danny looks down at the ice freezing her feet to the ground and thinks of the kind set of her eyes, the steel backing her spine, the carefully nonthreatening posture. Yes, Jazz would send this kind of person to help him.
The ice melts.
“Thank you.”
Danny watches as she approaches his destroyed grave. She glances back for his permission. He shrugs. It’s destroyed. Nothing would ever bring it back.
And then, he was proven wrong.
Zatanna’s eyes glow, and the stones began melding itself back together- no, it was reversing the damage and zooming back to its proper place.
“Oh.”
The damage to his core was still there. But… he won’t kill this one at all.
Or her friends, who stand at the edge of the clearing with the soul-torn one standing at the helm.
“Is this… alright, your highness?”
Danny stares at Zatanna. His voice is hoarse but… but it’s not on the verge of insanity anymore.
“Do you always come to graves without an offering?”
He knows he’s being rude. He’s past the point of caring. Zatanna’s response is to pull a bouquet of lilies from behind her back.
——
Phantom’s face is so young, and it’s even younger when he smiles.
“Not always,” Zatanna replies, rolling her eyes. But when she settles the flowers down, they’re gently placed.
“Can you magic clovers around it?” Phantom asks, that note of painful hope cracking her own heart. She wonders how old he was when he died.
“Of course.”
A field of clovers surrounds the rock tower, and Zatanna adds four layers of heavy wards around the area when she grows them. Phantom notices, and looks up at her with… trust.
“I am Zatanna. Your sister, Jazz, sent me.”
“Okay. You can call me Phantom.”
——
“I want their heads.” Danny says.
“We don’t kill.”
“Then hand them over to us, for they have hurt the Great One. They will answer for their crimes.” Frostbite settles a hand on Danny’s shoulder.
“Alright.”
“Constantine.”
Constantine somehow manages to drag Batman away to hiss in his ears.
“Shit in a hole, Batsy, I’m not fucking with the Infinite Realms. My demons won’t fuck with the Infinite Realms. Destroying a ghost’s grave is an act of war, and an act of complete violation, and we’re lucky Phantom liked Zee enough not to completely bring ruin to our universe. So shut up, and get the bastards that did this.”
“Hm.”
——
Zatanna sits in the visitors chair, Batman’s and Constantine’s disgruntled selves standing behind her.
“How old are you, Phantom?”
“Hm?” The future King looks exhausted, understandably. “Oh, sixteen.”
“You’re… sixteen? That’s how old you look, right?”
She’s hoping that he’s older, that he’s a millennia and a half years old. Because if he wasn’t, whoever broke Phantom’s grave, broke the grave of a child.
“No, I’m sixteen. My body looks fourteen. I died when I was fourteen.”
Constantine swears.
Batman straightens and walks out, fists clenched.
Zatanna eases the hum of hunting magic at her finger tips and smiles at Phantom until he sleeps.
Then, she gets up, and hunts.
#zatanna#danny phantom#dc x dp#batman#bruce wayne#the Justice League#john constantine#the consequences of destroying a final resting place#crisis averted#ghost prince danny
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take me home, country road
[ao3]
You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 8)
part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7
-
Now a nocturnal animal emerges into the daylight hours.
A week becomes two and your shoulders untense. It’s not something you notice at first because you’re used to an ever present strain between your shoulder blades and an ache in your jaw from grinding your teeth at night. Then a fortnight goes by without so much as a missive with your name on it floating across John’s desk or a stranger appearing in town after tracking you down, and you wonder if maybe the world really is big enough to hide in.
It sure feels that way at times. The woods beyond the bounds of John’s property stretch out farther than the eye can see and even walking it feels like you could disappear into another realm. Old spruces shoot up high into the clouds, and deeper into the woods, huge rock formations grow more and more prominent as you near the mountains. John takes you through the woods on horseback, following the rough trails carved into the dirt by a century of wagons and carts using the same path. The footprints of a different time.
Up in the trees, birds warble and chirp, talking to one another in songs that you’ve never heard before. A woodpecker drills into the side of a tree. Pinecones snap out of the upper branches and drop to the forest floor.
There is only a single trail and it’s easy to lose. You grow a bit nervous when John takes you off the trail and deeper into the woods, but he does so with the confidence of a man that knows these woods like the back of his hand. You go quiet when he stops Buttercup to let a herd of deer wander by, the stragglers hurrying to catch up with the group, throwing the two of you nervous glances before they disappear into the thicket.
“Should we be out this far?” you ask in a whisper, reluctant to disturb the silence. Though the woods are full of animals that bleat, chirp, chatter, and hoot, the sound of your own voice feels preternaturally loud and shrill.
“We won’t get lost, darlin’. I know my way around,” John reassures you, curling an arm around your waist to hold you to him. These days, you hardly worry about tumbling off the horse. Not with him at your back anyway.
“That wasn’t really my worry,” you mumble, trailing off.
“Then what’re you getting all worked up about?”
“Aren’t there wolves out here? Or bears?”
He snorts, the sound making you jolt. You don’t topple over because he has such a firm hold around your waist. “They don’t usually come this close to town. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”
“That sounds like something mothers tell their children to stop them crying,” you say flatly. You draw your legs up automatically when John directs Buttercup through a shallow basin, a shortcut back home. It makes you anxious for a moment, but the water barely goes up to her ankles, so you relax when you realize that you’re in no danger of being swept away by the current.
“That doesn’t mean a bear or wolf can’t wander by, but it’s rare.”
“And there it is.”
You can feel the heat of his glower on the back of your head. “We could spend the night out here if you want to see for yourself.”
At that, you shut your mouth. Even if he were to prove his point, you have no interest in camping out in the woods now that you’ve become accustomed to the luxury of a soft bed. Granted that you’re forced to share that same bed, still you’ve never slept half as well as you do these days. You wake up rested after nine hours of blissful shut eye, a sleep so deep that your dreams only come in half-remembered flashes. Often they involve the man you wake up wrapped around, and for that you’re grateful that they remain submerged.
A new desire has started to burrow its way into the back of your mind in recent days. It starts out as a thought so brief that you hardly notice it before it skitters away.
And then it lingers.
You wake up in the middle of the night hot, sweat dripping down the nape of your neck and a fire burning in your loins, a red-hot coil wound around itself, fit to burst. Pulsating. At some point throughout the night, you must have thrown a leg around John’s waist because it rests there now, your hand planted in the middle of his chest and your sex all but rubbing up against his thigh. Under your hand, you can feel his heart pump strong and steady.
You hold very, very still, waiting for him to wake. But John sleeps on, his palm loose where it rests along the curve of your hip, fingers curling into the flesh of your backside.
You can hardly look at him these days without shaking. You’ve come to fixate on the sway of his hips when he walks and the flecks of silver in his beard. The grooves in his weathered hands. The way your head fits in the palm of his hand when he cradles it to his chest. The fond glimmer in his eyes that shines the brightest when he puts his hat on your head and it slips past your eyes, too big for your head.
When you tip it up in order to see, the folds around his eyes become more pronounced with the force of his smile.
“There you are, bug,” he says, taking the hat off your head to set it back on his and reeling you in for a kiss.
Bug, love, honey, darling. The constant flux of endearments makes your head spin. John never calls you by the name on your marriage license. It’s like that name means nothing to him, cast away at the first opportunity and replaced by an endless stream of pet names.
He hasn’t touched your sex since making you come on the porch swing the week before. He pulls you into a chaste embrace at night, the only evidence of his own desire being the stiff shaft nestled against the small of your back in the early morning hours, which he takes care of on his own in the bathroom downstairs after pressing a kiss to your cheek. You feel robbed of something, though you don’t know quite what.
You’re tempted to offer your help, but you don’t know exactly what that would entail. Inexperience and fear of rejection hold you back, stay your tongue. In the two weeks you’ve been married, he hasn’t once tried to pin you down and rut between your thighs like you expected and dreaded that very first night.
Now that that time has passed, you don’t know how to initiate that moment again.
John promises to teach you how to ride a horse. You can’t see a reason to protest, much to your chagrin. Despite your apprehensions, even you can’t deny that it would be a helpful skill. A train only goes one way after all, confined to a single track. A horse has no such laws to obey.
The thought stays nestled at the back of your mind as the days continue on.
You flounder around in the kitchen on the day that John invites his deputies over for supper. You’ve met the big one—Simon—now a small handful of times, each encounter marked by a silence that sucks the air out of the room when he turns his gaze on you and holds it. Perhaps you’ve simply ascribed too much importance to his person, given that every time you’ve seen him, your life has changed irrevocably. His presence is always followed by revelation it seems. The archangel of vicissitude. A harbinger of uncertain times.
The other two are new. John introduces you to them when you bring out the cutlery and crockery to set the table, and you nearly go cross-eyed when they reach across the table at the same time to offer their hands. You go to meet them halfway, but flinch when John brings his hand down on the table with enough force to make the silverware jump.
“Sorry, darlin’,” he apologizes to you first before turning his glare on the other two. “That ain’t proper, boys. You wait for the lady to offer her hand first—you don’t treat a woman like she’s a mutt you’re teaching to shake.”
“Ah, sorry, hen,” the one on the left says, his voice a thick Scottish brogue like a purr. He’s possibly the handsomest man you’ve ever met, but there’s something dangerous and wild in his eyes. When he smiles, it curls up in a roguish sort of way that makes you falter, like he’s in on a joke that you aren’t. “Dinnae mean to offend. No’ often we get ta meet such a pretty lady.”
“Sorry—” the one on the right apologizes in a voice far more earnest than his counterpart’s. “And sorry for him. We think he was raised by wolves.”
“What’s yer excuse then?” the Scot sneers, knocking his knee into the other man’s under the table. “Dinnae see ye waitin’ for her fuckin’ hand like a gentleman—apologies, hen.”
“Christ,” John sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling.
Simon stays silent at the other end of the table, but the whole table jumps when he aims a kick at the Scott’s leg. He hisses and blurts out a word in a language you’ve never heard before, the word unmistakably vitriolic. He clutches at his shin and shoots a nasty look at Simon, though he doesn’t make a move to retaliate.
“Name’s Kyle. Kyle Garrick,” the other introduces himself, and you finally reach across the table to offer your hand. His hand is warm against yours when he takes it, dark skin burnished in the candlelight. There’s something inviting about him; something about his eyes, so dark that you almost fall into them. Thick lips curl up into a smile. “And this here is Soap.”
You frown. “Soap?”
The man in question runs a hand down his front, emphasizing the cut of his shirt and the way it clings to the muscle of his chest. “‘Cause of how well I clean up.”
Simon barks out a laugh at that. The sound comes so sudden and sharp that it startles you. “You got it ‘cause your mum had to wash out your mouth with soap.”
It’s the most you’ve ever heard out of him and you can only stare wide-eyed at the lot of them as they dissolve into bickering and squabbling after that. It’s almost a relief to head back into the kitchen to finish cooking.
Dinner is a similar messy affair, punctuated by the sound of Soap practically gnawing the meat off the bone. He only apologizes when John barks at him for making a mess, more food on the floor around him than on his plate, but his table manners don’t last very long. John doesn’t seem so much embarrassed on their behalf as annoyed, but it’s an annoyance that comes with an aftertaste of warmth. You can tell without asking that they’ve known each other for years.
There’s room enough in you for food and envy. Back home you had friends. Never close friends, but acquaintances at least. Maids you could recognize by face. Small talk while ascending single-file up the servants’ staircase. Perhaps little more than that. You’d never been particularly close to any of them, but how could you? You worked from morning ‘till night, up and down the stairs, moving in the shadows. Never making too much noise lest your employers take notice of you.
Like he did.
You shake it off. That’s no matter now. You’re hundreds of miles away and living under a new name. A married woman, to the county sheriff no less. It only sometimes hurts your heart to think of how lonely you’d been.
When they leave, you stand at the window and watch as they disappear into the black of the night, Simon at the front of the pack, his torchlight leading the way. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt recedes the farther they get.
His hands warm your shoulders. You don’t know how long he’s been there, standing behind you while you stared out the window after the boys. All you know is that his hands are warm, and the kiss he presses to the back of your head makes you arch back into him, unconsciously gravitating closer to him. Needing to be near.
In bed, you curl your fingers against his chest. On a rough exhale, you wake. You dream still of something terrible that happens somewhere else, in another city, in an old life. His heartbeat lulls you back to sleep.
John takes you to the local seamstress to have you fitted for a pair of pants and suddenly you’re out of excuses. They fit you comfortably, like a second skin, and you find yourself pulling at the legs at your final fitting as if to stretch out the material. The seamstress nearly jabs you with a pin and glares up at you until you stop fidgeting.
You come to terms with it when he brings you into the stables and makes you fetch the saddle from where it rests on its stand. It’s heavier than you expected. You stumble back over to where John now has Buttercup standing in the middle of the stable, holding her by the lead fixed to her bridle.
“I don’t know if—” you start, trepidation climbing up your chest until it grips you by the throat. For as many times as you’ve ridden her, you’ve never done it alone.
John fixes her lead to a post and walks over to you, taking the saddle from your hands and letting it drop to the ground. He cups your face in both hands to tilt your head up. “Hey, honey. We’re not doing much of anything today, alright? Just a walk around the paddock so you get used to sitting on Buttercup on your own. I’m not gonna smack her ass and send you down the trail at full tilt..”
That gets a laugh out of you. “You promise?”
He smiles. “Promise, darlin’.”
And he keeps it. The only thing you do that day is learn how to tack a horse and how to properly mount and dismount her. The latter part of the lesson is devoted to you trying to find your balance while John leads the two of you around the pen at a leisurely pace. He calms you down when he sees you grow too stiff, stopping to coo and rub your thigh until you gradually relax. It’s heartwarming until Buttercup begins to tense up too for a reason unbeknownst to you and you watch in righteous fury as John calms her down the same way.
John gets you a hat to keep the sun from beating down on you, but there’s little he can do about the soreness between your thighs and the stiffness in your legs the next day. All you can do is hiss and moan in pain, hobbling around the house until he forces you down into a chair and hikes up your dress in order to apply an arnica salve to your inner thighs.
It’s a relief and an affront at the same time. The duality of man. The salve soothes much of the ache, but you twitch nervously around John for the rest of the day, the memory of him pinning you to the chair and forcibly spreading your thighs haunting you. The lingering ache in your core is just the salt in the wound.
It rains another day. A light drizzle while the sun is still out.
Every day you sit and you think, will it be today? And then the wash basins are emptied out in the field, the horses are taken out to the paddock, you pin the laundry up on the line to dry, and John presses a farewell kiss to your forehead when he leaves you with Kate and nothing happens. Every inch of you waits for more, anticipates more. Throbs when he leaves you wanting, only a chaste kiss and a squeeze around your waist before he’s off.
You can feel it coming to a head. An itch you can’t shake.
That day comes with another ache you can’t shake.
“Please,” you beg, clasping your hands in front of you. “One day of rest. That’s all I’m asking. I can’t do this anymore, John.”
John snaps the lead in his hands. “Let’s get a move on. We’re burning daylight.”
You hang your head low on the march over to the stables, John taking up the rear like he expects you to bolt. An executioner’s walk. The thought of escape has never seemed further away—not even because of its feasibility, but because all you want to do is lie down and rest.
“You can quit your moping,” he says as you tack up Buttercup, a pout on your lips. “Got something special for you today.”
That makes you perk up, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t specify what that is. Anticipation mounts in you when he helps you up onto Buttercup and then climbs up behind you himself. He steers her away from the paddock and towards the trail leading into the woods, the sun at its zenith now, illuminating everything as far as the eye can see.
You’ve ridden this trail before. A week ago, with John at your back as he is now. Through the fields and over the hills until the trees start to number in the tens and then the hundreds, no clear delineation between plain and forest. Simply there and then everywhere.
By now, after hours of sun beating down on the path, the trail is mostly dry, yesterday’s rain long since having sunk into the earth. You think it’d still be a tough hike on foot, but on horseback you cover acres of land at a brisk pace, Buttercup hardly breaking a sweat. You cross paths with a small group traveling by horse and wagon, but John breaks off from the path not too long after that, steering Buttercup deeper into the wilderness, where the only gullies are the ones carved out by years and years of rainfall.
You only see it when the land begins to dip and you’re forced to hold onto the horn and tighten your thighs around the fenders to keep steady. At the bottom of a hill, a small stream opens up into a larger river, narrowing out at the other end where the land rises again and the water can only trickle over the pebbly riverbed. On the other side, a rocky outcropping cuts the stream off from view.
“Is this where you used to come to bathe?” you ask, recalling an earlier conversation.
John sighs. “Thought I’d take you for a swim as a treat, but if you’d rather just tease me—”
“Well now, let’s not be hasty,” you say, already trying to dismount on your own, eyes glued on the stream glimmering in the sunlight. John chuckles, keeping you pressed to him until he guides Buttercup under a tree for shade and dismounts first, helping you down after him.
All you want to do is wade in the stream up to your ankles, so that’s what you do. Boots kicked off, Buttercup relaxing in the shade of a tree, John standing by the water’s edge with his hands on his hips and watching you tiptoe over the smooth rocks below. You roll up your pant legs, but eventually you feel the ends grow damp as you venture farther out. At its deepest, you would probably sink up to your waist.
“Don’t you want to swim?” John asks from somewhere behind you.
You splash around a bit, kicking your feet through the water. “Hard to do that with clothes—”
When you turn back around to face him, your eyes dart down momentarily at the sight of skin before you squeak and whirl back around, sending up an arc of water. Twice now you’ve seen him naked.
“You’ve no clothes on,” you state, bluntly enough that it almost sounds stupid.
You hear the water splash and ripple when he takes his first step in. “Right—you better think about doing the same if you don’t want to ride home soaking wet.”
“I was perfectly fine just getting my feet wet,” you say indignantly.
“We came out here to swim, not get your feet wet,” John laughs. You stiffen when his hand comes down on your shoulder, conscious of the fact that your husband is standing right behind you, entirely divested of his clothes. “So best get to steppin’.”
“You can’t make me.”
“Oh, honey,” he says pityingly. “Yes, I can.”
You squeeze your eyes shut as you make your way back to shore, careful not to allow yourself a glimpse of him. Your boots are stacked beneath the shade of another tree, John’s clothes folded neatly beside them. You strip slowly, attentive to the world around you; though unlikely, it’s not impossible that someone might wander by. Your only consolation is that John is still within sight, though you keep your back to him because in recent days, you’ve developed a hunger for him that even now makes your stomach hurt.
Though the air is warm, you shiver. When you turn around with your arms crossed over your breasts to hide them from sight, you find John wading in the river up to his waist. You’ve seen him like this once before, the hearty body of a man in his prime. Sturdy and strong. The hair on his chest is darker than that on his head, wet too from the dip he must have taken when your back was turned. His hair is slicked back too, a wet hand combing it back.
“Come on, darlin’,” he calls, beckoning you forward with his hand.
The water is a cold shock when you step in past your ankles. Ice cold tendrils wrap up your legs, sucking the warmth from you.
You suck in a soft breath when he pulls you into his arms and heaves you up, big hands gripping under your thighs. Your breasts press against the wet skin of his chest, nipples already pebbled. The river is deeper than you assumed; John pulls you deeper in until it pools around your waist and then your chest. Cold enough that you shiver until John dips his head down and the kiss he presses to your lips melts you from the inside out.
You can’t escape the intimacy of water-slick skin. When John drags you up his chest, your nipples brush over his and the shudder that passes through you is violent, toe-curling. You know that he can feel the heat of your core even underwater. With your legs wound around his waist, every inch of you is plastered to his front. Even your fingers play with the ends of his hair, arms draped over his shoulders. You can’t look away.
“C’mon,” he murmurs, breath hot on your face. “Eyes on me.”
As if you could look anywhere else.
He reaches down under the water to readjust himself and you gasp when his shaft is suddenly right there, trapped between his belly and your heat. It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to coitus, his glans nestled between your folds. You’d only have to shift slightly for him to slip right in. The thought makes your breath quicken.
He doesn’t make a move to take you though, even knowing that he could. How easy it would be. How it’s due to him. Your husband that’s waited a fortnight to take you as his own. John kisses you until each slick pass of his lips grows sloppier, clumsier—his lips barely parting from yours before they’re on you again, rendering you a creature of base needs.
But his hands don’t shift from your backside where he holds you in place. His fingers dig into the flesh hard enough to bruise, but they don’t move to part your folds to make room for his manhood. You expect him to—practically yearn for it and squeeze him around the neck all the harder when he subverts your expectations, doing no more than letting you grind your heat against the base of his shaft.
“John—John, please,” you beg, mindless for what. You don’t know what you’re asking for.
“What d’ya need, darlin’?” he asks into your mouth, stealing your answer with another kiss.
You fall under the swell of another wave. When the root of his cock glides over your clit, your core clenches on nothing, a sob half-bitten off in your mouth, ripped from your chest.
It doesn’t matter how close to him you get—he gives you nothing. The heat could very well burn you from the inside out. Cold water caresses your skin as it flows past, but the center of you runs so hot that you hardly notice it.
When he hikes you higher up against his chest, you clench your fingers in his hair, whining when he takes your nipple into his mouth. Your gasp comes out sharp and hurt when the coarse bristles of his beard rub rough against your breast. He sucks at your breast tender at first, gentle, eyes half-lidded like his mind has gone somewhere else, but there’s a glint in his eye that grows wild and dark, that turns him rough. You don’t know what to do except shake and let him use you how he wants.
Desperation nips at your heels, urging you up the length of him. If you had more nerve, you’d reach down and grasp him under the water, notch the head of his member against your sex and sink right down on him. You need him like you've never needed anything before. Every part of you aflame, searing hot under the sun at its highest point; right overhead, right on top of you.
His teeth sink delicately into your areola, tongue lapping over your nipple to soothe the hurt, and suddenly, you break.
“Please—” you gasp, wrenching his mouth away from your breast and whimpering when he resists at first, glaring up at you like he might bite. “Please, John—I can’t take it. I need you.”
His eyes darken, the pupil swallowing everything up. “Need me where, wife? Here?”
A hand dips between your thighs, pointer finger gliding over your sex, plump with blood. So tender that your mouth hangs open on a whine when he touches you.
“Y-yes,” you whimper, gaze swimming.
John’s breath comes out in a harsh, ragged pant. Completely undone in a way you’ve never seen before. “Get out, darlin’. I’m taking you home. Gonna give you what you need.”
#ceil writing#cod mw2#cod x reader#price/reader#john price/reader#price x reader#price x you#john price x reader#john price
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Can you do something like a mutual Masturbation with uncle!Nanami that leads to us having sex because he's so needy like he just NEEDS and CRAVES to be inside us.
-Very Much embarrassed Anon 🫂
pls don't tell me I'm the uncle nanami blog 😭 not my intention but im always happy to serve 🍽️
warnings: 18+, coercion, age gap, faux/incest (not clarified), use of 'uncle nanamin', m + f masturbation, tit sucking, praise, vaginal sex, creampie, squirting!!, implied virgin!reader, pussy spanks.
words: 1k
“Gooood girl, just like that.” your uncle coos against your bare shoulder, looking down at where your thighs straddle his and your fingers play with your swollen, needy clit at his command. He grunts, quietly, as he jerks himself off to the sight. The scent of sex and want fills the room as do the sticky sounds of you touching yourselves and the agonising grunts of desperation knowing that this will have to be enough and it’s all that will ever be enough.
“L-Love y— I love you. Uncle Nanamin—!” you manage to stutter out. Passion consuming you as your clit throbs desperately to be allowed to cum. The loving praise from Nanami is more than enough to topple you over that greedy edge, but eager fingers keep toying and playing and aching as you want nothing more than to cum for him.
He carefully moves your arm so that you’re clinging onto his shoulder for balance. Your hips rock against his thigh, the muscles and ridges forcing you to beg for forgiveness as you climb closer and closer to the edge of bliss. Nanami won’t stop you, though, he loves you too much for that. He uses his free hand to guide your tit to his lips, suctioning around your hardened nipple as he continues to stroke his cock with ardour.
You cum, messily. Pussy gushing all over his leg and dripping down onto the floor below. He gasps, beguiled. Eyes filled with a hunger you’ve never seen before. He didn’t know you could do that. You didn’t know you could do that, either.
Maybe you just love him that much.
Your love for Uncle Nanamin is cascading from your cunt because you can’t keep it all in. Not when you so seldom get time alone with him like this. You’re always missing him when he’s away on business trips and when you do have time together your family is nearby. But now, it’s just you two. And you want to be perfect for him.
With a performance like that, though, he couldn’t see you as anything but a perfect angel.
“Did that feel good, sweetheart? You’re shaking… poor thing.” he mumbles with purpose against your skin. Each word surging to your throbbing bead and desperate to have more. You want to cum again. You look pathetic as your hand flies to your sex and your rubbing hurriedly again just so you can hear him say more sweet words to you and make you feel oh so special. “Stay right there.” he orders you, calmly, and it sounds more like a request.
You can barely put up a fight as he moves you carefully. Your legs no longer straddling his leg, just his waist and he takes it upon himself to distract you by sucking at your raised nipple once again.
“I’m sorry, princess, I shouldn’t be doing this…” he says quietly as he lines up his cockhead with your tight virgin slot, kissing your exposed skin again and again as he tries to ease himself in. “She’s made for me, yeah? Ohhhhh — fuck — you’re so tight. Such a good girl f’me…”
“Ah.. aaah—!” you moan and hiss ever so slightly as you feel his heavy shaft split open your untouched walls. You shouldn’t be doing this, he’s right. But you can’t possibly begin to care when your favourite uncle is giving you so much attention. So much love and so much of him.
He moves you like you’re nothing. Holding your sides and lifting you up and down slowly again and again as he alternates between kissing your skin and your supple tits. It gets easier. With each and every pummel of his tip against your soft, spongy spot it gets so much fucking easier. He covers your mouth as your moans become unruly.
“Sh… sh sh shhhh, princess… as pretty as you sound you can’t be too noisy, or you’ll get in so much trouble.” he reminds you. Tears spill from your eyes and run down his large, veiny hand. “Messy girl. Drooling and crying all over my hand, s’cute.” he grins.
You feel weightless as he uses you like you’re a doll. His perfect little doll made to take him in every sense of the word. You yelp against his suffocating palm when you feel his free hand come down and lightly spank your clit.
“What about her? Is she gonna be a messy girl for me?” he moans, feeling himself getting so close to spilling his seed inside of you. You shiver, his sloppy kisses leaving behind trails of spit that cool your body with every thrust. “I want to make a mess of you, sweetheart. Please… please let me.” he begs. You’ve never heard him like this. So desperate and needy and pleading for you to give him the answer he so craves.
“A-Anything—” you start, your head lolling back as you lose all composure. “Wan’ you to f-feel good, Uncle N-Nanamin!” you tell him.
With a few more desperate frenzied thrusts and delicate rubs of your sensitive core, you cum harder than you ever have before using your tiny fingers. He can’t help but admire the way you cream for him. Clear liquid shoots from your cunt and makes a mess of yourself, your uncle, and the bed beneath. And he can barely admire it, the sight being too much for him as he follows you into your high. You feel your insides turn warm as his cum fills your body.
His chest rises and falls dramatically as he fucks all he can into your cunt, but he can’t deny you as your face searches eagerly for his. You need to feel his lips on yours and he reciprocates instantly, wanting to assure you that you’re loved and he’s proud. You’re always such a perfect girl for him, his sweet angel.
He’s usually so coolheaded. Always in control and knows how to handle his wants and desires. But when it comes to you, he’s hopeless. How could he resist his cute little niece? Always so eager to please and keen to be with him. You’ve always been so affectionate and loving with him. So he had to have you.
And you have to give him anything he wants. Because you love your Uncle Nanamin.
© 2023 rinitxshi
#💌 — luxe mail#📨 — requests#Very Much embarrassed Anon 🫂#nanami x reader#kento nanami x reader#nanami x you#kento nanami x you#kento nanami smut#jjk smut#jjk x fem!reader#jjk x reader#jjk x you#tw coercion#tw age gap#tw:incest#tw praise
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"I've been wanting to do that for so long"
SKZ -> Minho x fem!reader
genre: best friends to lovers, fluffffffy
wc: ~1,200
cw: none :)
summary: You and Minho are finally able to make something of his consistent flirty behavior.
A/N: Hiii! A little shorter than normal, but I wanted to get something out while I work on the requests I have. Hope everyone is doing well! Please feel free to leave feedback in the comments and like/reblog- it's truly appreciated!
Also, I know a lot of you like the angst, but don't worry! The request I'm working on has lots of it 👀👀
Masterlist | Happy Scrolling!
"Please tell me we don't have to watch another one of your chick flicks tonight," Minho groans, walking into the living room from the kitchen, two bowls of popcorn in hand.
"Of course we do, do you even know me?" you tease, sinking back further into the couch. You watch as he crosses in front of you, gently setting the bowls down on the table before throwing himself down onto the couch beside you.
It's your and Minho's weekly movie night, and the two of you decided to do it at your apartment this week. Not that the dorms aren't a fun hangout place, it's just sometimes your sensitive eardrums need a break.
The two of you have been friends for forever; you actually met back in elementary school. Your box of crayons was missing the pink one, and Minho became your knight in shining armor when he valiantly and bravely gave you his. From then on, he's been by your side. Need an errand buddy to run to the store with? Minho will come. Need someone to edit your college essay? Minho will do it. Need someone to cry with you on your couch once a week while you indulge yourself in different romantic fantasies? You know Minho will be there every time.
You try not to subject him to your rom coms every week, but it's so easy and fun to immerse yourself in other people's love lives, even if just for an hour and a half.
Your love life is close to non-existent. Minho, and occasionally his band members, are the only male interactions you ever get. You're not necessarily the most outgoing person, so it's hard for you to meet new people.
Not that you're necessarily complaining, I mean, you're so grateful for the friendship you have with Minho, but sometimes you wish it was more than that. His consistent teasing doesn't help your constant delusions. He's always flirting with you, calling you pet names and telling you how beautiful you are. You know it's nothing more than teasing, so you try not to let it affect you.
"How about this one?" you ask him, hovering over The Kissing Booth. You've seen it a million times, but it's one of your favorites; you'll never pass up an opportunity to watch it.
"I couldn't be more indifferent," he comments dryly. You roll your eyes at him and press play, playfully tossing the remote at his side.
"Do that again and I'm snatching it up and changing it," he glances at you, his face blank of emotion. You keep your eyes on the screen, holding back a smirk.
As emotionless as your best friend could come off sometimes, you know he always means well. You are more similar than you'd like to admit, and you know just as well how hard showing other's your emotions can be.
~ ~ ~
"Haven't we watched this one before?" Minho interrupts, his finger pointing accusingly at the screen.
"Maybe..."
"You've got to be kidding me. Where's that damn remote?" his hands sweep over the couch cushions in the dark room, and he looks to you when he comes up with nothing. His narrow eyes meet your innocent ones. "Give me it. I am not watching this one again; it was terrible."
"You didn't think it was terrible 10 minutes ago when your eyes were practically glued to the screen," you counter, holding the remote tightly in your clasped hands.
He scoffs, reaching out towards you. His fingers grasp around your arm and give you a rough pull, making you topple over into him. You let out an embarrassing squawk when you both slip to the floor in your impromptu wrestling match.
You find yourself underneath him, his hands still pulling roughly at the remote.
"Give it to me!"
"No! I want to watch this!"
The struggle continues for a few moments, you desperately trying to protect the remote while Minho sits above you, practically manhandling you.
In a quick lapse of judgement, you let up a little, allowing Minho to pin your hands to the ground above your head. Both of you are breathless as you lay beneath him, a playful smirk gracing the beautiful face in front of you.
Your eyes are wide as you lay there. You expect him to get off you, but he doesn't. He unwaveringly holds his position above you.
You catch his big brown eyes switch between your eyes and your lips, and you feel your breath hitch in your throat when he leans down slightly.
It's silent between the two of you as he slowly comes closer, his gaze remaining on your lips.
Your heart drops when he brings his lips to your ear instead. "I win," he whispers, before casually plucking the remote from your previously pinned hands. He gets off you, adjusting his clothes before he plops back on the couch, immediately exiting out of the movie.
You lay there another moment, thinking about what the heck just happened and whether you're going to let him get away with it.
You sit up abruptly, staring at him with disbelief. "What the hell was that?"
"What?" his gaze remains on the T.V. screen, and you find his nonchalance irritating.
"What do you mean, 'What'?"
"We wrestle all the time, what are you on about?"
Your jaw drops at his statement. "Yes, we do, but not- not like that," you let out a flustered chuckle, shaking your head at him.
"I don't know what you're talking about." When he speaks this time, you're able to catch the slightest upturn of his lips.
"You're messing with me," you tell him, not believing his actions could've been all innocent.
He finally breaks his gaze away from the T.V., setting the remote down beside him. "Now why would I do that?"
"Because- because that's what you do! You're sarcastic, and you're sly, and- and..." your frustration gets the best of you, and you bring your hands up to cover your face. You feel your cheeks burn red with embarrassment.
"What did you think was going to happen? Did you want me to kiss you like Noah did to Elle?"
You rip your hands away from your face at that, your jaw dropping at his suggestion. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," his voice is steady, his eye contact strong as he stands his ground. "We've been doing this long enough. I just want to know if this is reciprocated."
"If what's reciprocated?"
"You know, this- this thing between us. Is it reciprocated? Like, do you like like me like I like like you?" He raises an eyebrow at you, waiting for an answer you're hesitant to give.
"You're not messing with me?" you're cautious as the question leaves your lips.
"No, I'm not. How can I spell it out for you," he pauses, bringing a hand up to his chin in an exaggerated manner. "I like you. I have a crush on you. I want to be your boyfriend. I-"
"Ok, ok!" you cut him off with a laugh, "I do."
"You like me back?"
"Yea, yea I do."
His actions are quick as he drops to his knees on the floor in front of you. He rushes you, his body moving over yours. His hands grasp your wrists, pushing them above your head.
His legs rest on either side of your hips, pinning you down.
"Ok, let's try this again then."
You let yourself get lost in his eyes as he leans down towards you again.
When his face is close enough for his nose to rest against yours, he brings his lips to yours.
He pulls away when your both breathless, a look of mirth on his face.
"I've been wanting do that for so long."
#stray kids#skz#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#skz oneshots#stray kids oneshot#stray kids imagines#skz imagines#lee know#lee minho#skz minho#lee know x reader#lee minho x reader#best friends to lovers#stray kids fluff#skz fluff#lee know fluff#lee know imagines#lee know scenarios
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Puppy Needs Her Attention
June Note: I’m going on vacation with my girlfriend for the next week so I thought I’d drop another fic before I left!
G!P Puppy Winter x F! Reader
TW: Aggressive behaviors, breeding, and swearing.
With an exhausted sigh you walk into the house, groceries in hand, and head to the kitchen. As you flick the light on you can hear a faint whimpering sound.
Minutes pass as you place the groceries in their respective places and start readying dinner. But you cannot help but feel as if someone is watching you, and as you turn to face the stairwell you see Winter.
She whines and topples over the stairs and into the kitchen, slamming into you, knocking the empty pan off of the stovetop.
“You said you wouldn’t be gone long. Why did you leave me?!”
She nuzzles her face into the crook of your neck, her heavy pants loud in your ear as she whines.
Before you can even utter a response she starts humping you desperately, her penis growing larger and pushing the fabric of her shorts upward.
“It was only for a few hours baby, please calm yourself,” you try and coax her but it only stirs poor Winter up even more.
“When I called you weren’t there! I even waited like a good girl and you didn’t come for me soon enough!”
Her incessant cries did not seem like they would stop anytime soon, not with the way she was holding you so close from behind.
“I’m sorry it won’t happen again!”
But reassuring her is far beyond helpful with how much the situation has escalated.
She digs her nails into your back and tries to forcefully stuff her bulge in between your thighs. The friction of your clothes rubbing together is enough to make your clit throb with anticipation.
Noticing your sudden excitement she rubs her finger in a figure eight motion to stimulate your clit. While her hands are busy with your cunt, her mouth is leaving bright red marks on your neck and jawline.
The red marks left on your skin feel good yet somewhat painful. However, you’re more focused on her fingers that are fixated on taking your pants off.
The poor puppy can only focus on so many things at a time though. All she wants right now is to drop her warm load into you, and give you her pups.
“Winter baby it’s okay!”
Yet the tears streaming down her face indicate that it is indeed, not okay. You’ve never seen her so sexually frustrated before, but the way she whines as she strips you of your clothing was such a pitiful sight.
She forces your hand onto her shorts, moving your hand in a palming motion until the mound in her shorts is too big to contain.
Her cock creeps out from over her boxers, the fat tip dripping with salty precum. She pulls your legs apart and stares at your juiced up pussy.
“Mine. Mine. It’s mine.”
Winter drops her head down between your thighs and begins greedily eating at your pussy as if it’s her last meal. Her tongue swirls from your clit down to your wet hole. Her hands grip your inner thighs, almost ripping the skin with her nails as she eats away at your pussy.
The way she looks up at you it’s clear that she’s so pussy drunk. Just the taste of you makes her more possessive of you.
She finishes licking up the rest of your juices and in between your folds, leaving you in ruins. Her cock is now revealed completely to you, the sheer size and girth of it is almost frightening each time you see it.
Winter positions her cock in place with your hole and thrusts in suddenly at full force.
“Haah.. wanna breed you.. ‘n give you my pups!”
Her pace is anything but slow as she smashes into you, her cock covered in ample amounts of your slick.
“Fuck Winter.. who’s a good puppy?”
You praise her and call her name in a sing-song voice, whispering sweet nothings into her ear.
She pushes herself on top of you until you are in the mating press position, as she thrusts you can feel the tip hitting deep inside you, filling you up all the way.
Her cock hits each sensitive spot in such a precise way that each thrust makes you twitch in pleasure. The sound of your moans only encourages her to ruin your hole with her thick cock even more.
Winter has almost folded you onto yourself as she grows closer to filling you with her seed. You can feel her balls pulsing and tightening against your ass as she groans out loud, her mouth open as she drools and begins to come.
“Breed you.. you’re mine.. gonna fuck you n’ come in you!”
You cannot count how many times she shoots thick ropes of come into you, but on the final shot you feel wasted and full. You can’t even find it in yourself to speak a coherent sentence.
Embarrassed at her actions she buries her face in your breasts and whines. “I ‘needa come again,” despite her words, Winter stays resting on you as your pussy warms her cock.
June Note: This one was quite short but I really do have to get going, so I won’t be as active this week! I love you all so much!
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Hallow'seams
A Seams Halloween special oneshot
{ Part IV: Notch | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }
Rating: A spicy T
Summary: Joel proves to you that he can be adventurous if he wants to be.
Warnings: Joel wears a slutty Halloween costume, fluff, mentions of drinking, spicy thoughts but nothing explicit, no use of Y/N
Word count: 1.7k
Notes: I was so looking forward to writing this Seams Halloween special that I floated back in the summer. Unfortunately, life™ happened - I've had a very rough month and honestly I didn't think I had it in me to do any writing for the rest of this year, but then this happened! I woke up thinking about Joel wearing a Gladiator costume and couldn't put it down. It's not as long or intricate as my original idea, but I hope you enjoy this anyway. I've missed these two so much!
Thank you for sticking with me and giving me so much love, I really don't deserve you all 🧡 Happy Halloween!
Joel pushes open the door to the High Street Outfitters, one booted foot steps over the threshold -
And he stops and stares.
Pumpkins of all sizes, some more crudely carved than others, seem to occupy every conceivable surface. Black cat and broomstick decals adorn the worn wooden walls, while hand-pulled cotton cobweb the ceilings.
When his feet unstick and move into the empty shop, he nearly topples a huge cauldron of what looks like homemade candy. Steadying it with his hands, he mutters under his breath. 'What the f-'
He would never admit it, but he nearly jumps out of his skin when you emerge from the studio with a dramatic flutter of the curtain divider. 'Oh hey, you're here!'
Stepping towards you, he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth in a hello, and gestures. 'You really went all out, hmm?'
Your grin brims with pride, and he feels his lips stretch into an answering smile as you straighten up some of the costumes on a nearby rack.
'We found a Halloween shop nearby a few years back,' you explain. 'All their stock was still in boxes in the store room, so we took everything and ran with it. It's a lot of work every year, but the kids have so much fun with it, it's definitely worth it.'
Joel hums skeptically. 'Not just the kids have fun, from what I heard.'
You cross your arms and play coy. 'What have you heard?'
'That my brother hosts the rowdiest Halloween party in town for the adults every year, and tonight is their last hurrah before the baby comes.'
You chuckle. 'And I'm guessing you fought the costume and lost?'
'There’s no winnin’ when your sister-in-law plays the pregnancy card,' he grumbles with poorly concealed fondness.
You walk him towards the racks near the cashier. 'Here are the men's costumes. We run a pay what you want system for Halloween rentals, just pop your contribution into that pumpkin on the counter. You better hurry though, things start kicking off around seven tonight.'
Joel combs through the outfits half-heartedly, when a standalone clothes rack on the other side of the room, covered with a black sheet, catches his eye. 'And what's that?'
You hesitate, and stutter, 'Oh, um - you won’t like those.'
Arching an eyebrow, he stares down at you. 'Why is that, sweetheart?'
The endearing way you wring your hands and worry your bottom lip brings him right back to when he first met you. Your shyness has always provoked a reaction from him - an understanding at first, from the introvert in him. Then protectiveness, when he started spending time with you.
And now, knowing you the way he does, with you opening up to him over the past few months, he lets his mouth relax into a half-smirk, one hand curling around your waist to pull you into his side as he teases, 'Use your words, Pin.'
You huff, recognising the playfulness in his body language, but you still struggle to get the words out. 'They’re - um, damnit - they're adventurous.'
He sets his face in a mock stern expression. 'And what, I’m too borin' for them?'
Narrowing your eyes at him, which makes him grin, you deadpan, 'It's just - they're not your thing, ok? They're of the -' you pause, and gesture in air quotes. 'Occupational variety.'
Comprehension dawns on him, and he drawls, 'Ah, you mean slutty costumes.'
He can feel your skin heat at his words as you duck your head, and he teases, voice low and gruff by your ear. 'And will you be wearin' somethin' slutty for me tonight, sweetheart?'
Your breath hitches and your lips part, eyes glassy at the turn of the mood. 'Joel -'
He isn't a particularly spiritual man, but the longer he lives, the more he’s convinced that some people are put on earth for a reason.
And Lucy's raison d'etre is to cockblock him at every turn.
The door bursts open with a brash energy that is uniquely hers (with an uncanny resemblance to Ellie's), and your best friend doesn't skip a beat at the sight of the pair of you canoodling. 'Save the making out for later, Miller. We gotta go get ready Pin, c’mon!'
You hastily press a kiss to his whiskered cheek. 'Pick your costume and lock up behind you, ok? I'll see you in a bit.'
Lucy all buts hauls you out of the shop, throwing over her shoulder. 'See ya later, Miller! You better show up half naked!'
Curiosity getting the better of him, Joel pulls back the sheet from the clothes rack, and his eyebrows reach for his softly graying hairline. Leafing through the options, he pauses somewhere in the middle, and smiles to himself.
He’ll show you adventurous.
Maria and Tommy's Halloween party is easily the most anticipated event in the Jackson social calendar. Illicit incentives often swap hands for a RSVP, with those unfortunate enough to be assigned patrol duties on the night willing to pay handsomely for a swap in shifts.
While the kids are knocked out at home from eating their body weight in sugar, the Tipsy Bison is teeming with townsfolk. The normally dark interiors are decked out floor to ceiling in garish black and orange, as if people wouldn't get the memo.
Joel was apprehensive on his arrival, pausing for a moment outside the double doors of the establishment to steel himself. But as soon as he crosses the threshold into the warm and boisterous bar, so loud that his right ear rings, he realises that his worries are completely unwarranted.
No one even bats an eyelid as he wades through the throngs of partygoers, nodding politely at acquaintances who drunkenly shout his name and raise a pitcher in greeting.
It's pure madness - Halloween stopped existing for him twenty years ago. The last time he went to a Halloween party was their neighbour's barbeque. He still remembers the Gryffindor costume he bought Sarah, and how big she smiled swishing around in her robe, casting gibberish spells on her friends all night.
This, however, is a distinctly grownup affair.
When he put on his costume and stood in front of the mirror an hour ago, he could barely look at his own reflection. But now, compared to others in the room, turns out his choice is almost demure.
He only saw Gladiator once when it came out a couple of years before the outbreak, but he liked it, and when he saw the costume on the rack, he picked it out straight away.
The dark red cape sits on his shoulders and drapes across half of his torso - shirtless, of course - baring his right arm. He's a bit self-conscious about the skirt (he's sure there's a name for it but the packaging didn't shed light on this), which sits mid-thigh, fastened by a belt around his waist. He's even wearing the Roman sandals and leather bracelet, and a plastic sword hangs from his belt - the full monty.
The vain side in him thinks he can pull it off, but more importantly -
He wore it for you.
But you're nowhere to be seen, even after he grabs a beer from the counter, having circled the bar twice. Spotting a lone empty chair at a high table, he decides to perch (pulling down his skirt so his boxers don't show) while he has a drink and looks for you.
His keen eyes scan the room methodically. Sexy witches, slutty lumberjacks, misbehaving firemen, naughty nurses - together with the noise, everyone and everything seems to blur into one, and he almost gives up when something familiar crosses his line of sight.
Joel frowns.
Hold up. That toolbelt looks familiar. His eyes narrow as he squints at the worn faded leather.
It is his toolbelt. The toolbelt that disappeared from his garage workshop a couple of days ago that Ellie swears she knows nothing about. That little shit.
Then his gaze pulls back, like a camera zooming out, and he finds that the toolbelt is sitting on the soft swell of a pair of hips, over short denim cut-offs that he's sure he's seen before, and below a red flannel. His red flannel, knotted at the waist, that he knows you sleep in every night.
His chest rumbles with something primal, and he downs the rest of his beer in one big gulp before slamming the empty pint glass on the table and getting onto his feet.
You don’t see him coming, but you know without turning around the moment a pair of strong hands close over your hips in a possessive grip, pulling you towards the bathroom in the back of the bar.
He knocks a breathless laugh out of you when he pushes you up the closed door, the noise of the party muted by the thick timber as you grin up at him, preening at the way his dark gaze rakes over your costume.
A shiver runs down your spine as your own undoubtedly dilated eyes follow the solid outline of his right arm, which flexes as he rests his palm on the door behind you, then down his broad chest and the soft belly he’s so nonchalantly putting on display.
It’s absurd, you know - it’s just a tacky Halloween costume, but the seams of your eyes prickle as you muse how comfortable he is in his own skin.
'And what exactly are you dressed up as?' he asks, sliding his free hand under the toolbelt to squeeze your ass.
'A slutty contractor,' you answer boldly, dragging your index finger down his bare chest. 'Isn't it obvious?'
'And you thought stealin' my toolbelt for your little costume was a good idea?' he growls.
'Well, I didn't know you'd turn up as a gladiator of all things,' you tease, wrapping your fingers around the hilt of his plastic sword.
It should not make his pulse spike like this.
'Not only that, sweetheart. I'm a slutty gladiator, thank you very much,' he retorts, walking into you to slot his hips flush against yours.
You shoot him a loaded smirk that instantly has his boxers shrink by two sizes. Ripping his cape off his shoulders, you ask cheekily, ‘And what does my champion demand as punishment -'
Joel doesn't let you finish your sentence, swallowing the rest of it with a kiss so deep that it steals your voice and takes out your knees in one fell swoop.
Grinning at the way you're already bonelessly slumped against him, he winks, nose brushing yours. 'I can think of a few things, sweetheart.'
Note: Thank you for reading! I had so much fun dipping my toe back into the Seams universe, I hope you did too. This is me warming up with a view of returning to writing for the series proper, fingers crossed sometime soon! Comments/reblogs/asks are very much appreciated as always 🧡
Thank you @firefly-graphics for the adorably spooky dividers!
#fuckyeahseams#hallow'seams#seams halloween special#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x you#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x fem!reader#joel miller x reader#the last of us fanfiction#joel miller imagine#joel miller fluff
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I feel bad about sending you many thirst but I am so obsessed so if you wanna ignore this, it's your choice BUT LIKE HEAR ME OUT-
Rin and Sae having a very clingy and horny girlfriend ever!! She just constantly needs to be touched by her beloved boyfriend. Rin obviously doesn't mind!! He absolutely loves that almost every night you wake him or Sae up to touch her!!
Anyways hope you have a good sleep/day because idk what timezone you're in!! <3
as you can see, I couldn't hold myself back. No, no dear. You're not a bother. Keep them coming :> & don't ever feel bad for being corny hahah <3 i was kinda confused if this was supposed to be a polyamory but I did them seperate >~<
— f!reader, smut, boyfriend headcanons + scenarios, more as individual warnings + ft. Itoshi brothers.
implied somnophilia, multiple rounds,fingering overstimulation, cockwarming, service- dom!Rin
It's admirable how Rin’s hands slips under your top during every movie night. The moment you sit in between his legs, all his attention diverts from the movie on to you.
And lucky for him, you cannot seem to concentrate on the movie until you feel the familiar touch of his hands on your skin. He likes to play with your boobs, kneading them, eyes watching you, your low little gasps as you watch movie. Sometimes his hands slip into your underwear and he ends up playing with your pussy too.
Also, likes to come up behind you while you are in the kitchen, kiss your shoulders, and tell about his day while he slowly eases two fingers inside you.
He won't admit it ; his ego won't let him. But he loves how you take him so well. All the time, not just in bed, in the kitchen, in the bathroom, in the couch. . . It's just drives him crazy how you are always so needy and who is he to deny when you whine in that pretty voice?
“Yes baby? What? now? Like now now?”, he coos in a sleepy voice words toppling over one another, his nose grazing your neckline, heavy breaths hitting your earlobes occasionally as you keep fidgeting with his cock. “um-hm”, and that's all it takes for him to fuck you witless.
voyeurism, dacryphillia, branding, cunnilingus, sensory deprivation, pleasure-dom!sae
It's astonishing how Sae has not grown tired of you, your continuous whines begging nothing but to touch you. What's more astonishing is that how shamelessly you succumb to his touch, every damn time.
Sae is a bit territorial as well as wild. Unlike his brother, he wouldn't waste any time in fingers fucking you for multiple times.
Instead, he lets you beg.he lets you ride him while he won't even move a muscle. Sometimes, he would just watch you touch yourself with every last bit of desperation threatening your sanity because he knows only his fingers, his cock, his touch can make you feel good.
Kisses are his forte. Just when you are close to your orgasm, your fingers being clammy, muscles stiff from imprecise masturbation he pins your hands above your head with one hand while the other curls around your neck as his lips matches the desperation you seek.
He loves to leave marks on your body, basically the intimate parts : inner thighs while eating you out, wrists while hammering his cock inside you, necklines when he lets you ride or cockwarm him.
“you ’kay baby? Or do you want more?”, he would ask after pulling a fourth orgasm , nose and lips glistening with your slick while you pant and huff to give an answer.
—
@tokyometronetwork + tap here for more.
#blue lock smut#bllk smut#bllk headcanons#bllk imagines#blue lock headcanons#blue lock hc#blue lock#sae itoshi#rin itoshi#rin smut#itoshi brothers#sae smut#rin x you#sae x reader#rin x reader#sae itoshi x reader#rin itoshi x you#rin itoshi x reader#rin itoshi smut#sae itoshi smut#smut headcanons#smut scenarios#blue lock scenarios#blue lock imagines#blue lock rin#blue lock sae#bllk hc#bllk scenarios#bllk sae#bllk rin
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how you pamper them when they're stressed/overworked
a/n: requested by the sweet @almost-gabrielle, i hope you enjoy it, and everyone else too - it's going to be GIGANTIC! 😍 be nice, cause I included some characters I haven't written much before (exciting!!!) and if you reblog with a comment or a nice tag... i'll love you forever! 💖 that means a lot, and i'm very grateful for all of it 🥰
ARAGORN: he actually feels like that quite often, but he’s incredibly good at hiding it. Luckily, you’re an expert in reading him like an open book, but oftentimes you need to literally physically drag him away from whatever he is doing (and he might complain as you do so). Aragorn just enjoys sometimes being quiet with you, and it’s usually what he needs when his mind is racing, or his body is overexerted. Or both. You can just lie down together and run your fingers slowly through his hair, and that will help him forget his worries at least for a little while. Secretly he is an absolute sucker for sweet, romantic confessions of love and affection, and he will melt if you whisper sweet nothings in his ear.
LEGOLAS: something has to be extremely serious for him to feel that way, because his limits are very high; but in those moments he just wants to get away from everything as soon as possible and run to you, because with you the rest of the world just fades away. He enjoys an outing in nature, far away from real life, especially if the two of you find a nice lake or river to go for a swim in, and eventually act like a couple of children splashing and chasing each other. If that doesn’t help, he likes to sit in front of you and let you braid his hair as he talks about whatever is on his mind, and it also helps him physically relax to have you sitting behind and so close to him.
BOROMIR: this man will most likely push himself to his absolute limits, because he shoulders too much responsibility and feels pressured constantly to be on top of things. However, it’s easy to notice when he becomes a bit more irritable at one point, and then you know it’s time to talk him into taking at least a little break. That can be a slippery slope, because once he gets you alone for 5 minutes, it can very easily turn into 15 hours, and he would never finish anything. But on some days it’s just necessary - you sweet talk him into a cuddle session, during which he accidentally falls asleep with his head over your heart, or you make some tea with love as the special ingredient – and tell him that! He’s going to melt and finally, gratefully accept that his partner wants to look after him.
FARAMIR: much like his brother, he will probably suffer in silence, but you can’t miss his tired sighs every now and then, and the way he shuts his eyes and rubs his temples. If you hug him from behind, he will melt into your touch and lean onto you so much that you will almost topple over, but that will also make him admit to himself that he really needs a break. Run him a nice, hot bath complete with fragrant ingredients, and candles lit around it, and he will be forever grateful. If you don’t join immediately, he will very sweetly ask you to come with him because 'oh the bath is so big and so lonely' without one more person in it.
ÉOMER: this hardworking man is actually quite in touch with how he feels, both physically and emotionally, and he knows when things are becoming too much and he needs to step away for his own good. It is not unusual for him to go search for you and suggest that the two of you do something away from everyday life. Many times he doesn’t even suggest anything, he just follows behind you whatever you’re doing - taking a walk and admiring some trees in bloom? He’s right there holding your hand. Sitting on a balcony and reading? He will lay his head on your lap and ask you to read to him. And he is content just being present with you.
SAM: he gets both overworked and stressed quite often, poor thing. Make him something to eat and bring it outside while he’s working in the garden, and just have a spontaneous mini-picnic in the backyard. Although he’s very hardworking and persistent, over time he’s learned to accept your help and pampering, and he really really enjoys it too. If he is under mental stress, maybe you’ll need to push him a little bit to tell you what is on his mind, but once he does, he will gladly listen to your advice or any help you can give him.
FRODO: baby boy is in his head a lot and oftentimes he will accidentally create things to worry about, and he will just zone out. if he has a faraway look in his eyes, while doing nothing in particular, you can accurately guess what is up. He likes to feel useful, and he will gratefully accept if you ask him to help you with whatever you’re doing - it gives him an excuse to be kind and helpful, but also spend time with his favorite person. Especially if you’re organizing/re-organizing something, he will enjoy doing it with you, or cooking - he might not be the best at it, but he delights in giving you a hand, and he likes to learn and improve new skills anyway.
MERRY: he is actually much more of an overthinker than he seems to be on the outside, so stress sometimes just generates outta nowhere! Also he isn’t the biggest fan of physical labor out there, but he is a little bit of a show-off when it comes to you, and he will go above and beyond when helping you with something or doing something for you, until he can barely stand. Afterwards he will take pride in the fact that you had to force him to stop whatever he was doing, but he was simply being so very nice to his favorite person! Something he loves to do to unwind in those moments is just come up with random stories with you, the two of you taking turns making up characters and events. He is a little bit of a baby and he will just take your hand wordlessly and put it in his hair, because it feels nice when you run your fingers through it.
PIPPIN: he will either be stressing over very small, irrelevant things, or something absolutely terrible, no in-between. If it’s something small, he has no problem rambling about it to you, and that usually helps him sort things out; but if it’s something serious, he will grow quiet. The best thing you can do for him in those moments is distract him with a silly idea like “let’s go for a walk and find as many kinds of blue flowers as we can” or just straight up make him laugh - it’s the best medicine. He wouldn’t ask you directly to do it, but he’d love it if you could just hold him or cuddle him for a bit (he’s the little spoon of course).
BILBO: oh he will get worked up over a whole bunch of random things; and when he is working on something, he goes all in (and then has a random episode of doing absolutely nothing), so you need to be the one who grounds him in reality sometimes. Just don’t startle him when approaching him quietly. He is very responsive to your touch and he will just lean into you as soon as you’re near, almost forgetting about everything else. He adores it when you hold his face in your hands and he will look at you as if hypnotized while you comfortingly reassure him that everything will be alright and that he doesn’t have to do anything alone as long as you’re around.
FÍLI: he is very big on “strong protective independent dwarf” and sometimes he doesn’t fully allow himself to rest properly, or to process some things that are bothering him on the inside. However, at one point it will all have to culminate, and then his first instinct is to shut himself off. A guaranteed way to get through to him is to kiss him senselessly wherever you can reach and it makes him subconsciously relax almost immediately. He will kiss you back passionately which helps him eliminate some of the tension he’s feeling. Additionally, he will never ever say no to receiving a nice little massage from you.
KÍLI: oh he is quite proud of himself if he ends up overworking himself for you, as if it gives him bonus partner points. You will gently scold him for pushing himself too far, and then he will pout, but you know he still doesn’t regret it. Then he himself will drag you away for a cuddle session - he chose that as his reward for being the very best partner in all of Middle-earth - but you don’t have to exclusively cuddle. He finds it very relaxing if you sing something quietly to him and he will look up at you with shining eyes.
✨ taglist my beloved ✨ @lotrnonsense @starlady66 @queenmeriadoc @entishramblings @thesolarangel @silversword7000 @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @averys-place
@valkyriepirate @emmaarenstarr @noldorinpainter @asianbutnotjapanese @adamgetawaydriver @fenharel-enaste @ironmandeficiency @starryeyedrogue @dinofromspac3 @wisheduponastar @lady-of-imladris @frodo-cinnamonroll @unethicallypleistocene @deadlymistletoe @suncran @high-sea-husbands @asianbutnoteastasian @aidansloth @sweetpea-thoughts
#Lotr x reader#lord of the rings x reader#lord of the rings fanfiction#lord of the rings imagine#lotr imagine#lotr fanfiction#aragorn x reader#legolas x reader#fili x reader#kili x reader#boromir x reader#faramir x reader#frodo x reader#samwise gamgee x reader#merry brandybuck x reader#pippin took x reader#bilbo x reader#bilbo baggins x reader#aragorn imagine#legolas imagine#boromir imagine#from my pocketses
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sex w simon on his bike??👀
i didn’t understand the vision until it hit me!! TWICE [heart eyes]
!! public sex (p in v and oral); THIS IS NASTY HHHHH; female reader // biker!simon mlist
જ thinking about simon fucking you against his bike, with your elbows resting on the padded seat, your back arched to present your ass to him which he greedily squeezes and pulls at, all the while groaning and rumbling in ecstatic amazement.
murmured pleas slip through your kiss-swollen lips, begging the universe or whatever’s out there that: 1) simon’s bike won’t topple to the side at the press of your weight against it, and 2) no one would see the two of you.
you stifle a squeak at feeling your skirt flipped up to the small of your back before a loud ri—ip sound echoes in the empty lot, the cold air hitting your bare skin instantly now that simon’s ripped your stockings open.
“god, baby,” simon rumbles, his voice hissed out in a barely contained snarl. “you and y’r fuckin’ perfect ass, i swear.”
“couldn’t you have waited ‘till we’re home?” you snark, feeling your cheeks flood with warmth when simon’s hand travels further down, greedy as it tugs at your flesh.
“‘course not,” simon replies, pulling away and leaving you trembling at the onslaught of cool air.
the sound of simon unbuckling his belt makes you freeze, your jaw dropping open for a quiet gasp, your own protest flying from your mind as nothing else pulses within you but your own desire. one that calls for simon.
simon slots himself against your back with ease, one of his arms circling your waist to tug you up, positioning you so that your ass presses against his chub perfectly. it makes you giddy—simon’s display of his strength; him manhandling you. but also, simon covering you with his bulk. simon towering over you.
fuck.
your eyes flutter close at feeling him kiss the back of your head, then he’s sliding in. in, in, in.
you pant at the continuous press, your jaw slack in pleasure as every inch of simon’s long cock breaches past your slick walls. you don’t realize you’re crying, the hiccuped rasps of your breath ringing loudly in the empty lot.
god, you’re so full. so fucking full.
“s’fucking wet,” simon moans, bumping his forehead between the valleys of your shoulder blades. “s’fucking good.”
you keen, pussy fluttering at the thick stretch of his cock—at how deep it is—feeling your legs quickly turning to mush.
you know you won’t last long again. you never stood a chance at holding back when simon just knows how to fuck you good, after all.
you don’t even snark at simon’s giggle at hearing your dreamy sigh.
-
જ thinking about giving simon head while he rests against his bike, the thing precariously propped up with nothing but the damn leg stand.
it doesn’t stop you from getting down to your knees anyway, jeans scratching against gravel as you scoot towards simon’s pelvis, nuzzling against his thigh, ignoring the rough fabric of his cargo pants.
simon croons, his big hands falling to hold the sides of your head. you hum, eyes fluttering when simon repositions you so your lips are hovering just above his chub.
“may i?” you ask, not breaking eye contact with him.
simon’s lips wobble and you don’t know how you must look but you can guess—desperate and a mess as you pant for your love’s cock. you can guess because however it is that you may look, it makes the pupils of simon’s eyes expand as it devours the dark browns of his irises.
he can’t hold back just like you.
“f’course,” simon murmurs, his voice grave and deep, almost akin to his morning rasp that always makes you burn with desire.
there is a heartbeat, a moment of building tension, before it peaks, tipping, and then you are fumbling with his pants, your trembling fingers reaching for his zipper before you’re tugging it down and pulling his cock out.
it’s already so hard, flushed at the tip with pre- beading on the head like a pretty pearl, and your mouth falls open, tongue lolling out to catch the drop before it drips down the length of his cock.
that first touch, first taste, is all you needed before you begin lapping at it with passion, drool building atop your tongue and pooling where his cock is pressed. you map the webs of his veins, taking note of the shiver that racks his body, and you hum when simon’s hold on your head tightens before loosening again.
“jesus, baby,” he gasps. “y’r so fuckin’ greedy with it, yeah? so greedy of me?”
you nod despite the difficulty of it, your teary eyes flicking up to meet his again. simon’s so flushed, and you think of how pretty he is as he stands before you like this.
you suckle on the head, mewling as more of his pre- dribbles into your tongue, flooding you with his taste.
more. you want more.
simon’s hips buck into you, thrusting his cock past the inside of your cheeks to meet the back of your throat, and you choke, pooled tears finally slipping past your furrowed eyes. even then, the sudden breach of his cock doesn’t deter you, instead, it makes you squirm, your panties gathering slick as your cunt weeps for his cock, almost like it’s jealous of your own mouth.
“you’re so…” simon’s voice trails off, and when you blink your eyes open again to meet his gaze you see the awed look shadowing his face, almost like he couldn’t fathom just why, exactly, are you so full of passion.
but it’s simon.
do you really need anything else more than that to stoke the flames of desire sitting in the pit of your stomach?
simon’s eyes crinkle, his smile wide. “wow, baby.”
a kick of a giggle makes your throat vibrate and simon moans, drawn out and loud, his head falling back to expose the column of his throat.
see? he is so beautiful bathed in his pleasure.
pleasure he is receiving from you.
hhshshehrhrh this is me fr. me rn! this is also me!! AHHHHHHH i want him bad :((
#biker!simon#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley smut#simon ghost riley#anon#ask#suns
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Sore Loser (Love and Deepspace Characters x F!Reader)
Synopsis: After a very shitty day, you thought playing Kitty Cards with him will make your day better.
A/N: Girl, I hate this damn game. Lmaoooooo!
🗡️ Xavier 🗡️
Xavier didn't mean anything from it. He was just playing by the rules of the game, using his advance cards to parry and block your attempt to stop him from freezing your turn, four times by now. He was so focused on the game that he did not notice how your face became harder, and your eyes stared coldly at the board, now filled mostly with Xavier’s number cards. His kitties were cheering for him, and you watched helplessly as your kitties cried from defeat.
“That was a good game.” Xavier smiled to himself, as he saw how the game ended beautifully for him. He saved up as many good advance cards and used them at the right moment. He was so proud of himself and he can't wait to see your face. You usually analyze how he won, and take notes of what you did wrong. However, when he looked up, his joyous face turned down, and his heartbeat quickened when he saw how cold and mad you were. Your anger wasn't directed at him, instead, you were staring at the board coldly. But he knew at that time, he fucked up.
“I’m tired of this stupid game.” The chair scraped the floor, as you stood up so fast and grabbed your coat, placed atop the top rail.
“Hey wait!” He tried to stop you from walking out but he accidentally bumped into the board, almost toppling the cups and kitties over. In panic, he tried to support the wobbling table, and sighed with relief when it stopped shaking. He tried to find you afterwards, but he lost sight of you.
It has been two days, and as his partner hunter, it shouldn't be impossible for you to meet, but you must have been so mad because whenever he asks of you, you decline his calls and only reply in messages as promptly and professionally as an HR. He tried looking for you on your table, but most of the time, you were out or doing something else, whenever he came over. He was about to give up apologizing and accept his fate that he pissed you off at a game, so bad, you decided to cut him off, when Jenna ordered all the alpha team to meet at the unicorns headquarters for a debrief.
And he was right, you were there, but you were sitting in between two hunters he knew nothing about. He wasn't listening at all, he can always check on the information later, but he was afraid that if you manage to sneak out again this time, your relationship will fall apart and he doesn't like the sound of it, even when it wasn't going to happen because he will make sure of it.
“Let’s talk.” Before you can even stand up from where you were sitting, Xavier immediately moves over in front of you, calling your attention in front of the other hunters, making you unable to turn him down.
“Sorry. I should have known you were playing to enjoy that day. I didn't mean to make you mad. I will make sure to be more sensitive in the future about your needs. I know I can be slow at times, sometimes emotionless, but I don't want to repeat the same mistake and lose your company over a silly game.” Xavier started right after the door closed, leaving the two of you alone together. He looks tired. There were visible dark bags right under his eyes. He must have been torturing himself after you gave him the cold shoulder.
You feel silly now. You were not mad at Xavier for winning. It was just a shitty day and you were just looking forward to having a good day and resting with Xavier at your side, when it seems like even the Kitty Cards were against you. Xavier keeps on getting good cards, and you keep getting the most useless advance and number cards. You sighed and closed your eyes. You shouldn't have run away from him. Now, you made it worse and made him feel like he should tiptoe around your mood, instead of enjoying each other's company in your free time.
“Please, don't. It wasn't like that. I was just annoyed about my day at that time and losing was the final straw for me. I’m sorry that I made you feel like that for days. But I wasn't sure how to confront you, especially when I was just acting like a sore loser. Have you not been sleeping well? You have a bag under your eyes.” Worried, you cupped his cheek and moved his face closer to yours, inspecting and noticing how his face looks paler, dry, and tired.
Instead of saying anything, he hums at your touch, and he moves forward, resting his head on your lap.
“Let me take a little sleep. I miss you.” He said before dozing off, and you stroked his hair while he slept.
❄️ Zayne ❄️
Zayne is bad at playing the Kitty Cards game. Due to his fatigue, sometimes he mistook some colors as the same, making his turn score nothing. But today was a bit different. Zayne keeps on winning, and he keeps on using advanced cards that will be fatal on your turn. He steals your advance cards, takes away your good number cards, and freezes your turn. Meanwhile, you keep on getting advanced cards that mean nothing when you have no good cards at hand.
“I win again, huh.” It was obvious that Zayne didn't mean anything from that, other than him wondering why he won again. But maybe you're already at your limit and hearing that made you snap.
“Well good for you. I’m going home.” It was all you have told him before you left him dumbfounded on his seat, leaving him alone at the cafe.
Whatever you did back there was just embarrassing. It was just a game but you took it personally. You're not going to wonder if Zayne refuses to talk to you now, other than being your physician, after that embarrassing display of attitude when you lose. You're not even sure how you're going to talk to him today.
It's your physical exam and it's been two days since you always kept him on read or only replies with emoji. You have to toughen up and apologize. Zayne did not deserve being treated that way.
Upon opening the door to his office, you breathed in, swallowing all the courage you needed. You walked towards the chair and sat in front of him. He was busy typing whatever on his computer, but you know, he already glimpsed on your way, because you felt his heavy stare for a second, before it went back to his task at hand. It didn't take long when he finished and stared you down. It was so awkward and it was at this moment, where you wished to be swallowed down by the earth and be gone. You gulped and opened your mouth to apologize when he started talking first.
“You didn't tell me you were injured that day.” You shivered at the icy tone in his voice. Just like his evol, Zayne can also be cold and scary. He didn't even need for you to emphasize on what he just said, because you already knew what he was talking about. A wanderer caught you off guard hours before meeting Zayne and it scratched your arm. The wound is not that deep, and you already put first aid on it so you never thought about it much, until the small wound did not heal as fast, and almost gave you a fever when it deepens. You realize now that it was the guilt of keeping you're injured to Zayne, and also, being a sore loser from the pain.
“It was very small. I don't want to bother you on your day off so….I kept it.” You squeak, when he glared at you, for being nonchalant about it.
“I don't care if it was my day off. It was my duty to take care of you. I hate it when you lie to me about being fine, when you know too well I can help you.” He continued scolding you, as he inspected the scarring wound, and offensively stared at it.
“I’m really sorry.” Was your only answer, to both, hiding your wound from him and to him receiving the burnt of your pain.
“Also, you can always ask me to switch our cards. I don't mind.” Zayne added as he patched you up.
🧜🏻♂️ Rafayel 🧜🏻♂️
Rafayel is the ultimate king of petty.
You already know that right from the start but nothing prepares you for the way he massacres you from the game Kitty Cards.
During at the last hurrah of your showdown, Rafayel finally revealed his advance cards, he uses freeze to stop you from playing, uses advance cards that will turn your cup scores into one, kicking out your highest score kitties from the colored cups, and replacing it with his, stealing your deny cards, and using it against you. It was so bad, that on the inside, you felt your blood boil on how cruel it was. If he did it the first time, you would be proud of him, but he’s been winning all the rounds, and every time, it ends up with him brutally winning. His wins hit a nerve and you finally snapped.
“Ha! Please don't cry. Losing isn't that bad.” He said proudly, as Rafayel nodded to himself. He loves teasing you and he enjoys your banter together. He knows at this point, teasing each other is a form of bonding.
He was celebrating his win when he noticed how quiet you were. When he opened his eyes, the smug look on his face dropped and he stopped in his tracks. The look on your face was devastating and he never saw that before. Your scrunched up face, eyes filled with upcoming tears. When both of your eyes met, there seemed like a switch in you, that made you burst into tears. Rafayel, who doesn't know how to handle your outburst, tries his best to console you. But he did not expect that you were still mad at him, so when he tried to hug you, you pushed him away and ran.
Since then, you have refused to reply to his texts. You even muted his calls so you won't have to answer it. Whatever you did that day was so embarrassing that you’d rather sever whatever relationship you have with Rafayel instead of relieving how sore loser you were. It was just a game, and you cried like a baby from it. There were times that you're trying to justify your tears by saying maybe Rafayel’s insults were too much that day, and it was the reason why you burst into tears, but there would be nothing so petty as pushing someone away and running due to losing from a board game.
Sighing, you just accepted that Rafayel will probably stop talking to you. It is what it is as you continue to go on with your day, when your phone blares and a notification about Rafayel being in danger popped up in bold letters. You did not hesitate as you rode your bike and flew to Rafayel’s whereabouts.
You burst through his studio door, and your eyes caught his figure slumped on the floor, leaning to his couch.
“What happened? Are you okay? Did you slip on your paint brushes again?” You asked worriedly, as you touched his shoulder, arms and legs, to see if he injured himself again. You were so worried and kept asking many questions that were meant silently, you were about to unleash the hulk at him for not answering, when you stopped on your tracks when you noticed the frown on his forehead and his glare.
“Really? Do I have to injure myself so you can notice me?” He bit down and you whimpered, not from his anger but from guilt.
“Sorry.” You apologized. You look down and twiddle your thumbs, not knowing how to dissipate the awkwardness of the situation and Rafayel’s glare.
It took a moment before you hear Rafayel’s sigh in defeat and open his mouth to talk again.
“You could have just asked me, and I will allow you to cheat by putting my kitties in different cups, or even by replacing my advance cards. All you have to do is say please.” He continued, exasperated.
All you can do is look down in shame and murmur an apology for acting so childish.
“Just….. don’t ignore me again like that, please. It doesn't feel good when the most important person in your life suddenly stops talking to you.” He added, his voice quivered a bit and you wince when you realize how your action affected him. Opening up his old wounds.
“I’m really sorry, Rafayel. I promise to be better next time.” A silence falls between you again. It took a moment before you realize despite how mad he was, he refuses to move his left hand. The air of guilt slowly turned into worry again.
“Did you injure your left hand?” You asked worriedly and slowly touched his left hand when he flinched and gritted his teeth from the pain.
“Probably sprain it when I fell.”
“You fell!?”
“It's fine, Ms. Bodyguard. I bet it will heal tomorrow. Just feed me for now.” He chuckled at your worried face and you watched him move his left hand with no worry, following your reaction from it. You just shake your head at how silly that was, and was so happy he was okay, before you stood up, helped him up, and treated him like a prince just for today.
#eydi andrius#fic title: sore loser#love and deepspace#love and deepspace zayne#love and deepspace rafayel#love and deepspace xavier#love and deepspace x reader#xavier x reader#zayne x reader#rafayel x reader
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prompt: it's been a month since you managed to run away from them. your luck had to run out eventually.
tags: noncon, darkfic, ghoap x reader, previous kidnapping implied, stalking and hunting down reader. i am begging you to read the tags before reading this, thanks. 4.4k
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You pay for the motel room in cash. Always cash. Never a paper trail if you can help it. Nothing that could ever tip anyone off if you didn’t want them to be tipped off.
You haven’t been on the run for long. Maybe a month, tops—but after the first week, the days and nights have begun to blend together like watercolours. You don’t do much during the day apart from sit in your room and wait for the night to come. Sometimes you venture out if you’re low on food or if the itch under your skin grows severe enough that you know you need to buy a fresh set of clothes and dump the ones you came into town with.
Freshly dyed and cut hair. Jackets two sizes too big to make you seem larger than you are from the back. You’ll never be able to change the face god gave you, but you make an effort to obscure it when you can—surgical masks on public transit, heavy sunglasses even indoors, a deep mauve lipstick (purchased, again, in cash at the local pharmacy) to make you seem, from a distance, like someone else. Anyone else.
Sometimes remembering that it’s been a whole month since you escaped, since you got out, leaves you winded. You have to hold onto the wall in your pay-by-the-night, ratty, hole-in-the-wall motel room to keep from toppling over. A month without spotting one of them in pursuit of you feels next to impossible. Almost impossible. You still don’t let yourself think that you’ve fully given them the slip, that you’ve gotten the better of them. There is no getting the better of them. There is no outmanoeuvring the two men that—you’ve learned through painful trial and error—do not let up when there is still the trace of a scent.
And everything leaves a scent. Even you.
You sleep in the bathtub instead of the bed for fear of bedlice; these days, your neck has an ever-present kink that needs to be worked out. It’s bound to get worse though. It’s not like you can stop in this town now and call it home, not when you can feel them hot on your heels.
You change in gas station bathrooms when you run. You’re learning a kind of awareness of cameras and eyes that you never would’ve developed before. You do not smile at cashiers. Your face becomes blank, unrecognisable. The goal is always that you fade into obscurity the second you step out of the shop, so that no one could ever identify you to the two terrifying men haunting your shadow. Even if they wanted to.
Paranoid isn’t the half of it. When you hear a car pull up outside your motel room door, your body drops a whole degree and sweats like a night terror has found you in the waking world. You only relax when you hear a door four rooms down slam shut. Then you shake so hard that you swear you can hear your bones rattle.
This isn’t a life. It’s life like the promise of a tomorrow is the only thing getting you through today.
You get on buses with no idea where you’ll be getting off. Pattern disrupter. In the months that you lived with them, you learned something. If your movements are scattered, they become unpredictable—harder to track down. You force them to stay behind while you skitter off, forcing them to review video footage, question people, even sift through garbage and recycling bins for any sign that you’d been there.
It doesn’t make you any less nervous. You know they’re like hunting dogs. You’d love to believe that you’ve tried their patience enough for them to abandon the chase, but thinking like that gets you caught. Complacency will get you caught faster than anything.
The money folded and sealed in an envelope in your bag is dwindling though. Even for as frugal as you’ve been, food costs money—clothes cost money. Boxes of hair dye and bus tickets cost money. And you can’t stay anywhere long enough to hold down a job to recuperate what you’ve lost.
It feels hopeless. You trudge back to your motel room after grabbing a bite to eat at the pub down the road and feel like maybe this is purgatory. Maybe you died a long time ago, long before you got away from them, and this long path you’ve been burning across the country is just the long descent into the underworld. You let out a sigh, squeezing your eyes shut for a second by the door before unlocking it to go inside for the night.
You trip over something. It catches you so off guard that you almost break your nose on the carpeted floor, arms almost not swinging out in time to catch you.
“Whoops. Sorry, kitty—took a lil’ tumble there, huh?” a familiar burr says from somewhere behind you by the door. “Gotta watch where you step.” He chuckles a bit under his breath, pulling back the leg he’d stuck out to trip you.
Your body goes ice cold on the floor. The door clicks shut behind you; the deadbolt sliding into place is deafening in the silence. The thick knot in your belly expands until you think you might throw up. The only nonsensical thing you can think is that you hope the motel manager won’t be upset that you’ve ruined the carpet.
You hear the muffled sound of knees hitting the floor and then a hand tangles in your hair, wrenching your head back. “Oh Jesus, look at the state of her, Lt.”
“Looks like she’s seen a ghost.”
The second voice is rough, like logs rolling over water, clattering into each other. It comes from the other end of the room, way into the darkness. They didn’t bother to turn the lights on, perhaps in an effort to make sure your guard was down. Fear grips the inside of your chest. Behind you, Johnny holds your head up high enough that you’re forced to stare at the patch of darkness from which Ghost materialises when he flicks on the bedside lamp.
On the surface, he sounds almost amused, but as long as it’s been, you’re still attuned to the undercurrent of anger in his voice. His patience has been tried over weeks of chasing after you. He almost looks like he’s put on mass since you last saw him over a month ago, but that could just be the perspective of looking up at him from the floor. His face is still covered in the same half skull mask as always, exposing the shaved blond hair on his head. His eyes are narrowed though, terrifyingly mad.
“Poor baby,” Johnny murmurs, nuzzling into the back of your head. He props himself over you, not leaning his whole weight down onto your prone body, but trying to get as close as possible to you while still forcing you to stare up at Ghost. “Did we give ye a wee fright? Is that why ye ran off? I missed ye so, so bad, baby.”
“She ran off because she’s been spoiled,” Ghost snaps. He sits on the edge of the bed and it creaks under his weight when he shifts a little closer to the edge, leaning closer to where you’re lying on the floor.
“I ken, I ken, Lt,” Johnny sighs, plastering sloppy, wet kisses into the side of your neck, fitting his mouth briefly into the crook of it, into the meat of your shoulder. “Cannae help myself, she’s just so—ah, kitty, am really sorry but you’ve really pissed Simon off.”
“No—no, please—” you gasp, breath splintered into short hitches. “H-how’d you—how’d you e-even find—”
Johnny shakes you by the hair, a bit rougher than usual. Anger finally leaking out like a drip from a loose spigot. You yip at the pain. “Of course we were gonna find you—Lt, ye hearing this? She thought she could outsmart us.”
“Pet’s don’t know any better,” Ghost says dismissively. It makes you feel queasy to hear him say that like you’re not even in the room. “Needs a lesson in not making us run halfway across the country after her. Get her on the bed, pup.”
“No, no, get OFF—” you try to yell, then gag when Johnny shoves two fingers into your mouth, pushing them almost to the back of your throat.
When the urge to choke abates, you close your teeth over his fingers, flirting with the idea of just biting all the way down and taking them off. Only the fact that you’ve never done something like that before keeps you from instinctually biting through. Johnny laughs breathlessly when he feels your teeth flirt over his fingers though.
“Bite down,” Johnny dares you, voice quivering with smugness and rage. “Bite down ‘n see what happens to ye. Have nae gotten my cock wet in a fuckin’ month because you’ve been gone and Simon—”
“Quit talking to the pet like she understands,” Ghost snaps, finally standing up, towering over the two of you. You can’t help staring at his mud covered boots still rooted in front of your face. “On the bed. Now.”
You howl when Johnny takes his fingers out of your mouth and wrenches you to your feet, struggling when he coos and frogmarches you to the bed. No matter how hard you struggle though, you can’t break the way he has your arms twisted behind your back. It’s a short walk too, only a few steps, and then Johnny shoves you roughly onto the bed, clambering over you again. His hand forces your face into the mattress, not paying any mind to the way you grunt because your nose bends uncomfortably against it.
“Always fuckin’ whining,” Johnny growls into your ear, fully pissed off now. His anger is electric, rippling down the length of you. “On and on and on—’n I’ve been so fuckin’ good to ye. Have nae even been a little mean. Being a fuckin’ brat to me and leavin’ me and makin’ us hunt ye down like dogs.”
You can hear that he’s working himself up to a fever pitch, growing angrier and angrier. It terrifies you to think that you’re trapped under him, nowhere to go. Somehow, it’s a mercy when the bed dips again under Ghost’s weight and he pulls Johnny back by the shoulder, giving his cheek a little tap when Johnny growls and tries to bend back down.
“You have all the time in the world with her, pup,” Ghost says, giving Johnny a rougher shove. “Get undressed. Can’t fuck her in your civvies.”
“Yeah…yeah, yer right,” Johnny mumbles to himself, getting off you.
Your head automatically twists over your shoulder, eyes following him. It’s easy to see in the spare seconds you get before you try to make a break for it again that he looks haggard, beard grown out a bit more than usual. Ghost usually makes him keep it short and tight, but apparently weeks on the road have tempered that military expectation a bit.
His eyes are wild, electric blue, hardly blinking for how hard he stares at you. You tell yourself that you haven’t, on some small level, missed his pretty face. His arms bulge around the tight shirt that he easily strips off, pulling it off one handed from the back of his neck.
You hear him kick off his boots somewhere in the distance, but when you try to scramble off the bed, Ghost tips you over onto your bed and presses you down with a firm hand on your shoulder. He’s a bit less dressed now—hoodie pulled off and boots and jeans piled on the floor somewhere. Mask off. Familiar scars cut across his face—old burn marks and white spidery lines of fresh skin. Rougher than Johnny, not a pretty man; maybe without the layers of scarring he’d be a proper masculine kind of handsome, but with them, he only seems dangerous. Someone to avoid.
He doesn’t say anything when he stares down at you. He says enough like that. He looks over his shoulder, away from you. “Johnny?”
“Lt?” Johnny’s at attention now, stripped naked and eager. When you glance down, his cock is already flushed and hard, excitement making him almost vibrate.
“Help me get her naked and then you’ll get her mouth, alright?”
You’re already struggling before the words come out of his mouth, frantically trying to push Ghost off you and opening your mouth to scream—the piercing shrill of it bleats out of you for half a second—before a big hand wraps around your neck and Ghost turns back to you. It shuts you up in a heartbeat. Not once in the months you were with them has Ghost looked half as terrifying; you’ve had a belt taken to your ass until the blood pooling under the skin almost burned, you’ve been manhandled and roughly positioned and been bent into shapes that your body could only just accommodate, but you’ve never, until now, actually worried for your safety somehow.
“You scream—” he starts, moving his hand up just a little to grab you by the jaw and twist your head to make you stare at the bedside table, where a glock lays flat under the glow of the lamp, “—and I shoot anyone that comes through that fuckin’ door. We clear?”
You nod once. Sweat pouring out of every other gland, but the saliva running dry in your mouth. You lick your lips and swallow, hummingbird heart going wild in your chest.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Johnny mumbles, coming up behind Ghost to wrap his arms around him as best he can, planting a row of kisses into his shaved head. “Missed it so bad, I need ta—need ta—”
“Her clothes, Johnny. Take ‘em off.”
You only put up a little fight when Ghost works on unzipping and pulling down your jeans. It feels hopeless to try. Johnny almost tears your shirt in two to get it off, only being a bit gentler when you yelp. He can’t help groping at your chest when the shirt is pulled off you and tossed somewhere else in the room, big hands fitting over your breasts and plucking your nipples, twisting them like you’re just a toy for Johnny to play with. He slithers down onto his belly for a second to pop a nipple into his mouth, switching between kissing and sucking at the beaded nub like he can’t tell what he missed more.
Your panties get ripped clean in two. The sob comes out of your chest unbidden, tears finally spilling out. Ghost’s patience seems finally at its end. His eyes are black even in the light, all pupil. Your legs try to close instinctively, but he slots himself between them so you can only clamp your legs around his waist, stuck staring at the way his hand reaches for his boxers only long enough to pull the elastic under his balls. His cock is so heavy with blood that it droops, the tip dewy.
Your nipples gleam with spit when Johnny finally takes his mouth off them, sitting back on his haunches and spreading his legs. It’s all happening so fast—there isn’t a right place to look. Either the monstrous cock between your legs that already has you feeling twangs of phantom pain knowing that Ghost isn’t going to even bother stretching you on his fingers before fucking you, or the pretty cock that Johnny is already rubbing against your lips, painting with his precome. You flinch when you feel Ghost spit on your sex; he doesn’t try to rub it in.
“Simon” he pants, fingers tangling in your hair again to keep your head still when you try to turn away. “Simon, please, can I—I need ta come so bad. Please, please.”
You almost say something and then Ghost pushes his cock in to the hilt in one brutal plunge. Your mouth opens on a ragged gasp and Johnny keens, fingers clenching so hard in your hair that he almost tears it out by the roots. The tip of his cock stays flush against your lips, even split open on your gasp.
“Please, sir, please,” he begs, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. Aching and desperate. Holding himself back only because he needs permission to put his cock anywhere in you, just like he did all those weeks ago back in their house out in the countryside. The one you thought you thought you’d escaped.
Ghost chuckles, groaning at the feel of your tight cunt squeezing his cock. “Go ahead, boy. Give your cock a squeeze.”
That’s all it takes. Johnny pushes past your lips roughly, no finesse or gentleness at all. Maybe the capacity for it is gone after going without you for so long. You choke when the head of his cock hits the back of your throat, tears making your vision blur. Johnny preens and gushes over you, unable to stop babbling about how hot and tight your throat is, how much he missed it.
“Oh shit, sir, she’s—” Johnny gasps, sinking into your mouth again and again, sweaty hand still clutching your hair. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”
You feel close to the point of breaking, tight after a month on the lam, too tight for someone Ghost’s size to shove their cock into you without prep. You tell yourself that at least he bothered to spit on you, but lube would help a lot more. Too bad for you. His hands fit over your waist and hold tight, making sure you know that there’s nowhere for you to go. The first few thrusts are rough but slow enough to keep you from tearing—a small mercy, but probably not for your sake.
“I get—I get her pussy after, right, sir?” Johnny asks desperately.
“Dunno, Johnny,” Ghost muses, licking his lip. His thrusts get more brutish, faster; your teeth would be clacking together if Johnny’s cock wasn’t stuck halfway down your throat. “Gonna be a bit sloppy. Might not be tight enough for you after this.”
“S’okay, sir,” he whines, glancing back down at you. Fingers petting your cheek and tracing over your throat, trying to feel himself from the outside. “Jus’ need…oh fuck, please, it’s so good—oh Christ, missed it. I’ll take anythin’, sir, please.”
“Christ, alright, puppy. You can have a turn after. Been a good boy, huh?”
You can only stare when Ghost lifts a hand from your waist to reel Johnny in by his mohawk, tugging him in for a wet kiss, still thrusting into your pussy all the while. Just a toy between them for their cocks while Ghost licks into Johnny’s mouth and mutters sweet nothings to him. Johnny moans into the kiss, sucking Ghost’s tongue when it’s offered to him and looking dazed, come-drunk. All fucked out and flushed, hips unconsciously pumping forward, just absently rutting.
“Got our girl back, right?” Ghost murmurs, letting go of Johnny’s hair to smooth down his head and neck, making him preen. “Such a smart puppy.”
“Yeah, I’m good, sir.” He sounds out of his mind, slurring his words. Praise gets him like nothing else; it’s not easily given by Ghost, not handed out for nothing. “Did good…’m a good boy…”
The corners of your lips feel like they might crack. It’s hard to be careful with your teeth when you’re so overwhelmed, but luckily Johnny doesn’t mind it a bit rough. He hiccups when your teeth scrape over his cock a bit. He lips at Ghost’s mouth, dragging his tongue over the scar that bisects the corner of Ghost’s lips. When Ghost finally pulls away from Johnny’s mouth, a thin string of saliva pulls and then bends with the distance, finally snapping off and leaking onto your chest.
Your flinch and squeak draws Ghost’s attention back down to you.
You try to think of yourself looking down on the three of you instead of in it, but it’s hard. For as much as it seems like you’re just a toy between them, Ghost makes an effort to get you off, slipping a hand down to jiggle his thumb over your clit, rubbing it just the way you like. It’s sick how well he knows your body by now, how it takes almost nothing to push you to the edge of coming, core tight with the heat of it.
“Gonna come?” Ghost taunts, scooping a hand under your ass to tilt your hips up, hitting a spot inside you that has you seeing stars, cunt flexing over his cock. You garble around Johnny’s cock as if to say something, but all it does is make Johnny groan and slump over you, holding himself upright with a hand on the mattress. His abs flex every time he fucks into your mouth. “Pussy this close to coming—you must’ve starved it. Good thing you didn’t let someone fuck you while we were looking. Woulda torn them apart.”
You can see the real threat in his eyes at that. There’s no way you would’ve, but the real danger of it crackles in the room. You feel like you’ll slip and touch the third rail if you so much as twitch under his glare. His jealousy at the thought makes him look like an angry god, chest heaving with every breath as he fucks you.
“My baby wouldnae—” Johnny gasps, sinking his cock all the way into your throat and groaning at the squeeze, “—no, Si, she’s—ah, fuck me, ‘m gonna—fuck, fuck—Si, she wouldnae do that to us. No fuckin’ way.”
“She’d have a lot of making up to do then, huh?”
“She’s a good girl, sir, ‘promise. Oh, jus’ look at her,” Johnny gushes, sweat dripping down onto your face from how he’s curled over you. “So, so pretty. Maybe I dinnae take her…take her on enough walks.”
“Yeah…” You feel your skin crawl when Ghost stares down at you, not convinced. “Of course, pup.”
You know there’s no way he believes that. When they drag you home, you don’t think you’ll see the sunlight for weeks, never mind have Johnny take you on ‘walks’. Ghost’s smothering presence will take on a whole new meaning; he’ll snuff out the sun before he lets you walk in it alone ever again.
Someone in the room adjacent to yours slams their fist into the wall a couple of times, jolting you out of your thoughts. The headboard must really be knocking against the wall. Ghost and Johnny ignore it though, Johnny so close to coming that he can hardly even form a sentence, solely focused on spearing between your lips. You can feel Ghost reaching his end too, fucking you with a single-minded intensity. Breath snorting out of his nose like a bull. The hair on his chest is matted with sweat, curls whorling around his nipples.
You almost choke when Johnny comes down your throat without warning, hilting his cock until his balls brush your chin and his hand in your hair tightens painfully. He groans, drawn out and long, pained. It splashes against the back of your throat, almost familiar. You’ve done this before. You can do this without falling down a cliff and never climbing back up.
He pulls his cock out before he’s finished, striping your face with come, twitching when he has to hold his cock from how sensitive it is. You instinctively close your eyes, grateful when you feel his come tag your eyelid.
You hope it’s almost over, but Ghost hasn’t come yet and you know it’s going to get worse before it gets better. When Johnny pulls away to collapse onto his back on the bed, trying to catch his breath and dragging his hand over his stomach, Ghost hunches over you. He drags his tongue over your cheek, wet and nasty, and your brain almost switches off when you realise that he’s licking Johnny’s come off your cheek.
“There we go,” he snarls, feeling you flex around him, the little tell-tale spasm of your approaching orgasm. “Atta girl—gonna come on my cock? A little wet sorry for running away?”
You try to say something, but your throat is raw, voice too hoarse for words. Even your lips feel puffy, swollen. Talking hurts. It doesn’t matter though, Ghost doesn’t wait for your response. He pumps into you like a machine, pulling his cock all the way out before pushing back in again. Your stomach cramps with the worry that he might miss and try pushing into the other hole.
You wish there was a way around it, but you can’t avoid it slamming into you, a white hot wave cresting over you. You come so hard it hurts, milking Ghost’s cock and pushing him over the edge too; he pants harsh, animalistic sounds into your throat, cutting himself off by sinking his teeth into the meat of your shoulder instead, making you howl. There’s no condom to keep his come from pumping into you; just a big, heavy man smelling of gunpowder and salt hovering over you, elbow propped on the mattress beside your head and making you go a bit crazy at the scent of him everywhere around you.
He peels himself off of you after what feels like an hour, soft cock pulling out of you and making you clench down on nothing. You didn’t remember how much being empty can hurt. You try to roll away from him and onto your side, maybe squeeze yourself into a fetal position, but Ghost collapses down beside you and plants a hand on the centre of your chest, holding you in place. Never any respite.
You croak a tired little, “Ow.” All it does is make Ghost snort softly.
Your body feels like one livid bruise in the aftermath, limbs loose at your sides. You couldn’t move even if you tried, even if you thought you could make a break for it. It would hardly be worth it. You let your eyes slide shut when Ghost runs a hand up and down your chest, a little comforting gesture.
“Simon,” Johnny whines from beside you. Your brows scrunch, annoyed at his voice breaking the silence. “Please.”
You hear Ghost sigh. “Now?”
“Cannae wait—please.”
You wait to hear Johnny and Ghost get up. Maybe there’s something they have to do—maybe they drove to the motel and there’s still something in the car.
A hand grabs you by the hip.
“Turn over, pet,” Ghost instructs, flipping you onto your stomach without waiting for you to acquiesce. “Promised Johnny a turn with your pussy before we leave.”
Your eyes go wide.
#ceil writing#cod mw2#cod x reader#simon ghost riley#cod simon riley#ghost x reader#ghost cod#ghost/reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x reader#ghoap x reader#ghost/soap/reader#x reader#soap cod#john soap mactavish#soap mw2#soap mactavish#ghost x soap#soap x reader#soap/reader
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can i request a drabble of neteyam or lo’ak seeing their crush being motherly to tuk and realising, they like them?
|| YES. YESYESYES. I’ll do both Neteyam for now and set Lo’ak for tmrw! Promise! Not proof read all the way please don’t kill me.
characters:
neteyam x reader , tuk
ratings:
F L U F F , SFW , tuk being tuk
||
Neteyam
His eyes followed every movement you made, from a good distance of course. You played around with Tuk, pretending to be a big monster, and she, a brave little warrior. “Rahhhh!” You growled, forming your hands into makeshift claws. Tuk hissed, using her stick to pretend to stab you, jumping around in victory as you fell. You made it as dramatic as possible before laughing and getting up. Tuk continued to jump around, getting far too close to a tree and running right into it. She toppled over, confused as to what happened. You crawled over to her, lifting her up into your arms and cooing in her ear.
Neteyam sat up in the hammock, intrigued as to how quickly you reacted. You were such a caring individual, especially with his younger sibling. It was admirable and made his heart swell with the feelings he already had for you. You continued to hold Tuk, asking if she was okay. “No ouchies right? Everything okay?” The young Na’vi nodded, playing with the braids and beads in your hair lazily. Poor girl was more tired than hurt. You kept her in your arms, making your way over to a flushed Neteyam.
“What’s got you all shocked and bothered?” You said, placing Tuk in the hammock next to him. Sitting down next to him, he looked over at you. “Nothing, just. You’re good with kids, I mean like, my sister.” He seemed to have trouble forming his sentence, still admiring how mother-like you were. “You’re cute when you stutter.” You said teasingly, and he was still lost in thought while looking into your doe eyes. He was determined to make this more than just a simple crush. Neteyam was now set on making you his mate. A perfect mate, and a perfect mother to his children.
#neteyam x reader#neteyam#neteyam sully#avatar way of water#avatar neteyam#avatar loak#avatar jake#avatar
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Could you write about Carmen getting your name tatted on his chest ? 🫶
yes I can, babes 😌
warnings || tattoos, absolutely pure fluff, making out, mentions of anxiety, not edited
masterlist
Carmen let out a deep breath, nerves prickling his skin, as he started to open the door of your apartment. His fingers from his other hand nervously tapped against the side of his thigh, all due to the anxiety that settled into his bones.
What if you hated it? What if you found it disgusting? Would you hate him?
The endless questions and unknown reactions flooded his head. It started to make him dizzy as he padded off into the living room.
“Baby?” He called out. His voice had a edge to it that made him want to cringe.
“In here, lovebug.” Instantly, he could feel his shoulders relax. The soft, caressing sound of your voice had silenced almost all of those trepidatious thoughts. Almost.
He barely moved an inch from where he stood. He knew your voice echoed from the bedroom, but his body refused to move. As always, his flight or fight response wanted to hone in on flight.
He took another deep breath. “Carmy?” You say. It was so soft and sweet that it melted his insides. Concern was evident by his lack of appearance and response.
This is so stupid. He was so stupid.
His mouth clamped shut. It was as if his body couldn’t quite catch up to his brain—which was racing a mile per minute. His finger continued to tap the side of his thigh.
You found yourself walking out into the living room, eyebrows furrowed. “Carmy baby, what’s the matter?”
You gently caress his jaw and it takes everything inside of him not to reach out. He wants to sit lovingly on the couch with your body on top of his, all while you watch some show.
More than half of the time he’s not even paying attention. His mind is either concocting a new recipe or thinking about how good your weight feels on top of him. His thoughts are all food or you.
“I have s-something to show you.” He curses inwardly at the stuttering of his voice. He hated how nervous he was for this.
It’s just you. Miraculously and amazing you.
Your eyebrows are furrowed once more, but your soft touch never wavers. He forces himself to take a big breath, eyes avoiding your stare.
He slowly takes off his white t-shirt. His hands shake as he pulls it over his head. His gold chain thumps against his chest and your eyes lowered. Then they lower again.
You let out a gasp. It was loud and shocking as it echoed against the apartment walls. “Oh, Carmy.” You whisper.
He sucks in a breath—anxiety toppling over as he spills his feelings. “W-well, uh, I know I said I was getting that arm piece. Like-like we talked about, you know? But then I-I started thinking and all I ever really wanted was you. So-so, yeah.” His hand was furiously pushing through his curls through the entire speech.
Your eyes are just glued to his chest. He gulps, hating the complete silence. However, you were just in awe.
Right on the center of where his heart is supposed to be was your initials in black ink. Your initials. The tattoo outlined in red from the irritated skin.
“Do you like it?” He says. He thought it was going to seem confident but the waver of his vocal cords say otherwise.
You finally look up into his eyes. You could’ve sworn you could stare at it for years. You open your mouth to reply but nothing comes out. Your heart pounds against your ears—his too. Having to wait for your response was torturous.
Instead of words, your body flings itself onto his. Your mouth slides over his and molds together as one. Your hands find themselves into his hair and pull. It was as if there was some switch that went off in your head. All you wanted, needed, and cared for right now was Carmen.
He pours out a moan when his tongue pushes between your lips and collides with yours. He could taste the leftover peppermint soufflé that you had after lunch. God, you tasted like fucking heaven.
You pull away before getting ahead of yourself. Carmen needed to go back to the restaurant for the night rush, but you wanted to pounce on him right then and there—give him kisses for a life time.
He laughs, which causing a chuckle to bubble from your own chest too.
“I fucking love it, Carmy.” You huff out. You were quite breathless from the kiss.
His eyes sparkle as his hands squeeze your waist. “Yeah?”
You nod, eyes looking glossed over. You were drunk on him—on Carmy.
“Yeah, lovebug. I might have to get one for myself. A C.B. just for you.”
He finally smiles, bright and toothy. His heart beats faster than ever, but now, it’s for a different reason.
“Sounds perfect, baby. Just perfect.”
#carmen berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto x you#carmy berzatto x you#carmy berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto fluff#the bear#the bear fx#the bear hulu#the bear fanfiction#carmen berzatto fanfiction
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can you pls pls write about shy reader she and chris are a recent couple and one day he founds out that she likes dirty talk and tries that with her
Dirty Secret
Chris x Fem reader
Warnings: SMUTTYYY smut, lots of dirty talk, degradation/praise
DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT OKAY WITH SMUT OR ARE A MINOR!
Tags: @lustfulslxt
Chris’s POV
I can’t wipe the dumb smile off my face as I peek at Y/n’s nightstand, multiple tubes of chapstick covering the surface along with notebooks, pens, scrunchies, and lots of half empty water bottles. Her personality shows in her room so clearly, methodic but carefree.
These past four months have made me nothing but happy. We’ve done a good job at keeping our relationship out of the public eye after agreeing she didn’t want to handle any kickback from my fans yet. I hate that I can’t show her off, but it’s for the best, at least at this point.
I roam around her room with no ultimate goal, just waiting for her to get back from her nail appointment and I got bored. I scan her makeup table, brushes and random products strewn about as evidence that she’d been here hours before. Her jackets and hats hang on a hook behind her door and I run my fingers across the different fabrics, moving closer to inhale the vanilla scent that floods my mind with images of her. Fairly lights twinkle above her bed, something I’ve definitely taken notice of during all our nights tangled in her sheets.
I move to her bookshelf and look at all the spines of her books, some neatly lined up and some thrown haphazardly into piles. There’s collectible figures of the things she likes, crystals, and random little trinkets littering the shelves. I can’t help but reach out and touch the book that’s lying on the shelf at my eye level, running my fingers along all the multicolored sticky notes she’s placed into her favorite pages.
I guess it was a little too close to the edge, because even my light touch caused it to topple over and fall open, landing face down on the carpet below. I breathe out a curse and lean down to pick it up and put it exactly how I found it. I don’t want Y/n to think I’ve been snooping, because I haven’t. I’m just admiring all the little things that make her room feel like home to her.
I close the book and bring it back up to the shelf, turning it around to glance at the cover. Priest by Sierra Simone. I know a lot about Y/n already, but I didn’t know she was into religion. Sounds like a biography from the summary on the back. Something about a priest breaking their vow of celibacy and needing to confess. My interest is growing, I didn’t think she would enjoy this kind of book, maybe I should take a peek?
I pick the first sticky note my fingers brush across, knowing Y/n highlighted it for a reason. An audible gasp falls out of my mouth as a skim across the words on the page.
“Stay the fuck still, or I’m going to come before I want to, and if that happens, then I will take you over my knee and spank your ass until you learn how to listen.”
“What the fuck?” I question out loud.
I flip through multiple pages, each sticky note highlighting incredibly filthy words. It’s a fucking sex book. My cheeks burn at the thought of her reading these while she’s alone in her room, wondering what she looks like as she’s turning the pages and writhing with anticipation. I grab onto a pink sticky note and pull on it, flipping it to the page and reading what she had highlighted.
“But I won’t lie. It makes me hard as fuck knowing that I was the first man to taste you.”
This sticky note has her own handwriting smeared across it. I squint to make out the words.
If Chris would have said that to me…
Ouch, I think?
I’m not a vanilla guy by any means, but I’m not the weird fuck from 50 Shades of Grey either. I think our sex life is great, it’s more than enough to keep me satisfied. We’ve made love in the car, fucked while she was bent over her dining room table, stolen kisses in restaurant bathrooms after we snuck away from our friends. It’s all been so exciting to me, and even better because it’s with her.
I continue flying through the pages, my eyes widening at every line she made a point to come back to. This dude talks so much while he’s fucking this chick.
“No, don’t touch yourself, sweetheart. We’re going to get there together.”
Remind Chris to be more vocal!
It all clicks in my bird brain. I’m a fucking idiot. She’s highlighted almost all dialogue. She wants me to talk more during sex. I’ll admit, I’m not the best at speaking my mind while she’s bouncing on me or sprawled out below me. But why hasn’t she told me yet? I hope she hasn’t been disappointed with how things have been going.
I put the book back and angle it as best as I can remember, moving to lay down on top of her comforter. I stretch my back out and throw my arms behind my head, thinking about what I’m going to do when she gets home.
Y/n’s POV
I take my keys out of the door and lock it behind me, smiling as I see Chris’s sneakers sitting on the shoe rack in my entryway. My nails took way longer than I expected and I’m just so excited to be able to waste the rest of my day away with him. I make my way down the hall after placing my shoes next to his and creep into my bedroom, sprinting and jumping to lay beside Chris who’s stretched across my bed.
“Hiiii baby, I missed youuu!” I singsong before pressing a kiss against his stubbly cheek.
“Mmm, missed you more.” he mumbles into my neck as he turns and molds his body into mine.
His arms encircle me and the smell of his cologne floods my senses, washing a wave of comfort over me. I could lay like this forever.
“Let’s see the nails,” he says as he breaks away from me, suddenly sitting up and grabbing my hands.
I sit up beside him and watch as his large hands hold my own, moving my fingers around and watching the duo chrome polish shift colors in the light. His smile spreads from ear to ear as he takes notice of the “C” I asked the nail tech to paint onto my ring finger.
“Aren’t they so cute??” I squeal, so ecstatic at the way they turned out.
“So cute,” he coos, bringing them to his lips to place a tender kiss on each finger. “I think they’d look even cuter wrapped around my cock.” He says in a low growl as he brings my hand down to his lap, shoving my palm onto the fabric of his sweatpants.
I feel his erection through the layers of clothing, rock hard and throbbing. I can’t help but gasp at his words, I’ve never heard him speak like this before. I watch as his pupils dilate, the black overtaking the blue of his iris as he flickers his eyes to my lips.
“Nothing to say, sweetheart?” He asks almost in a belittling tone.
“N-no I just.. I’ve never heard you say something like that,” I squeak out as he pushes my hand down with more force.
“What, you don’t like it?” He says with a smirk.
“I don’t know.. I th-think so..” I stammer.
“When were you gonna tell me, hm? Such an innocent girl reading such filthy books. Does it turn you on?” His hand leaves mine against his hard on and comes up to caress my cheek.
“Huh, what are you talking about?” I spit out at him, my cheeks igniting red with visible embarrassment.
Has he snooped through my room?
“I saw it all, baby. And it’s okay. It’s okay if you need me to tell you how dirty of a girl you are, or how good you make me feel. You have to let me know these things..” he trails off as his thumb brushes against my lip, smearing my peppermint chapstick onto the corner of my mouth.
“I-I’m sorry, Chris. I don’t… I didn’t know how to bring it up. I didn’t want you to think I was weird.” I look down, intimidated by his cold gaze, and he tilts my head back up, his eyes serious.
“It’s not weird. Do you touch yourself to those books baby? Reading about a man talking to a woman like that.. does it make you feel good?” He whispers the last sentence and his free hand finds my inner thigh, caressing and warming my skin.
I nod sheepishly, afraid to speak my thoughts out loud to Chris.
“Use your words. Do you ever imagine it’s me saying those things?”
“Y-yes… every single time.” I say as I release a breath.
He groans and pushes my hair behind my ear, inching closer to me and ghosting his lips over my ear. “Such a naughty girl.”
Shivers fall down my spine as he places a kiss onto the sensitive skin between my ear and jaw, his lips lingering and sucking lightly. He slides the hand on my cheek to the back of my neck, lacing his fingers into my hair and pulling down, my neck exposed to him.
“Look at the way your body reacts to me.” He whispers, placing a finger onto my jugular, and I feel it pulsing mercilessly beneath his touch.
He moves his hand to grip around my throat, his thumb and fingers pressed firmly against both pulse points of my neck. My head begins to tingle, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. His lips pepper wet kisses along my jaw, every one of them seeping into my skin and heightened from the constricted blood flow.
“You like that, my hand around your throat? I could squeeze as hard as I want.” he says before constricting his grip.
My core begins to throb hearing his inner thoughts spill from his mouth. My field of vision starts to shrink, a black vignette closing in.
“I’d never hurt you like that, sweetheart. But don’t you like the risk?” He suddenly releases his hold on my throat and all my blood rushes back up into my head. I’m dizzy and completely aroused for him.
I nod furiously before his lips crash against mine, low growls seeping out of his throat and being released into my mouth. He bites and tugs at my bottom lip before pulling away and licking a hot stripe up my chin and back up to my mouth. His lips meet mine again, his mouth open and begging for my tongue. I push it into his mouth only to be dominated, not standing a chance as his hunger grows.
Chris’s hands latch onto my hips, lifting me off the mattress and into his lap, his erection poking at my core. He breaks the kiss and grabs the hem of my shirt, sliding his hands up along with the fabric. I help him get it off, discarding it somewhere in my room. His eyes burn holes into my chest, examining the bralette covering the skin. He grabs the bottom and slides it up, my breasts bouncing as they fall out in front of him. He pushes the excess fabric up to rest on the plate of my chest.
“Fuck, Y/n. If I died with my face in your tits I’d be happy.”
He begins ravaging my breasts, nipping and licking and leaving red and purple marks across the skin. He sucks my nipples while looking so deep into my eyes I start to think he can see the back of my skull. The line of pain and pleasure is completely blurred when he takes one of my swollen nipples between his teeth and tugs on it.
“F-fuck, Chris..” I cry out, bucking my hips instinctively and pressing down onto his throbbing dick.
He lets out a deep moan, gripping my waist and prompting me to stop my movements. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that. I’m so fucking hard it hurts.”
I let out a little grin and begin to rock back and forth again, his head falling against the headboard with his eyes squeezed shut. His cock rubs against my clit through the multiple layers of clothing, but the pressure and friction still causes both of us to pant and moan in unison. He brings his head back up and grips my hips tighter this time, my body unable to move.
“Such a dirty girl. Can’t listen to simple instructions.”
He removes his shirt, a layer of sweat starting to form on his skin, then brings my bra over my head, not bothering with the clasp. He throws it across the room and then lifts my legs to remove my shorts before lifting me up and sliding his sweatpants off, all of which meet the same fate as the rest of the discarded clothes. He presses a hand against my chest, my back hitting the bed as he pushes me down. He comes to hover over me, his eyes dark and half lidded. His knee is pressed inbetween my thighs touching my core with a teasing amount of pressure.
“You’ve already made such a mess, baby..” he says with false concern, referring to the wetness that has seeped through my panties and is touching his skin.
“I’m s-sorry..” I whine, fighting the urge to grind against his knee.
“Don’t apologize, sweet girl. I’ll help you out.”
Chris trails kisses down my chest and stomach, randomly sucking marks into my skin on the way down. He circles his tongue around my navel before licking across it, a trace amount of his warm saliva dripping in. He traces his tongue along the lace hem of my panties, his breath burning against my skin as he grips it with his teeth.
“Please, Chris..” I whine and push him closer to the place I need him most.
His eyes show his grin as he dips his face down, flattening his tongue across the fabric covering my core. He licks and sucks at it, humming and closing his eyes as he spreads my legs apart.
“So sweet,” He whispers as he flicks his tongue up and down.
He hooks his fingers into the band of my panties and pulls, his mouth only disconnecting for a brief second to slide them down my legs before his tongue finally connects with my bare pussy. I arch my back off the bed and cry out as his tongue works against my heat. I’m a mess under him- gripping the sheets, tugging on his brown waves, grabbing my own breasts, doing whatever I can to release some of the tension building up in my body.
“You like the way my tongue feels on you, princess?” He asks in a raspy voice as he wipes his wet mouth with the back of his hand.
“Yes.. fuck please keep going..” I pant, not wanting to lose momentum as my climax has started inching its way to the top.
“How about you do what you need? Use my face and get yourself off.”
He leans back down and presses his tongue against me, holding still as he keeps eye contact. I start circling my hips, feeling the way his tongue remains in place as I grind against it. I grip onto his face and pull it closer, moving my hips down so his nose rubs my clit and his tongue rubs up and down my folds. I buck up and down in complete control and he hums against me to the point I feel like my intestines are vibrating. I speed up and increase the pressure as my stomach begins to ache with a familiar feeling.
I nearly scream, tensing up as my body burns through my climax. He remains still just letting me use him as I ride through it and come down, my grip on his hair relaxing and my body falling slack on the bed.
“Taste yourself baby. Let me show you what you did, all for me.” He whispers against my lips after he climbs to hover over me.
I’m still trying to catch my breath as his lips collide onto mine. I taste my own juices on his tongue, sweet and tangy. He presses his hips down onto my stomach and reminds me of his need, humping forward a few times and moaning into my mouth.
“Now are you gonna bend over or just sit there and look pretty?” He growls as he swiftly stands up and pulls his boxers down.
His pink tip is swollen and leaking precum. His grips his hand around his base and squeezes until his knuckles turn white, his head falling back out of pleasure or maybe the throbbing pain, there’s no way to tell. His eyes lock onto mine and he starts pumping up and down on his dick, sucking in a sharp breath.
“I asked you a question, sweetheart.”
I pull myself to my feet as quick as I can and limp to the end of the bed, my legs like jelly after tensing up so hard.
“That’s cute. Can’t wait to carry you to the shower after this one.” he smirks and licks his lips.
My breath hitches as I turn around and bend over the footboard of the bed. His hands run up and down my ass, jiggling it before giving me a light smack with both hands. I gasp, jumping forward and my ribs hit the wood I’m bent over.
“So fucking hot, can’t believe this is all mine,” he coos, running his fingers down my folds before wiping my juices onto my lower back.
I feel his head against my clit, slick with warm precum. He soaks himself in my juices as he swipes it across my entrance, barely dipping in as he grips my hip with one hand.
“Chris.. oh my god. P-please just fuck me.” I whine, my legs already shaking and twitching.
“Mmm I plan on it, baby.” he whispers before slowly pushing forward.
He slowly gives me inch by delicious inch, my walls stretching around his thickness as we moan out together. He starts slow and stays deep inside me, barely pumping in and out. He runs his hands up and down my spine as he rocks into me, his breathing slow and controlled. My pussy clenches around him as his tip brushes repeatedly over a sensitive spot.
“P-please Chris go faster,” I draw out in a moan.
He listens. His thrusts become rough and rapid, my ribs slamming against the wood with each stroke but my brain seems to tune it out. He keeps his grip on my waist with one hand and reaches around to my face with the other, shoving two fingers in my mouth. I suck on them hard, swirling and lapping my tongue around them.
“Such a fucking slut, so willing to have all your holes filled, aren’t you?” He pants as he hooks his fingers onto the corner of my mouth and pulls back.
“Nhgnh.. fuck..” is all I can manage through his manipulation of my mouth.
“What? Am I fucking you dumb? Can’t even get your words out.”
I moan in response and feel my pussy throbbing around him, my lower abdomen on fire as I climb to my next release.
“S-so close..” I mumble as drool drips down my chin.
He lets go of my mouth and grips my waist, his thumbs pressing into the dimples on my back.
“You need me to cum in you, don’t you? I know you wanna be filled up, so full your eyes start to float.” He pumps as deep as he can go, my eyes rolling back into my head and words failing to form. “Answer me.” He spits with a smack on my ass.
“Please… p-please cum in me. Need it.. s-so bad Chris!”
With that he shoves his hips against me and shoots his hot load into my pussy, coating my walls as I fall over the edge with him. I’m screaming his name as he moans mine, pure ecstasy echoing through my room. I feel his cum leaking down my legs, such a big load that it has nowhere else to go. His thrusts slow down before they come to a halt, his dick still twitching inside me.
He pulls out and hums as he backs up and takes in the sight in front of him. I have no energy to stand, my muscles aching and tired.
“Look at that. God I wish I could burn this into my brain.”
He walks over to me, wrapping his arms around my torso and lifts me, my legs helping very little to hold me up. He hooks an arm under my thighs and picks me up to hold me bridal style. I’m so tired that my head can only manage to flop against his chest, and I hear his rapid heartbeat in my ear.
He starts to walk towards my bathroom but first places a lingering kiss on my forehead. I can feel the smile on his lips.
“Told you I’d have to carry you to the shower.”
#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#chris sturniolo#sturniolo imagine#sturniolo smut#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo imagine#chris sturniolo x reader
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