#I wanted to wait a bit so I could think about your words

[piastriprincess]

diamond  bright  ,  kiss  me  right ⸻  lando  norris  x  reader  .

featuring  lando  norris  ,  new(ish) relationship , love  confession  ,  reader  is  dramatic  as  hell  but  we  love  her word  count  1.8k author’s  note  requested  by  anon  !  i  have  basically  thought  about  nothing  but  law  school  for  the  past  two  days  but  i  was  missing  being  creative  and  wanted  to  give  you  all  something  fun  .  as  a  number  one  lando  defender  i  LOVED  writing  this  .  i  firmly  believe  he’s  a  little  bit  of  a  simp  when  he  really  likes  someone  …  very  precious  TO  ME  !  as  always  come  tell  me  what  you  think  or  send  me  a  request  !  okay  now  back  to  my  finals  studying  cave  .  love  you  all  <3  title  is  from  claws  by  charli  xcx  !

It was never supposed to be serious. 

You knew Lando Norris. The party-boy reputation, the DJ sets, a different girl at every circuit. When he sidled up to you at a bar in Monaco with that charming grin on his face, those blue-green eyes sparkling like the Mediterranean behind him, you didn’t expect much. An evening of harmless flirting, maybe. He’d buy you drinks. You might go home with him, if he wasn’t unbearably cocky. (You had a feeling he might be.) He was a player — you’d written him off in your mind before he even opened his mouth.

Turns out, you didn’t know Lando Norris at all. 

You didn’t know he would talk to you that entire night, looking ridiculously pleased every time he made you laugh, like he’d won a prize he hadn’t dared to hope for and couldn’t believe his luck. You didn’t know he would walk you home, and instead of asking to be invited up, asking if he could take you to dinner, hands stuck in his pockets so you couldn’t see the way they trembled. You didn’t know that one date would turn into nearly six months of good-morning texts, of coming home to bouquets of flowers on your doorstep just-because, of slow kisses that burned you up from the inside. 

It was like trying on a dress that looked ugly on the hanger and finding it fit you so well you never wanted to take it off again. To make a long story short, dating Lando was kind of your favorite thing. You liked everything about him. And lately, when you lay tangled in his sheets at night, his arms wrapped around your waist and his mouth pressed softly to your shoulder, breathing in his clean, boyish scent, you thought maybe your feelings were more than simply liking him. 

You couldn’t tell him, though, not yet. You cringed at the thought of the awkward silence that would stretch between you if he didn’t say it back. You trusted Lando — he was sweet to you in a way that made your chest ache sometimes, in a way that you couldn’t imagine being fake. But what if the thrill for him was all in the chase, the reckless desire to get something he thought he couldn’t have? What if now that he had you, now that he really knew you, the shine had worn off?

So you kept it to yourself. Let him slow dance with you in his kitchen to a song you’d never heard, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled at you. Let him text you stupid jokes and ridiculous strings of emojis in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep. Let him scrape his teeth over your collarbone and whisper your name like a prayer into the darkness. Loved him quietly, secretly, in the private corner of your heart he hadn’t quite found yet. 

You told yourself it was fine. Things were good between you. Great, even. You weren’t going to mess it up by saying it first. You would wait until he did. 

If he ever did. 

—

The most embarrassing moment of your life starts with a phone call. 

You’re weaving through the aisles of the grocery store, looking for the pasta. Lando’s had a long day of sponsor meetings and media, but insisted that he wanted to see you anyway for your regular date night. You agreed, on the condition you could make him dinner; you like the idea of taking care of him for once, instead of the other way around.  

Your phone starts buzzing, and you pull it out of your pocket, greeted with Lando’s face — some ridiculous photo he’d taken of the two of you early on, your cheeks pressed together like two halves of a heart. You answer without hesitating, shifting the basket of groceries onto your hip. “Hey, you.”

“Hi, gorgeous.” His voice is light, but you can hear the weariness underneath he’s trying to cover up. “Just checking what time you were thinking of coming over. Zak added a last-minute meeting to the calendar, but I should be done by 7.”

You prop the phone between your shoulder and your ear, grabbing a carton of eggs. “That’s fine. I’m just picking up the stuff now, I’ll stop at home and then come to yours.” You lo- You like the domesticity of the conversation. You wonder if someday, you’ll make grocery lists together, wander through the aisles side-by-side.

“My little chef,” he says, warmth in his voice. “Give me a sneak preview of the menu. What are you making me?” 

“Oh, I thought I’d whip up some sushi,” you tease, grin on your face. You can imagine him on the other end of the phone, crinkling his nose in disgust, and the thought lodges in your chest with a far-too-familiar fond ache. 

“Right, I actually have plans. Can’t have you over anymore,” he deadpans, like clockwork. 

You let out a bark of laughter, throwing a box of pasta into your basket. “I’m kidding. Do you think I don’t remember your freakish aversion to fish?”

“Wow. My own girlfriend, bullying me,” Lando sniffs. “Might just die now. Wasting away, starving and alone, with no one to comfort me.” 

“I’m making carbonara, you big baby,” you snort, pressing the phone between your shoulder and your ear as you inspect two different wedges of Parmesan. “And maybe cookies, for dessert.” You place the cheese in the basket, heading for the checkout lane. 

“How’d I get so lucky?” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. Oh, you’re a goner. It does something stupid to your heart. 

“Guess the universe knew you needed me,” you reply, unpacking your basket onto the conveyor belt. You’re moving a little slowly; you only have one hand to unpack while the other holds the phone.

He laughs. “Score one for the universe.” His voice drops a little lower, a little softer. “I can’t wait to see you.”

“Me too,” you reply, fumbling for your wallet as the cashier eyes you with increasing impatience, tapping at the card reader. A line has grown behind you, you realize. “Shit. Lan, I gotta go. I love you, bye.” Click.

You slide your sunglasses over your eyes as you step out of the air-conditioned grocery store. The weather as you walk home is warm. The late-afternoon sun hangs low and golden in the sky, and— 

You nearly drop the bag you’re carrying, catching it just before the eggs shatter over the Monaco sidewalk.

You told Lando you loved him. And you didn’t even realize it. 

—

By the time you get home, you’re seriously considering faking your own death.

You stand slumped against the wall of the elevator, cheeks burning with humiliation. You’ve spent the entire walk thinking up what feels like a thousand different ways to play it off — jokes, sarcasm, pretending you were talking to the cashier instead of him. They’re all stupid, all equally unlikely to work on Lando. Maybe the best option is to cancel tonight in favor of lying facedown on your carpet and never moving again. 

The elevator doors ding and slide open. You step off, turn the corner down your apartment hallway, and there’s Lando’s standing on your doorstep. 

For a minute, you think it’s a hallucination, because he can’t actually be in your hallway. He lives on the other side of Monaco, practically, and there’s always traffic. You stare at him, taking in the ruddy cheeks, the way the sweat beads at his temples, how he’s still trying to catch his breath.

He ran here, you realize, heart thudding wildly in your chest. He ran. 

The silence is terrifying, stretching between the two of you like a chasm. Then:

“Did you mean it?” he asks, voice hoarse. 

“You’re supposed to be in a meeting,” you blurt, eyes wide. 

“Fuck the meeting,” he rasps, gaze trained on you. “Did you mean it?”

You have an out, now. You could lie, say it was unthinking, a force of habit from calling your mother, your friends. You could stay where you are, with those three little words rattling around your head every second of every day, and pretend it doesn’t kill you to hold them back now that you know what it feels like on your tongue. 

Or you could tell the truth, and take the chance that you’ll lose something, because there’s a possibility you could get everything. 

You look at the wild-eyed boy in front of you, who ran across Monaco just to see your face, and you already have your answer. 

“Yeah,” you say, voice small and heart in your throat. “Yeah, I meant it.”

He closes the distance between you in two steps, cups your cheeks in his hands, and smashes his lips to yours. It’s desperate, wild — your teeth knock together, and when you gasp against his mouth, he slides his tongue against yours in a way that makes your knees buckle. You pull him closer, closer, hands fisting into his shirt like he might disappear if you let go. 

“I love you too,” he gasps when you finally break apart, like it’s paining him to hold the words back. “Fuck. Been wanting to tell you for weeks, but I didn’t want to freak you out.”

You laugh wetly, forehead pressed against his. “I love you,” you say, and his whole face cracks into a smile so bright it’s like you’re looking at the sun. 

“Say it again,” he breathes. The look on his face is so obvious, all soft and awestruck. You wonder, distantly how you ever thought he didn’t feel the same.

“I love you,” you repeat, every syllable deliberate, and his arms wrap around you so fiercely it knocks the air out of your lungs. You yelp as he lifts you off your feet, laughing against his neck, your legs kicking uselessly for a second before you just give up and cling to him instead. He carries you to your door like that, arms steady and warm around you, and for one dizzying moment you think you could stay like this — weightless and safe and stupidly, overwhelmingly in love — forever. 

Maybe it was never supposed to be serious. But when he hugs you from behind while you stir the pasta, whispering I love you into your ear for the hundredth time that night like a promise he intends to keep, you seriously don’t think you’ll ever get tired of hearing it.

[moonstruckme]

Ohh now that I have permission to request, could I request newgirl au rommates!marauders with a reader who is very independent and tries to do and deal with everything on her own. I mean we know how codependent the boys are and I would love to see how they would interact with a reader who is the complete opposite

Thanks for requesting (you never need permission babe haha) !

roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

Sirius lets out a low whistle, crossing his arms as he leans his hip against the couch to watch you. “Training to leave us for the circus?” 

“Ha ha,” you monotone. Your voice falters slightly as you wobble on the ball of your foot, standing on tiptoe atop a pile of thick books atop a chair in order to reach the uppermost shelf of the bookcase in your sitting room. “Do you guys never clean up here? It’s gross.” 

“Sounds like you’ve just answered your own question,” he says. “Why are you messing with it?” 

“Because,” you strain your reach, running a dusting wand along the shelf and stifling a gasp when your pile of books threatens to tip, “it’s the only empty shelf, and I have stuff to put here.” 

“Shit, babe, can’t your stuff wait a while? Remus will be home soon.” 

“So?” 

“So,” says Sirius, “he’s a tall bloke. He could at least reach up there without so much…peril.”

You make a dismissive noise. “I’ve got it.” 

You overextend your reach a tad, the books leaning precariously. The ball of your foot shuffles a few inches to the left in a semi-frantic instinct to regain your balance, but after a second you have to bail out, hopping down onto the chair and then the ground with a thunk that’s sure to win you favor from your downstairs neighbors. 

“Yeah,” Sirius drawls. “Looks like it.” 

You make a face at him. James comes out of his room as you’re moving the chair a couple feet to the left to climb back up. 

“I can’t decide…uhh…” He watches you ascend with brows drawing together in concern. 

“She won’t be deterred,” Sirius says swiftly. “What can’t you decide?” 

James’ eyes stay stuck on you as you pick up the dusting wand to try again. “I, erm, can’t decide what to have for tea.” 

“You said the other day that you were craving Thai,” Sirius offers. “Order takeaway?” 

Though you’re turned away, you can practically hear the smile enter James’ voice. “Genius. You want in?” 

“Sure. Pad see ew, please.” 

“Got it. What about you?” James asks you.

“No, thanks.” The duster looks suspiciously clean for how far you’ve gotten. You attempt a little hop to see the shelf. “I’ve got leftovers.” 

“Right, okay—god, please don’t do that.” James’ voice pitches when your books sway after another hop. “It’s a long way down the stairs if you break your neck and we have to call 999. Why did you say we can’t stop her?” he asks Sirius. 

“I tried telling her to wait for Remus—” 

“That’s a good idea. Remus is tall, love, let him do it.” 

“—but she wants to do it herself.” 

“Oh.” Similarly to how you could hear James’ smile before, now you can hear the lack of it. “I see. This is like the jar thing?” 

“The jar thing?” Sirius asks with mild interest. 

“Yeah. I found her struggling with a jar of spaghetti sauce the other night” —you roll your eyes; struggling seems a bit superior— “so I tried to help, but she wouldn’t let me. Accidentally shattered the whole thing in the sink trying to get it open.” 

At this point, you can feel both James’ and Sirius’ pointed stares at your back. You keep about your business as though you can’t. 

“We can’t have you breaking bones the way you broke the jar,” says James. “We don’t have liability insurance.” 

You huff a laugh. “I’m not totally familiar with how insurance works around here, but I don’t think you need that if you’re not employing me.” 

“Whatever.” Sirius’ voice is dispassionate. “If she wants to break her neck to prove a point, that’s her prerogative.” 

James sounds about to protest, but then you hear the door open. 

“What the fuck?” Remus asks under his breath, as though speaking to no one but himself. “What are you doing up there?” 

“It’s fine,” you insist, though admittedly it takes some willpower to continue dusting when your quietest roommate sounds so horrified. “I’m cleaning.” 

You hear the door shut and the lock click. There’s a papery shuffle as Remus sets down whatever he brought inside. “Why?” he asks, bewildered. 

“Uh, because I don’t want my books on a dusty shelf?” 

“Let me take care of that. Come down from there.” You start turning to give your rebuttal the same as you had to Sirius and James, but before you can Remus’ hands are at your waist. Your balance falters. 

“Careful,” he tsks, his grip on you tightening momentarily. “Step down, one foot at a time.” 

You find that, with his hands on you and his tone so resolute, you have a harder time refusing him. You put your foot down on the chair. 

“There you are.” Remus doesn’t seem inclined to release you until you have both feet on the ground, but he turns to give James and Sirius a look. “You were just going to let her do this by herself?” 

“We tried to tell her,” Sirius defends them. “She won’t have any help, she’d rather smash things.” 

Now Remus turns back to you, bemused. “Smash things?” 

“It was an accident,” you mumble. “I wanted to open my own jar.” 

“You’ve got to let James handle jars, babe,” Sirius tells you sagely. “He needs it, it makes him feel good.” 

James shrugs as though this may or may not be true. 

“Please,” Remus pinches the bridge of his nose, “no smashing anything while I’m away. Jars or bones.” 

“That’s what we were trying to tell her,” James says helpfully. 

You cross your arms, avoiding anyone’s eyes. “Fine.” 

Remus sighs. “Thank you.” He sets a fond hand on the top of your head, and the familiarity of the gesture sends a pleasant warmth all the way down to your toes. You feel a tad less aggrieved. 

“Thank goodness,” says James. “Hey, does this mean I can start opening your jars for you? And you’ll have takeaway with us tonight?” 

Your flatmates all look at you. “Sure,” you relent. “That would be nice, thanks. But I’m not going to start joining you for those bedtime stories you do in Remus’ room every night.” 

“I’m an unwilling participant in those,” Remus protests unconvincingly. 

“You should rethink that one,” Sirius advises you as he sits down on the couch, pulling out his laptop to begin ordering dinner. “We’re reading the Wrinkle in Time series right now; it’s riveting.”

[miaoua3]

hiii Can you write something about clingy Cheol? Like sleeping in arms?

sure!! i love love LOVE writing fluff with cheollie so this is one of the best requests i could’ve gotten tbh lol hope you enjoy!

(pairing: husband! scoups x wife! reader)

one thing to know about cheol?

the moment he gets home from work he will be all over you, not letting you out of his reach for hours to come.

it actually isn’t even bad, compared to how needy and cuddly he gets after he comes back from tour, this is actually very healing and relaxing for you.

you were just reading something on your phone, eyes closing on their own but your consciousness fighting against the sleep because you wanted to welcome cheol home.

just as you were about to doze off yet again, you hear the door open and close, his soft and tired voice calling out “im home” from behind the door.

his arrival makes you immediately wake up all the way, as well as make you get out of the bed and jog lightly to him.

cheol’s fluffy hair gets in his eyes as he tries looking up at you while untying his shoes, gentle smile immediately grazing the corners of his lips the moment he sees you standing there, looking all sleepy and cute in just his pyjama shirt, bare legs calling for him to touch and kiss on, but not now, maybe some other time.

right now he just needs to hug you and cuddle with you. and maybe kiss you for hours to no end.

his heart coos a little when he see you walking over to him with your arms raised above your head, slippers dragging against the wooden floor.

cheol doesn’t think too much before he wraps an arm around your waist and hoists you up, your legs bent slightly so they wouldn’t drag as he carries you.

as he walks you over back to your room, he presses a soft kiss against your cheek, whispering a soft “hey baby” right into your ear.

you don’t respond to his words, instead you just nuzzle your face deeper into his neck and wait until you reach your bedroom.

once you do, cheol playfully throws you onto the bed, your giggles bouncing off the walls, before he proceeds to jump onto you, almost like a diver would jump into the water. you giggle turns into a full blown laugh, arms and legs wrapping around his body once his body stops bouncing from the force of his landing.

he proceeds to nuzzle his face against your chest, kind of like a cat does when it feels cuddly on occasion. except this cat in particular would cuddle with you all the time of he could. after a minute or so, he raises his head, face a bit red from all the rubbing he did with it.

he just looks so cute you can’t help yourself but to gently grab his face and pull him towards you. he immediately gets the hint and lets himself get pulled, eyes closing on their own in preparation. before long, he feels your kiss softly parting his own in a soft kiss, rush and excitement all left to the side in the name of letting him feel all your love through that kiss.

the kiss goes on for a few minutes, unhurried and deep, before cheol slowly pulls away. he gets up to get undressed but not before he lays another short peck to your soft lips.

you watch him slowly get undressed to his boxers, and you still look at him lovingly just like you did the first time you got to see him like this.

his usually hard and prominent muscles, now covered with a light layer of softness. his cute little tummy makes you feel all warm and fuzzy, knowing it’s there because of you-because you continue to take care of him and feed him, because you make him feel safe enough to let himself…enjoy life. it makes you smile in happiness and love.

before long, cheol is completely changed, wearing only his pyjama bottoms (considering you stole his pyjama set, this is what he has to settle on). once he finishes with washing his face, he excitedly walks over to the bed and gets under the covers, wiggling his cute butt and toes as he gets comfortable.

you chuckle at his silly antics, eyes filled with love scanning his tired but soft looking face.

cheol squints his eyes at your chuckling, his own eyes filled with ideas to get back at you for laughing at him.

before you can even react, he grabs your hands and harshly pulls your body towards him, a gasp escaping you as you basically fly over the bed and towards him.

he immediately wraps his limbs around you-legs tangling with your own, arms wrapping around your torso, hands sticking under his your shirt in the name of gently rubbing your back, short nails softly scratching the soft skin.

you look at him, his soft and big eyes staring right back. he chuckles at you shocked expression, lips kissing your forehead as a way to apologise for being a bit rough on you.

and so, the beginning of the end of your day starts-you two stay like that for hours to come, softly caressing each others skin, even softer kisses exchanged between softly spoken words. the rest of the world eventually quiets down, leaving only you two, in each others arms.

everything about this night is just…soft.

even if he’s so very tired, cheol stays awake the entire time in favour of simply spending time together. cheol loves his job so much, but he absolutely hates that it’s the reason why you two have to settle on quiet, late night conversations so you can say that you two actually spent some time together.

eventually, you two fall asleep between the slurred words and slow blinking.

and as you wake up the next morning, still in his arms, you want to tell cheol that it doesn’t matter that his job keeps him busy, that he doesn’t have to feel guilty about being so busy, that he doesn’t have to sacrifice his sleep so you two can spend a few hours together.

you want to tell him that as long as he comes back home to you, as long as he keeps on loving you softly and gently, just like he always does, that it’s enough.

he is enough.

his love is enough.

soft life with cheol is enough.

[katsu28]

hiiiii... first off, i wanted to say that i love your work so so much. i'm usually a silent viewer but i wanted to come out and tell you that your work is absolutely stunning. secondly, i was wondering if you were still taking requests from that prompt list in the pinned post. i was thinking 3,26 and 24 for the absolute comeback lando made during jeddah. if not, all good. do not feel pressured at all to write this ❤️

i appreciate u so much thank u!!! <33

3. hiding face in neck, 24. whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin + 26. kissing the top of their head. lando norris x reader, 1.2k. request something from here :)

Tenth on the grid isn’t near where Lando wanted to be for tomorrow’s race. Crashing out of qualifying definitely isn’t what he wanted either, not for him, but especially not for the team. 

Jeddah is a tricky track, so full of tight corners and narrow straights that it could’ve happened to anyone. It just so happened that he was the unlucky one this time around. 

He’s already beating himself up even before he gets out of the car. Fucking idiot, were his exact words on the radio, echoing through your headphones in the guest area of the McLaren garage, marking the exact moment your heart sank for him. It had already nearly jumped out of your chest as soon as you saw his car wobble, nearly stopped when he slammed into the barrier coming out of a turn. 

A little later, after the session ends and Verstappen has taken pole, you finally find Lando. His feet drag along the floor, helmet dangling from his fingertips as he trudges into the garage looking far from happy. 

His eyes find you immediately after he sets his gear down and you smile at him with what you hope is reassurance masking your concern, waiting for him to make his way over to where you are. He buries himself into your arms as best he can with the box wall between you, hiding his face in your neck like it’ll let him hide from the world. 

Things like this are inevitable in every driver’s career, but Lando has always taken the setbacks rather hard. Always blaming himself, getting in his head about all the what ifs and could’ve beens. You can’t solve his problems for him, but you can help in other ways. 

You squeeze him tightly, as if all your worries and his disappointment could melt away the closer you hold him. He’s here, he’s okay.

“M’okay, baby,” Lando mumbles, words muffled against your skin. Your fingers comb through the damp curls at the nape of his neck, palm splaying across warm skin just so you can feel his pulse under your touch. Lando pulls away just a bit, enough to speak clearly. “I’m fine, I promise. No damage—to me, at least. Car’s fucked.” 

“The team can fix it. They will fix it,” You insist, bringing one hand up to cup his face. Your thumb strokes over his rosy cheek, eyes boring into his with such firmness you want him to feel it too. “Everything will be fine tomorrow.” 

“Promise?” 

You can’t promise him anything—not really—but you nod anyway, sealing when you hope isn't an empty promise with a kiss. “I promise, Lan.” 

-------

You swear you haven't blinked since lights out. 

Your eyes have been glued to the screen above you the entire race, headphones clutched to your ears so you can hear exactly what's going on with Lando. You’ve even got the F1 app open on your phone to track live timings so you don't miss a thing from the depths of the garage. 

With every overtake, every gained position, your heart pounds a little faster. You’re even sweating a little bit, which would be odd given that you’re not actually the one in the car. But when your boyfriend is racing for his life out on track with only a handful of laps to go, you’re a ball of nerves. 

You mutter encouragement under your breath the whole time like Lando can hear you, fingers crossed so tightly it’s starting to hurt as the laps tick down to the final one. Anything is possible until he flies by that checkered flag. 

Lando crosses the line fourth. 

He’d put up a phenomenal drive, fighting his way past seven very impressive opponents, managing his tires, keeping up the pace. In your eyes, he’s a winner all the time, but especially now. With what happened yesterday, a P4 comeback is sure to put some confidence back in him. 

You find him chatting with Oscar after his post-race media duties, completely unaware of your appearance as you start to creep towards him from behind.

Oscar does notice, but doesn’t say anything when he spots you over his teammate’s shoulder, just tries his best to hide his grin so as to not blow your mission. 

Lando's still going on and on about tire degradation when you pounce on him from behind.

“Fucking hell!” He screeches, nearly keeling over backwards before he manages to get his hands under your thighs for support. At the excited kiss you smack to his cheek, he lets out a loud exhale. “Baby, don’t do that! I thought I was being mugged!” 

“In the middle of the paddock? Seriously?” You giggle, both feet back on the ground. You smile at the younger boy across from you. “Hi, Oscar! Mega drive today, congrats on the win.” 

Oscar’s cheeks tinge pink and he grins, rocks back on his heels a little. “Glad you thought so.”

“Alright, mate, don’t you have your own girlfriend to bother?” Lando huffs dramatically, hooking an arm around your shoulders. You roll your eyes playfully at his change in demeanor. “Go on, get out of here, kid.” 

“See you on the plane, old man,” Oscar shoots back, sidestepping the halfhearted swipe Lando takes at him. He holds his fist out towards you for a bump. “Great to see you again.”

“Likewise. Say hi to Lily for me.” You wait for Oscar to disappear into the team hub before turning your attention on your boyfriend, hands on your hips, brows raised. “Why are you like this?” 

“Me? Baby, he was seconds away from giggling like a fucking schoolgirl. I’m telling you, Oscar definitely has a crush on you.” 

“He has a girlfriend, Lando. You’ve met Lily, you’ve seen them together. He’s head over heels for her, and you’re being ridiculous.” 

“Maybe, maybe not. Let’s stop talking about him now.” 

You drape your arms around his neck, tilting your chin up at him with a smile. “You’re lucky I find your weirdness attractive.” 

“Luckiest guy in the world, I always say,” He hums, beaming back at you. “So, what’d you think of the race?” 

“You did amazing today, Lan,” You say, nearly squeezing the life out of him with your hug. He pushes in closer to hear you over the bustle of the paddock and you do the same, putting your lips right against his ear for your next whispered praise. “I’m so proud of you, d’you know that? I'll always be proud of you, wherever you finish, whatever you do.” 

“Yeah, I know,” He says bashfully, grinning ear to ear. His arms wrap tighter around you. “Thanks to you. My lucky charm.” 

“Nuh uh, that’s all you, baby,” You reply with a shake of your head. Lando can only smile bigger, kissing the top of your head four times in succession, four lucky kisses for his lucky charm. “Ready to go home?” 

“Ugh, beyond. I need a fucking shower,” He groans, tipping his head towards the night sky. His gaze snaps back to you just as fast, this time with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Wanna join?” 

“Way to ruin the heartfelt moment, you horndog.” 

“Don’t act like you weren’t thinking the same thing!” 

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[babydoll372]

Pleasure

Pairings: older!natasha romanoff x younger!reader (nat is around her late thirties, early forties, r is early 20’s)

Word count: 2223

Warnings: age gap relationship, r is honestly cringe blame that on me alone, sexual insecurities, age gap insecurities, oral (r receiving), r is a virgin, mentions of scissoring, inexperienced!r

Natasha sighed in relief as she closed her laptop, clocking out of her shift and rushing to leave the office before her boss could dive into a long conversation with her. She got into her car and waited for it to warm up, shivering a bit at first and grabbing her phone to call you. She smiled as she saw your face appear on the screen as she started pulling out of the parking lot.

“Hello, my beautiful girl..how was your day?” She glanced over and saw you shrug a bit as you stirred a spoon, she was guessing you were cooking her dinner for when she’d be home.

“Y/N? Is everything okay?” She asked with more worry this time, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip as you stared upon her beautiful, chiseled jawline.

“I’m okay..uhm, how was work?”

“Eh, it was the same as usual. How was your doctor's appointment today? Everything go okay?” Today you had to see your primary care physician for a regular checkup, but it ended up going in a different direction. You nervously released the fact that you were not sexually active, even though you showed your doctor photos of you and Natasha earlier in the appointment. She didn’t question obviously, knowing many different reasons could be of cause, and wrote down what you told her. However, when you explained some worries to her was when she brought it up.

“So you can’t reach an orgasm with masturbation, why not try with your partner? I don’t know if you are waiting until marriage or what not-“

“Oh, no, no, definitely not planning to wait until marriage..I’m just, you know, a bit scared. It’ll obviously, uh..be the first so I’m just worried I’ll embarrass her and myself by feeling absolutely nothing.” The woman chuckled and placed a hand on your knee, patting it gently.

“I personally, and professionally, don’t think you have anything to be afraid of. It will be hard at first to adjust to, it’s definitely uncomfortable having another person see you so intimately and insight different physical reactions, but actually making love is so much different than masturbating, my dear. And I know it’s uncomfortable to hear or talk about, but you don’t need to fear it. I am sure that when the time comes you will be quite pleased, and so will your partner, and if not then I can refer you to a gynecologist and we can go from there, alright?” You nodded at her reassuring words, fiddling with your hands to ease your nerves as now the idea was imprinted into your mind for the rest of the physical. Maybe you really were just inexperienced and couldn’t bring yourself to experience an orgasm, but maybe she would? She had been with multiple women in her years, you zero, considering your age gap, but what if she didn’t enjoy it with you?

“It was fine..uhm, I- I was hoping to talk to you when you’re home about something.” You said, blurting it out before you would forcefully hold it in any longer. It had already felt like years keeping it in for ten hours.

“You don’t want to talk now? Is it serious?”

“I would just prefer talking at home, is that okay?” Once again, Natasha glanced at the camera with worry, trying to read your face in a quick few seconds before looking back at the road.

“Of course it’s okay..I’ll see you at home then?” Usually the call on her way home lasted the entire ride, but you both could feel the heavy tension and knew it needed to end there. You said your goodbyes and about fifteen minutes later, she came home and you greeted her at the door with a kiss. You walked her into the dining room where you had dim lighting and a candle lit on the table. The table was always up against the window looking out to the city, and now it looked even more romantic since it was dark out, and the only lights illuminating the sky were from the homes of other people living their own lives. Along with the candle were two plates of steak and potatoes, making Natasha’s eyebrows raise. Steaks weren’t something you two could afford often, clearly this was an important night.

“Wow, this must be something really important you need to discuss, huh?” She joked, sitting down across from you as you didn’t even laugh. You just bit your lip anxiously as you started to cut your own steak. Usually, Nat would cut your food for you, whether it was meat, pancakes, desserts, or anything else, she’d be the one doing it for you while you happily awaited.

“You sure you don’t want me to cut that for you, baby?”

“I’m okay, I’m not a baby, y’know.” You chuckled, only making her tick her head to the side in worry again.

“I know you’re not a baby, I just like doing things for you. I’m sorry if it came off that way..are you sure you’re okay?” She tried to calmly speak, not wanting to cause an argument of any kind but also getting a bit frustrated at your inability to communicate your problem with her.

“I-…I just don’t want you to think of me as some child, I’m a grown woman and I don’t need anybody to do things for me. And just because you’re older or have slept with loads of women doesn’t mean I’m some incompetent- thing!”

“Woah, woah, woah, what is going on? Why are you treating me like I’m some whore who’s slept with hundreds of women? And why are you suddenly so worried about this?”

“Because I want to have sex with you! And I- I want to be comparable to the, I don’t know, supermodels you’ve been with! And I don’t want you to think you can’t make a move just because I’m younger or because you cut my steak for me..” Natasha covered her lips to hide a chuckle at your obviously wrong guessing, and quickly put on a face of care when you were looking.

“Y/N, that is completely inaccurate! First off, the very few women I’ve slept with were nowhere near supermodels. Second off, you have no idea how badly I want to have sex with you! I have been holding back since we got together because I respect you, not because I don’t find you desirable or hot, it’s just because I’m not going to push you into anything. I do not think you are too young for me to have sex with…and I wish you would’ve come to me sooner about this, sweetheart..” She said as she kissed the back of your hands, smiling at you as you slowly cracked a grin, realizing how foolish you sounded.

“I’m sorry- gosh I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to be so rude, I don’t think you’re a whore at all! I think you’re awesome and the best girlfriend I could ever ask for..who I really hope will still accept my offer to have sex with me for the first time..tonight?” Natasha smiled wide, staring into your eyes as if they were never ending. She nodded as she verbally agreed, and you blew out a breath. You slowly pulled your hands back from her and went to finish your steak so that you two could start soon, however, Nat had different plans. She stood up abruptly and went to your side of the table, turning your chair around to face her and effortlessly lifting you so your legs wrapped around her waist, and her hands were placed on your butt as she teasingly squeezed it. She kissed you repeatedly along the way, having to stop back at the table after your insisting of blowing out the candle, and once you did, she just went for your neck. Any open area of skin she was following with her lips, sometimes leaving small purple marks in its wake. Once she got to the bedroom, she comfortably laid you on the bed and stared down at you, grinning from ear to ear.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?” You bit your lip as your cheeks tinted a deep shade of red, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away. “I am the luckiest woman on this very planet, my love..and I am never letting you go. I am going to make love to you today and every single day after that you let me, because I cannot get enough of you, my beloved..” She leaned down to kiss you passionately before her hands trailed down to your hips, teasing your waistband. She trailed her lips to your chest until you nodded, allowing her to remove your shirt. She grinned, teasing her tongue around the soft, supple plush that was your skin, and sucking softly on your nipples, one and then the other. Your fingers found her hair as your raked through it, humming softly. You felt an ounce of panic rise when you thought back to what you told your physician and how you truly had never felt much pleasure, and you were worried this would be the same. You felt a limited amount of lust from her actions, but you felt loving pleasure.

“Nat..?”

“Hm?” She kept her lips wrapped around her desired object, looking up at you from your chest.

“Do you think you could try, like..rubbing me a bit? Or something like that..please and thank you.” She slowly pulled away from your chest, planning to go back as she grabbed a hair tie from the bedside table and put her long red hair in a bun. She used two fingers to gently caress your clit through your shorts, her free hand on your thigh rubbing soft circles.

“Tell me how that feels, sweetheart. Do you want me to move your shorts aside?”

“May you please? I- it feels close to good but not quite there..“ She nodded, understanding the difficulty you might have for your first time and she pulled the shorts over a bit to reveal your well tailored cunt. You fiddled with your fingers as you watched her face for her reaction.

“You look gorgeous, my love. But you don’t ever need to change a thing for me, okay?” You nodded, biting your lip as you felt her wet fingers draw circles over your clit. She focused on how much pleasure she was bringing you, her free hand moving to your breasts as she fondled them softly, tweaking your nipples playfully. After the same movements and eventually a slightly quicker pace, she wanted to go further.

“Is it alright if I use my mouth now?” She could see your hesitancy and how your legs instinctively closed an inch at the thought of her so close. “It’s alright if you don’t want me to, I just want to make you feel good, this is about you tonight.”

“You-..you can use your mouth, yeah..” She didn’t waste much time and put her hands on your thighs to hold them in place, bringing her tongue to your clit as she followed similar patterns from her fingers. She hummed at the taste of you, making you moan quietly as you gripped onto her hair. You could feel your legs shaking a little bit as you tightened them around her, and she only quickened the pace of her tongue. She rode off of your whimpers, both the quiet and loud, and she watched as your upper body heaved up and down the quicker she went. Her jaw started to ache, but she wasn’t finding it in her to care as she drowned out the pain and focused on your confused pleasure. It didn’t come in a matter of seconds, nor only a few minutes, but she continued until she heard the words she had been desperate to hear.

“Nat-! I- fuck, I think I’m gonna-“ She pulled away for mere milliseconds to respond, not wanting to waste a single moment away from your delicious juices.

“Cum for me- do it for me, baby!” She moaned loudly into your desperate heat as your legs shook even quicker and tightened even further, your body unraveling as you let yourself slip. Your eyes shot wide open as you stared at the ceiling, your orgasmic state washing over you intensely as you clung tightly to the back of your older girlfriends head while you muttered ‘fuck’ over and over under your breath.

She eased you out of your high by delivering slow licks to the sensitive bud until you were whining for her to stop. She slowly got up and removed her underwear before settling in front of you.

“Take all the time you need, there’s no rush..but once you’re ready, I want to teach you something.” She took your hands in her own, kissing them softly as you looked up at her, still in a completely disheveled state.

“What do you want to try?”

“You might’ve heard of it before, it’s called scissoring.” She grinned at the thought alone and ran her hands up and down your thighs, humming at the feeling of your soft skin as she could only imagine what it’d feel like rubbing against hers.

[wonderlandwalker]

Hell hath no fury like a Buckley pt. II | Steve Harrington x reader

𝐩𝐭. 𝐈 / 𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 / 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 / 𝐩𝐭. 𝐈𝐈𝐈?

summary: Steve’s patience is legendary (in his own mind). Too bad reality keeps rudely disagreeing. Spoiler: He’s about to lose it.

word count: 5.8k

tags / content warnings: fluff, some hints to smut, robin who keeps interupting, later actual smut, me being a mythology nerd again

a/n: used scene cuts instead of transitions because I couldn't be bothered apparently, prolly a lot of repetitive synonyms I should fix but again apparently can't be bothered to. basically it's a bit of a mess but it's a bit of a mess I made with love. I might have had a bit of a mental meltdown, it's kingsday, I'm trying my best

Later was a fucking myth.

Not the cool kind—with dragons and sword fights and glory. No, this was the cruel kind.

The kind where Sisyphus wakes up every goddamn morning thinking, ‘Maybe today the boulder stays at the top,’ only to watch it roll back down again. 

The kind of hope that survives solely because no one’s brave enough to strangle it.

Everything started the night of the fucking party itself.

Because for one fleeting, blissful hour, he’d almost—almost—convinced himself he could forget. The way your mouth had felt against his in that dim bathroom light—hot and hungry, teeth scraping his lower lip like you were marking him, claiming him. The way your lips had brushed his skin afterwards, tender in a way that wrecked him more than the bruising grip of your hands ever could. But then—

His fingers brushed yours as he passed you a drink. A graze. A spark. And suddenly, the world narrowed to that single point of contact, to the electric current that shot up his arm and straight to his ribs, knocking the air from his lungs. Because it wasn’t just a touch. It was a revelation. A reminder that he’d been lying to himself. That no amount of pretending could erase the way your body had arched into his, the way your breath had stuttered against his mouth when he’d pinned you against the sink.

And you knew it.

He could see it in the way your eyes flickered to his, in the way your lips parted just slightly. You knew, and you were letting him drown in it, in the way his fingers trembled around his glass, in the way his chest rose and fell like he’d been running.

“Ahem.”

Robin cleared her throat like she’d caught him mid-sacrilege, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched so high it nearly disappeared into her hairline, Steve jerked back like he’d been burnt, his drink sloshing precariously in his grip. “You two are disgusting,” Robin announced, her voice flat, and his jaw clenched. “We’re not doing anything.” The words came out rough, frayed at the edges—less of a defence and more of a confession: We’re not. But Christ, I want to.

Robin threw her hands up like she was appealing to an invisible jury. “Exactly!” Her voice pitched higher. “And yet it’s still too much! I mean, look at you!”  She jabbed a finger at Steve, who stood frozen, caught between guilt and longing, like some tragic, lovesick monument to poor self-control. “Harrington looks like he’s two seconds away from either proposing or spontaneously—”

Your teeth caught your lower lip, Steve’s gaze snagged on the motion, it's knowing, vicious—and just like that, Robin’s tirade dissolved into meaningless static. Because that look? That wasn’t just a smile. That was a promise.

So he let it go.

Let Robin rant; let her seethe.

Let her mutter something about “emotional damage” as she stormed off, because none of it mattered. Not when you were looking at him like that.

He could wait a little while.

Right?

He offered to drive you home as the party came to an end—obviously—because he was raised with manners. Because letting you walk alone at night would simply be irresponsible. Because the thought of you in his passenger seat—his fingers itching to bridge that impossible six-inch gap between the gearshift and your thighs—was the only thing that made the last hour of Robin's pointed coughing fits bearable.

He'd played the role perfectly: attentive but not eager, close but not crowding. The model of whatever-the-hell you were supposed to be now. Steve gripped the wheel like it might steady him, knuckles matching the pale dashboard. He'd been good. Patient. Certain Robin's campaign of terror would lose steam by sunrise when she realised her best friend's happiness mattered more than her flair for dramatic interruptions.

Right?

Because when he'd pulled up to your house that night, he had practically launched himself from the driver's seat to open your door like some over-eager Prince Charming, and Robin had just... blinked. No dramatic gasp. No sarcastic commentary about his pathetic display of chivalry. Just a slow, considering roll of her eyes like someone who'd seen this train wreck coming from miles away, before turning on her heel and disappearing inside.

So yeah, Steve had gone to bed that night with a dopey smile still plastered across his face, half-convinced Robin's silence meant reluctant acceptance, maybe even approval.

He should have known better.

Another day had slipped through his fingers in a sun-drunk haze of laughter and lukewarm beers, Eddie’s voice a distant hum in his ear about— Christ, he didn’t even know. Not after you’d peeled off your clothes in one effortless motion, tossing them onto the dock before diving into the water. Not after the sunlight had shattered against the lake’s surface just to worship you, turning every droplet on your skin into liquid gold.

Steve was pretty sure Eddie had been talking about dragons. Or dungeons. Or possibly the existential dread of minimum wage monotony —hell, it could’ve been a manifesto on the meaning of life for all he knew.

It didn’t matter. 

Nothing did.

Not when you were hauling yourself back onto the wooden pier, water falling off your body as you wrung out your hair with both hands, shaking it loose like some kind of mystic siren emerging from the depths, and he suddenly understood why ancient sailors crashed their ships against rocks.

He wondered if you knew.

If you noticed the way his gaze tracked your every movement like a man staring into the sun—knowing it would ruin him, but unable to look away.

If you enjoyed it, the way you’d caught him staring earlier as you stretched out on your towel, the straps of your swimsuit digging into the soft give of your shoulders as you arched your back—fuck—like a cat luxuriating in a sunbeam. He’d nearly choked on his own tongue, his beer bottle slipping through his fingers before Dustin snatched it with an exasperated, "Dude, what is your problem?"

But most of all, he wondered if you regretted that night at the party. If it had been nothing more than a drunken lapse in judgement, a moment of weakness you’d rather forget, and you were just too kind to say it.

Or maybe—

Maybe you felt it too. That electric, unspoken thing that crackled between you every time your knees brushed under the picnic table, every time you leaned in to murmur something just for him, your breath hot against his ear, your lips almost grazing his skin. Maybe you lay awake at night, replaying the same moments he does—his hands on your waist, your teeth at his lip, the way you’d gasped when he—

Yeah.

He was so fucking fucked.

It takes him another goddamn day to get you to himself again. The sun had begun its slow bleed into the horizon, staining the sky in hues of bruised purple, the summer air hanging thick between you, heavy with the scent of honeysuckle and the distant, drowsy drone of cicadas. Then—then—as you turned your head to find him already watching. His gaze dropping to your lips like he’d built them a temple in his mind, worshipping them with every stolen glance, his eyes holding that particular brand of devotion usually reserved for holy relics and half-court shots, as if even the act of blinking felt like treachery against the sacred privilege of watching you.

Then, you leaned in.

Slow.

Testing.

Close enough to watch his pupils blow wide. Close enough to feel his breath stutter against your mouth, warm and uneven. Close enough to—

"Don't mind me." Robin wedged herself between you like it was her assigned seat, the wooden steps groaning in protest beneath her. "Just enjoying this lovely summer afternoon," she chirped, her grin all malicious delight. "And by 'lovely', I, of course, mean physically painful to witness."

Steve's head dropped forward with a groan so guttural it might have been comical—if not for the way his fingers were currently attempting to fracture his own kneecaps, the veins in his forearms standing out like he was physically restraining himself from either screaming into the void or tossing his best friend into Lover's Lake. "Robin," he gritted out, voice fraying at the edges, "I swear to—"

"What?" She pivoted sharply, hand flapping between you like a malfunctioning windscreen wiper. "You'll what? Finally put us all out of our misery and end this"—she mimed an explosion with her hands—"three-day-long foreplay session? Because let me tell you, at this rate I'd genuinely rather—"

"Okay!" Steve barked, loud enough to startle a nearby crow into flight. His ears burnt scarlet, hand snapping back from your waist, and Robin smirked, hauling herself up with the triumphant air of someone who'd just single-handedly prevented a nuclear meltdown. "You're welcome," she stage-whispers to you, dusting off her jeans with exaggerated care before sauntering away, leaving only the faint scent of her shampoo and emotional devastation in her wake.

Steve stared blankly at the space she'd vacated, his jaw working like he was mentally composing his own obituary. You bite your lip to stifle a laugh as he tips his head back toward the darkening sky—either praying for patience or for the earth to swallow him whole—before his gaze slides back to you.

And this time, you're already watching him. Head tilted in that dangerous, familiar way—the same angle Robin struck right before dropping a truth bomb that levelled entire friend groups. The same tilt you'd worn seconds before your lips crashed into his. "Got something for you."

Your voice cuts through the air, yanking Steve out of his spiral of self-loathing and directly into a new, more dangerous one: You got him something?

Fuck. He hadn’t gotten you shit. Not flowers, not candy, not even a half-assed postcard from the Gas ‘n’ Sip—just a mountain of unresolved sexual tension and a concerning number of daydreams involving you, the backseat of his car, and significantly less clothing.

But then you rummage through your bag, pulling out a cassette tape. The label is blank. No track list. No heart doodles. Just the ghost of your fingerprints on the plastic case.

Is it a mixtape?

The thought sends a jolt through him. Mixtapes aren’t casual. Mixtapes are declarations. Mixtapes are the kind of thing you spend hours agonising over, second-guessing every song choice because what if they don’t get it? What if they don’t hear the things you can’t say out loud—

“Are you gonna take it or what?” You wave the tape in front of his face, and Steve snatches it a little too eagerly, his fingers brushing yours just long enough to make your smirk widen. “What’s on it?” he asks, voice rough.

You flash him that look again—the one that said he wasn't a participant in this game but a bystander. “Just a promise I made you.”

The drive home is torture. Every red light stretches into a personal hell, every stop sign a cosmic joke.

Why the fuck didn’t he leave his Walkman in the car like usual? But nooo—this time, he’d actually cleaned the damn thing thinking you’d notice.

He parks crooked in the driveway, tires screeching against the curb, barely kills the engine before he’s out of the car. The house is empty, thank fuck, no parents to witness their son taking the stairs two at a time like the hounds of hell are on his heels.

The Walkman is buried under a landslide of junk in his desk drawer—old mixtapes labelled in Robin’s messy scrawl, loose batteries that may or may not be dead, and a condom wrapper he swears he didn’t leave there. His fingers close around the familiar plastic, the weight of it suddenly heavier than he remembers. And for one paralysing second—thumb hovering over play—Steve feels terrified. What if it’s nothing? What if it’s everything?

The cassette clicks into place.

He presses play.

Silence. A vacuum of sound so complete Steve can hear his own pulse roaring in his ears. The kind of silence that comes before lightning strikes, before car crashes, before the world splits open and nothing is ever the same again.

Then—

A hiss of tape.

Static crackling.

The faintest hitch of breath—your breath.

Your voice.

Not the one you use when you tease him by the pool, lazy and sun-warmed. Not the one that laughs at his shitty jokes with an eye roll he can feel. Not even the whisper you reserve for when he's close enough to count your eyelashes.

A gasp fractures the silence – raw, unfiltered, and obscene. A moan follows, punched-out, and Steve's stomach plummets straight through the floorboards.

Holy fucking shit.

Your breath stutters in time with the unmistakable sound of skin on skin—his traitorous brain helpfully supplies the images in brutal HD: the way your thighs would fall open, the flush crawling up your chest, your fingers working in frantic circles.

A choked-off whimper.

The creak of bedsprings.

The slick, filthy noise of you fucking yourself—

"Steve—"

His name spills from your lips like a sacrament, like a damnation, syllables trembling at the edges like you’re coming apart just from the thought of him, and—

Christ.

He rips the headphones off like they've electrocuted him, but it's too late. The damage is done.

Your voice echoes in the hollow of his skull, in the marrow of his bones, in the aching throb of his cock straining against denim. He grips the edge of his desk until the wood creaks under his palms, trying and failing to unhear the way your voice shattered around his name—

Fuck.

Fuck.

The numbers on his alarm clock bleed together in the dark,

2:37 AM;

3:12;

4:49;

Each minute stretching into eternity as he lies there, wired and restless.

Sleep might as well be some distant continent he'll never visit again. Not when every time his eyelids grow heavy, his body betrays him with perfect recall, the memory plays mercilessly behind his closed eyes: your lips parting on a silent gasp as he leaned in, the way your breath hitched when his fingers found bare skin. How, for one crystalline moment suspended between heartbeats, he'd never been more certain of anything.

And then there's the goddamn tape.

It sits on his nightstand like some sacred relic and cursed object all at once, the plastic casing still warm from how often he's turned it over in his hands. He'd lasted exactly twenty-three seconds—just long enough to hear your breathy sighs and the rustle of sheets—before slamming the stop button.

He can imagine all he wants—the way your muscles might twitch under his touch, how your back would arch when he finally— 

Fuck.

He needs to see it. Needs to see the exact shade of pink that blooms across your chest when you're flustered. Needs to catalogue every micro-expression that crosses your face when he—

The ceiling fan creaks above him, its lazy rotations doing nothing to cool the restless energy under his skin. Steve Harrington — brought to his knees by a cassette and what-ifs. 

He debates his next move like a general strategising for war:

Option One: Throw caution to the wind. March up to your front door, push you against it, kiss you again—properly, this time—no hesitation, no interruptions. Just his hand on the back of your neck, your chest flush against his, and finally —finally— discovering if you taste as good as you sound on that godforsaken tape. Consequences and Robin’s inevitable shriek of horror to be damned.

But what if you push him away? What if he's misread everything?

Option Two: Play it cool. Wait for you to make another move, to give him some undeniable sign that this isn't just some one-sided fantasy cooked up by his sleep-deprived brain.

But what if you're waiting for the same from him? What if you both end up stuck in this purgatory of almosts and not-quites?

Option Three: Seek counsel from the devil herself. Ask Robin for advice and resign himself to a lifetime of mockery and possibly a commemorative plaque titled "World's Most Desperate Man".

He snorts, dragging a hand down his face. That's not happening.

At 5:27 AM, he makes a decision.

The bouquet of zinnias and baby's breath sits on his car hood like an indictment; he should've gone with something edgier. A single rose, maybe. Or just shown up shirtless with a six-pack like a normal person.

But the clock's ticking.

He grabs the flowers and forces his legs to carry him up your walkway. 

The doorbell's chime might as well be a gong announcing his impending doom. What if you're not home? What if Robin answers instead? What if you take one look at him and his sad floral peace offering and just— 

The door swings open. Time stops. There you are, leaning against the frame like you've been counting the minutes since he left last night, like you knew exactly when he'd crack. That sundress—the pale yellow one with tiny white embroidered flowers that clings to your hips like it was personally commissioned by God to test Steve Harrington's self-control—should be classified as a lethal weapon in at least five states.

"Well," you drawl, eyes dancing over his dishevelled state. "This is a surprise."

Steve's brain whites, all higher functions crashing. "I was, uh—" His throat clicks like a jammed record. Some distant, rational part of his mind that sounds suspiciously like Robin yells: Focus, Harrington! So he thrusts the bouquet forward like it's a live grenade. "Wondering if you'd want to go out with me."

You blink at the flowers, then back at him, that damn smirk playing at your lips. "If I want to go out with you?" Oh God, abort mission— 

"On a date," he blurts, voice cracking. Smooth. "Like. Dinner. Or a movie. Or—fuck, I don't know, mini-golf?" Mini-golf? 

The window above you explodes open with enough force to rattle the frames. "OH MY GOD," Robin's voice shrieks like a banshee, her head popping into view. "Dingus, if you stammer any longer, I'm invoking my best friend veto. This— "She karate chops the air between you two so violently Steve instinctively flinches “—is a hostile work environment for me." Steve's left eye develops a concerning twitch. "We're not at work, Robin."

"It feels like work!" she wails, draping herself dramatically over the windowsill. "The emotional labour of watching you two eye-fuck?  Unpaid overtime!" She fake-sobs into her hands. "I need hazard pay! And possibly witness protection!"

You laugh — that bright, unfiltered sound that does dangerous things to Steve's circulatory system—and suddenly the flowers, Robin's theatrics, and even his own bone-deep embarrassment all fade into background noise. There's just you, smiling at him like he's something special, like maybe this is exactly what you’ve been waiting for. You tilt your head as your eyes spark with mischief. "Do I get that mini-golf date or not, Harrington?"

He spends the entire next day tearing through his closet like a man possessed, as if some divine intervention might suddenly produce a garment bag labelled: Outfit That Screams Casual First Date But Also Low-Key Says I’d Follow You Into Hell If You Asked.

He rejects: the navy polo—too "meeting your parents"; the leather jacket—too "trying too hard"; the stupid fucking Hawaiian shirt Eddie got him as a joke—actually, no. That one was never an option.

By the time he settles on light jeans and a soft grey Henley—rolled-up sleeves, one button undone, hair perfectly imperfect—he’s worked himself into such a state that it’s a miracle he didn't drive his Beemer straight into Lover’s Lake on the way to pick you up. You slide into the passenger seat, all golden warmth and that fucking perfume that's been haunting his dreams with the tenacity of a poltergeist, and suddenly he forgets how lungs are supposed to function.

You smile at him — that slow curve of lips that says you're fully aware of the devastation you're causing— and Steve's brain promptly abandons ship. His mouth, the traitorous bastard, keeps working without supervision: "Turns out the closest mini-golf place is, like, a fifty-minute drive," he blurts. "We can still go—we can definitely still go—but, uh, if you wanted to do something else, we could—maybe—I don't know—"

"Steve—" His head swivels so fast he's lucky his spine doesn't snap. The seatbelt locks with an audible click, which feels vaguely humiliating. "Let's go to your place."

Error 404: Steve Harrington.exe has stopped responding.

His heart flatlines.

His palms go damp.

The entire universe narrows to microscopic focus: the way your teeth worry your bottom lip, the faintest blush creeping up your neck like a slow sunrise. Some distant part of his mind registers that he should probably breathe at some point. "Unless your parents are home," you add quickly, eyes flickering down. Suddenly uncertain. Suddenly vulnerable in a way that cracks Steve's chest wide open. "Or you don't want to." And just like that, his system reboots. "No! I mean—yes! I mean—" He exhales, shaky, running a hand through hair that's already hopelessly dishevelled. "That sounds nice. Maybe we could pick up some Thai food on the way?" Your nose scrunches in immediate, visceral disgust, and it's the most adorable thing Steve's ever witnessed. "Absolutely not. It's Chinese food or I'm leaving."

And just like that—under his hopelessly adoring gaze—you're you again, all sharp edges and soft laughter. The nerves evaporate from his system like morning fog burnt away by the sun.

It's easy.

It's simple.

It's everything and nothing all at once.

And now the dining room is bathed in warm light, the kind that makes everything feel softer, more intimate.

You’re drinking the overpriced wine he "borrowed" from his parents’ cellar, presenting it to you with the second-hand expertise of a man who’s absorbed exactly one wine tasting seminar by sheer osmosis.  Steve holds it with the reverence of a man who doesn’t quite know what he’s doing but is determined to look like he does; he swirls it, smells it, and—after a theatrical pause—lifts it to his lips.

"Notes of…uh—" He squints, as if the answer might materialise in the wine. "Grapes. Definitely grapes."

The laugh that escapes you is bright, and you press your hand to your mouth like you’re trying to smother it. His chest tightens, his ribs suddenly too small for the way his heart swells. He cannot help but watch as the dim light flickers in your eyes. "I was thinking," he starts, voice low, fingers tracing the stem of his glass and you tilt your head, lips curving. "Hmm?"

"Since you got to choose dinner…"

Your grin widens. "Yes?"

He leans in, just slightly, close enough that he can see the way your breath catches. "...I get to choose dessert."

Your eyebrows lift up.

His stomach drops.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

"Shit—I didn’t—" he groans, dropping his face into his hands. "I meant the ice cream maker," A crimson flush travels up his neck. "We have this stupid fucking ice cream maker, and I wanted to—Christ, I’m terrible at this." But then your fingers find his jaw, tilting his face up. Your touch is grounding, and when he finally meets your gaze, you’re looking at him with something unbearably fond. "I know what you meant," you murmur, thumb brushing over his pulse point. "But for the record?" You lean in, close enough that he can feel your breath against his lips. "I like both options."

For one agonising moment, he waits. Waits for Robin to kick the door in, for the phone to ring, for the universe to rip you away like it always does. But nothing comes. So he closes the distance.

The taste of you—cherry gum and Riesling—is dizzying. Addicting. Perfect. And every doubt evaporates. Certainty slots into place, a puzzle piece he’s been searching for all this time. His fingers slide into your hair, cradling the back of your neck as he kisses you, savouring the way your breath hitches when he tugs just enough to tilt your head back—until you’re arching into him with a gasp that goes straight to his dick.

He’s not hesitant anymore.

He's determined.

His free hand skates up your thigh where the fabric gives way to fever-warm skin. Every inch higher is a revelation written in scripture only he can read: the soft crease of your hip that makes you arch when he brushes it, the violent shudder that wracks your body when his thumb finds the lace edge of your underwear and strokes past it once. "Tell me to stop," he murmurs against the swell of your breast, lips dragging damp heat across flushed skin. His voice is rough enough to scar, the words vibrating through you like a struck chord.

The contradiction of it—his hands saying "mine" while his mouth offers a way out—makes your pulse stutter wildly under his touch. But you don't tell him to stop. You moan his name instead, and something primal in him finally fucking snaps.

His hand fists in the fabric at your hips, hiking your dress up. He drops to his knees like a man starved for communion, the hardwood biting through his jeans as he drags you to the very edge of the chair. The first swipe of his tongue is a revelation—hot and wicked and perfect—and your thighs clamp around his head instinctively, heels digging into the small of his back as you gasp. He groans, the sound filthy and low, vibrating against you as your fingers knot in his hair hard enough to hurt. He likes it—the sharp sting, the way you hold him exactly where you want him, the helpless little noises you make when he sucks just there—

He stands so fast the chair screeches against the floor, nearly toppling. You whimper at the sudden loss, lips parting to protest, but he's already hauling you up by the thighs. With one sweeping arm, he clears the table—glasses shattering, plates clattering. The polished wood is cold against your back when he lays you down, but his mouth is already back on you like he's been granted a single taste of salvation and intends to make it last forever.

His hands are everywhere—roaming, memorising. He licks into you like he's trying to learn you by taste alone, each desperate sound you make another stitch unravelling in his self-control. When your hips jerk up against his mouth, he pins you down with a forearm across your stomach. "Steve—" you choke out, back arching off the table.

He lifts his head just enough to meet your gaze, lips glistening, pupils blown black with want. "Yeah, sweetheart?" His hand digs into the soft swell of your ass, kneading hard enough to pull a gasp from your lips, and Christ, the way your muscles jump under his touch is going to haunt him for the rest of his goddamn life. His fingers slip lower, teasing, and when he finally pushes one inside, your eyes flutter open—wide and dark and only for him—before drifting shut again as he crooks it just right. But God—

It’s not enough.

He's fucking ravenous—a man possessed, a sinner on his knees, drunk on the punched-out whimper you make when his teeth graze your clit. Every sound you give him, every shudder, every desperate roll of your hips against his tongue just feeds the hunger, making it gnaw sharper at his ribs until he’s certain he’ll die if he doesn’t ruin you in every way imaginable. So he lifts you up again, and your legs lock around his waist, fingers tangling in his hair, your lips tracing his skin with filthy promises and sweeter vows.

He carries you to his bed like a man on a holy fucking crusade—shoulder clipping the doorframe hard enough to bruise, hip smashing into the hallway table with a crash that sends some forgotten heirloom —a vase? a statue? something his mother will interrogate him about later— tumbling to the floor. His shin connects with that goddamn antique trunk, pain flaring bright and sudden, but it barely registers.

He doesn’t care.

Couldn’t possibly care.

Not when you’re rolling against him like that, not when your teeth are at his pulse like you want to drink him whole, not when every ragged, punched-out breath you take is his name, his doing, his to devour. The world could be burning down, and he wouldn’t notice—not when you’re here, not when you’re his, not when—

Finally, you’re beneath him on the mattress, and Christ, he’s exactly where he wants to be. He’s made it to fucking Bethlehem. He worships you like a dying man at his last confession, like every taste could absolve him of every sin he’s ever committed. His hands bracket your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, holding you down as you squirm, as your fingers twist in his hair again hard enough to make his dick throb. The groan it pulls from him vibrates through you, and fuck, the way you writhe at the sensation—

"That’s it," he murmurs, lifting just enough to watch your face contort—eyelids fluttering, lips parted. "Being so fucking good for me." His tongue drags a slow, filthy stripe over your clit. "Please—" It’s barely more than a whimper, your entire body trembling with the effort of holding back. And fuck—

Who is he to deny you?

He doesn’t think he’s capable of the fact. Not when you look like this—wrecked and wanting, your skin slick with sweat, your chest rising and falling. His teeth find the soft skin of your inner thigh, biting just hard enough to make you jerk up into him. "Cum for me," he growls against your skin, the command rough with want, with need, with something dangerously close to consecration. And when you do—when your hips stutter and his name tears from your throat—he thinks, distantly, that he gets it now.

That he understands Sisyphus

Some things—the salt-sweet taste of you on his tongue; the way you clench around his fingers like you're trying to keep him there forever; the broken way you gasp his name like it's the only word you remember— are fucking worth eternal damnation.

He lingers, drinking it in. He could spend perpetuity like this, unravelling you piece by piece, learning the cadence of your gasps, the rhythm of your pulse beneath his tongue, the spasms of your chest as your breath steadies. He really fucking could.

But at the same time—

He still wants more of you.

His hips stutter forward that next inch before he means to, his composure cracking like thin ice under the sheer, overwhelming rightness of it.

Holy.

Fucking—

—Fuck.

It's just the head of his cock inside you, but you clamp around him like a vice, like you're terrified he'll disappear. As if he could ever walk away from this—from you. A groan tears from his throat, his forehead dropping to yours as he struggles to breathe. His hands—usually so sure, so steady—shake where they grip your hips, his thumbs pressing into the soft skin there.

"Jesus," he grits out, voice wrecked. "You—fuck—you feel—"  But language fails him, because how the hell is he supposed to describe this? The way you take him, like you were made for it. And when you clench around him again, when your legs lock around his waist to pull him deeper— he has to bite his own tongue hard enough to taste copper to keep from unravelling completely. Because if he doesn’t get a fucking grip, this’ll be over before it’s even really begun, and that would be a goddamn tragedy.

He wants to defile you properly—wants to catalogue every broken sound you can make, every way your body trembles beneath his. So he slows down, even though it fucking kills him, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in with measured thrusts. His hands find yours, fingers intertwining as he pins them down, using the leverage to angle himself deeper, harder, until you’re moaning like it’s prayer, like it’s absolution, like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this earth. "Look at me," he murmurs, voice rough as gravel, and when your eyes meet his—dark and hazy and pleading, pupils blown so wide he can barely make out the colour—he knows he would do anything to keep this—to keep you. 

He would find a way to lasso the fucking moon if you asked.

Would dive off a cliff after you without a second thought.

Would push that fucking boulder up the hill forever.

[prettydaisygirl]

can you do a part 2 about the bf james and peter story? maybe james ghosts her and she runs into remus one day, tells him what happened and he goes back and tells james

Just for you, love! This one turned out way longer than I thought it would, haha! Hope you enjoy <3

(ex)boyfriend!James Potter x fem!reader who finally talk about Peter ✿ 1.7k words

cw: fem reader, break up, Peter is the worst, Remus is the best, angst with a happy ending

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

please read part 1 here

You hate breakups.

Not that you’re entirely sure that is what is going on, but you haven’t heard from James in three weeks. That has to mean you’re broken up, right?

The first week, you’d held out hope that James might call you. Even though deep down you knew, when he’d kissed your hair instead of your lips and Peter looked at you with that smirk… It was pointless to wait around, but you’d been hoping for an opportunity to explain yourself. To tell James that it’s Peter who was saying horrible things, not you. You were trying to defend him!

But the call never came.

So your days go by in a blur, aimless routines and rituals that keep your body occupied and alive while your brain and heart ache for him. Things aren’t the same without James’ bright smile and beautiful aura. Your home feels dull without the promise of his shoes by the door next to yours, or a goodnight kiss where neither of you really want to fall asleep. You miss him. 

The park is your only escape. The light on your skin and the breeze in your hair makes you feel lighter, even if it’s just for a moment. You let the excited dogs and giggling little kids make you happy. It’s enough to get you out of the house. Enough to keep you going. Enough to make sure your heart doesn’t fully shrivel up and die. 

It’s one of those days, the ones where you feel a bit lighter sitting at the park bench and letting your mind go, when you suddenly find that you aren’t alone.

“Hello.” You know that voice. The smooth, honeyed tone you know to belong to James’ friend, Remus. 

“Remus,” You greet him with a smile that doesn’t entirely reach your eyes, “How are you?”

“I’m alright, love. But I’m more interested in how you’re doing. You look…” Remus’ words trail off but you can think of a million different ways he could end that sentence: bad, tired, upset, broken, etc.

“I’m… alive.” You decide on, but the words sound empty even to you. Remus eyes you, clearly deep in thought. 

“It was Peter, wasn’t it?” He asks the question like he already knows the answer. His words surprise you, head turning and brow raising, especially when he continues. “Peter said something that made you upset.”

You nod, throat tightening as you remember that horrible dinner all those nights ago. Your fingers pick at the wood of the park bench, your shoulders sagging.

“Peter is horrible.” You say, and you don’t care if you sound cruel, “From the moment I met him, I knew he was horrid. I know he’s your friend but you all let him say the most disgusting things about people. About each other!”

“What did he say?” Remus asks, and when you turn with your mouth open ready to argue, ready for Remus to defend his friend, he doesn’t. His face is only open, understanding.

You wring your hands in your lap and purse your lips as you think about what you want to say. Remus sits in patient silence, giving you time without complaint.

“He asked me if I think James is obnoxious.” You start, and Remus’ brows raise just an inch on his forehead. But he doesn’t speak. “He told me that… James would be getting bored of me. That someone new would catch his eye and everything we had would just…” You look around the park, eyes scanning everything without really seeing. You just will yourself not to cry. 

“I mean, I guess he was right? James and I haven’t talked in three weeks, he won’t even respond to my texts.”

Remus nods slowly, and your heart sinks a bit more. Maybe Remus agrees with Peter. Maybe he is just here to destroy your last bit of hope and put the final nail in the coffin.

“Peter and James have been friends since before I ever met either of them.” Remus says, finally, his voice cutting through the rest of the peaceful park sounds. “Peter has always been… for lack of a better term, a small man. James is larger than life, and Peter has always been jealous of him, even when we were young.”

“As boys, Peter would scare off anyone who wanted to be friends with James. It was only through Sirius’ stubbornness that he managed to break through them and become a part of the group. And Peter only allowed it if he was there too. I came along a bit later.”

“But even in our group of four, it was obvious that James is Peter’s best friend. He would get… antsy if we ever spent time together without him. It’s gotten better now as we’ve gotten older but it seems as though Peter has shifted his attention.” 

“What are you saying?” Your voice cuts through Remus’, eyes wide and your body turned almost fully toward him at this point.

“I’m saying you aren’t the first girlfriend of James’ that Peter has gotten rid of.” Remus runs a hand through his hair and sighs heavily, face turning serious. “I should’ve known he was going to do this.”

The two of you sit in silence for a while, a mutual anger bubbling in the air around you both.

“Has he said anything?” You ask finally, your voice weaker than you’d like it to be. “James, I mean.”

“Oh, he’s devastated.” Remus’ voice is thick with emotion and his face morphs into obvious frustration, “The man is so in love with you.”

“Then why-” It’s like Remus can read your mind, he answers before you can even get the words out of your mouth.

“James loves Peter like a brother. Peter has been by James’ side since before the two of them were in diapers. I think… I think James doesn’t want to see what Peter is doing. He wants Peter to be good but…” Remus’ voice trails off again and you find your stomach churning.

“I love James.” You say, and you’ve never said anything truer in your life. “I just want him to be happy.”

“You both deserve to be happy. I’ll talk to him.” Remus says, and he continues to speak before you can open your mouth to argue, “I mean it. Then, if he doesn’t want to be with you, we’ll know. But he does. And you both deserve to be happy together.”

“Thank you, Remus.” You say, and you hate the way hope creeps back into your soul.

But four days pass after your conversation with Remus, and you still don’t hear from James.

It’s been devastating, almost worse this time, like breaking up all over again. You really tried not to get your hopes up when you spoke with Remus, but you can’t help it. All you want is James back.

You’re in an old t-shirt and putting a frozen meal in the oven when there’s a knock at the door. You groan, moving through the living room to the front door and you open it. 

Your heart stops when you see James’ face. He looks… dull. Not that bright, bubbly ray of human sunshine he always is.

“Jamie.” His name leaves your lips as a breath of relief and also a cry of pain.

“I’m sorry,” He says, and his voice is just as strained and pained as your own. “Remus told me about what you said. About what Peter said…”

You lean against the front door a bit, letting it hold some of your weight since you don’t trust yourself to stand fully on your own at the moment. You watch James, heart pounding in your chest. You’re sure it’s loud enough that he can hear it too. 

“I tried to tell you, but you all just left.” You say, and your eyes burn as the emotions resurface. “And you never called. I just wanted to explain…”

“I know.” James’ eyes squeeze shut and you feel your heart squeeze too. “I know, I’m sorry. I thought Peter was my friend…”

“Friends don’t talk about each other like that.” You step out onto the porch, standing in front of James. You miss being close to him, even just like this.

“No. They don’t.” James agrees, and you find yourself wanting to reach out and touch him. He seems to read your mind, placing a hand on the side of your neck and placing his forehead on yours. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” You say, your voice cracking at the end. “I don’t want to break up.”

“I don’t either.” James agrees softly and it’s like you can feel the broken parts of yourself start to let him put you back together. 

“What about Peter?” You ask, pulling back enough to look into his eyes. You’re worried this is too good to be true. 

“I’m done with Peter.” James shakes his head, his curls swinging in front of his forehead as he moves with vigor, “I confronted him about what happened after I talked with Remus. And he admitted everything! He bragged about it, he said he thought he was helping me out because he thinks you aren’t good enough for me.” James rolls his eyes, but you can still see the emotional turmoil he must be going through.

You pull him close, your two bodies fitting together like the pieces of a puzzle, reuniting after weeks apart. 

“I’m sorry.” You say. “I know you love him.”

“I love you.” James says, and presses a kiss to the side of your head. “I’m sorry I believed Peter.”

“I’m sorry he wasn’t a good friend to you, Jamie.” Your voice is muffled as you bury your face in his neck. His scent is comforting, soothing the ache of weeks without him. You squeeze him a bit tighter.

And this time, you’re not letting go.

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[mattrempeswife]

LITTLE QUINNY BEAR

pair: quinn hughes x f!reader

genre: fluff, domestic, emotional hurt/comfort, family.

warnings: mentions of surgery/recovery (c-section), postpartum insecurity, emotional vulnerability, soft crying, implied breastfeeding.

summary: after months of waiting, you and quinn finally welcome your baby boy into the world via c-section. from the moment he hears his son cry, quinn becomes the gentle, devoted father you always dreamed of and the partner who never lets you forget how deeply he loves you. as the days in the hospital blend into sweet exhaustion and late-night feedings at home, quinn proves again and again that there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you. but when insecurities about your healing body begin to creep in, quinn’s emotional and heartfelt reminder of his love for every inch of you might just be the thing that saves you.

fia’s note: this piece can be read as a standalone, but it also works as a part 2 to ‘a mini hughes on the way’. totally up to you how you want to experience it! you might be wondering where i’ve been since i’ve been a bit inactive lately, i was actually on vacation! even though i haven’t had the time to get to your requests just yet, i’m totally free to chat if you want to talk hockey or just hang out a bit.

He hadn’t let go of your hand since you were wheeled in the operating room. He kept whispering gentle reassurances like soft petals against your skin, even when your nerves felt like fire under your hospital gown. The anesthesiologist gave the okay, the nurses moved around you like clockwork, and still Quinn never wavered.

His grip never faltered.

“You’re so strong,”

He said, forehead pressed to yours.

“I’m so proud of you, baby.”

And then it happened, forty-five minutes into surgery, a cry pierced through the room.

Loud. Clear. Perfect.

You barely had time to react before tears flooded your eyes. Quinn’s body shook beside you, a soundless sob catching in his throat as he looked over the curtain. The nurse held up a tiny, red-faced baby, and Quinn melted like snow in spring.

“That’s him,” he whispered, eyes locked on yours.

“That’s our boy.”

When they laid him in Quinn’s arms, he looked down at the wrinkled little face as though it was the most sacred thing he’d ever seen. And when he brought him over to you, both of you cried quietly together, hearts wide open in a way nothing could ever prepare you for.

You named him Finn Hughes.

And the world felt whole.

The hospital days were a dreamy blur of exhaustion and newborn cries, but through it all, Quinn was your steady constant. He learned how to hold Finn before you could even lift your arms fully. He guided him to your chest, helped adjust your gown for breastfeeding, always whispering sweet encouragements while balancing a plate of food to feed you at the same time.

“You’ve done enough,”

He’d murmur, nudging a fork to your lips.

“Let me take care of you now.”

Every evening, he’d sneak home just for an hour, long enough to shower, grab snacks, and come back smelling like home.

Sometimes he returned with fresh clothes for you, or photos from the nursery you hadn’t seen yet. Sometimes it was just a quiet, long hug that said more than words ever could.

And when it came time to help you walk again, Quinn was your crutch.

Ellen took Finn in her arms while Quinn wrapped one hand firmly around your waist and the other held your hand. Your first steps were shaky, your body weak and unfamiliar.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

“Tell me if you need to stop. I’m right here.”

When you leaned into him, too overwhelmed to speak, he looked at you with guilt flooding his eyes.

“I think… I think Finn might be our only child,” he said softly.

“Seeing you like this, I feel so guilty, like I made you go through too much.”

Your heart twisted at the sound of his voice. This man, your gentle, golden-hearted man felt pain just watching yours. You reached up, cupping his cheek, grounding him.

“You gave me the greatest gift of my life,” you whispered.

“I’d do it again a thousand times.”

First week home was chaos. Finn fit into the house like he’d always belonged there. His crib sat under soft mobile lights, his name spelled on the wall in muted blue letters. Every night, Quinn would take the night shift with a sort of peaceful determination.

“You need sleep, mama,”

He’d always say, cradling Finn close.

“Let me take care of our little guy.”

Diaper changes, bottle warmings, rocking chair lullabies, Quinn handled it all with love. Even when you insisted on nursing Finn, he sat beside you everytime, whispering to him like it was the most normal thing in the world to stay up till 3 a.m. with his whole heart poured into this little boy.

Sometimes, you’d urge him to sleep.

But he never did, at least, not before kissing your temple and saying.

“I like watching you two like this.”

Then came the quiet storm.

More than three months postpartum, you stood in front of the mirror one evening, looking at the scar that marked your belly. You traced it lightly with your finger and felt a pang of self-consciousness. You didn’t feel ugly, but you didn’t feel beautiful either. You didn’t feel like you.

And you never said a word to Quinn. You tried to hide it.

But he knew you, really knew you.

He came into the bathroom quietly, arms around your waist, and kissed your shoulder before noticing where your eyes had fallen. Without a word, he slowly dropped to his knees in front of you. And then…

He kissed your scar.

Soft. Long. Meaningful.

You gasped, tears rising uninvited.

“Don’t ever think that this makes you anything less than the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,”

He whispered against your skin.

“That scar… it gave me him. It gave me everything. It’s the most sacred part of you now.”

His voice cracked slightly as he looked up at you, eyes glossy but sure.

“I’d give anything to trade places with you. But since I can’t… I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never feel like this scar makes you anything less.”

And then he kissed it again, this time slow, reverent like it was the beginning of every love story ever written.

You broke.

In his arms, you cried for every fear, every ache, every second of doubt and in return, he held you like you were his whole world.

Because you were.

And now, you had a piece of that world swaddled in blue in the next room, waiting for the two people who loved him most to tuck him into the next chapter of forever.

[totalswag]

hiii i love your posts!! i was wondering if you could do reader x drew where reader has baby fever and wants a baby and drew finds her upset about it all so they talk and decide that the time is right and they are ready?? lots of fluff please!!

baby fever ⎯ DREW STARKEY!

authors note thank you for the request anon and that makes me smile. i love me some baby fever drew omg. feedback is always appreciated <3.

taglist ✎ ̼ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set to go.

masterlist

summary baby fever coming in hot at a family reunion after seeing drew with your nieces and nephews and you think of what he'd be like with your own children one day. drew finds you in your childhood home upset.

warning(s) baby fever, crying, kissing, mentions of having kids.

You were at a family reunion of yours in your hometown. The reunion was held your parents home⎯full of familiar laughter, little kids running around, and the smell of food being cooked. Everything felt right in this very moment.

Family reunions have been a tradition since you could remember. It allows family to get together once every year and spend time together. Plus, seeing family you haven't seen a long time feels great.

"Can you believe we were once their ages running around?" Your sister pointed out to the kids running around in the grass.

Memories flooded through your mind. The good old times when there were zero worries. Knowing your childhood home still belongs to your parents is such a monumental feeling.

"It's crazy even thinking about it" you respond with a light chuckle.

Your two month old nephew cradled in Drew's arms⎯his eyes scanning his surroundings. Your heart melted witnessing Drew interact with your nephews and nieces all day. It made you think of having a family of your own with him one day.

Drew and you have been married for almost a year. Having kids have been come in almost all your conversations at home. With his busy work schedule, you both agreed to wait a bit. You being the youngest out of your siblings, family is waiting for the announcement.

He’s a natural. You always thought he would be, but seeing it⎯the softness in his eyes, the way he supports your nephews fragile head without even thinking⎯sets something deep inside you alight.

You blink fast, trying to shake the sudden sting behind your eyes. You hadn't expected to feel this way. Not here, not now.

You have baby fever. Bad.

"I'll be right back" you tell Drew and your sister as you lift yourself up from the chair into the house to your childhood bedroom. The tears begin to form once you step up the stairs.

It’s silly, you tell yourself. There's no rush. You and Drew have always agreed you'd "know" when the time was right.

But watching him today, you realize⎯you know. You’re ready. You want it more than anything.

A soft knock is heard from the door. You fix yourself in the mirror before answering. "Who is it?" You make your voice sound normal but a hint of whimper falls through.

"It's me baby, can I come in?" Drew's soft voice says through the door. You reach for the door knob revealing Drew's worried look.

He know's somethings up. You feel it.

"Is everything okay?" Drew asks, "You look like you've been crying," as he slams the door behind him. His anxious countenance and body language tell it everything.

You sniffle, partly laughing and half sobbing. "Yeah, I just⎯" You shake your head, unable to find the right words. "You're... quite excellent with them, you know? "With kids." 

Drew moves closer, placing a soothing hand on your lower back. His palm is warm, drawing you close. Your body relaxes in response to his warm touch. 

"I love them," he says, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "They are your family. Of course, I do.

The room becomes quiet. 

Drew softly turns you to face him, brushing his thumb under your eye, where a tear has escaped. His expression is so open and full of love that it almost brings you to tears again. "I've been thinking the same."

Your heart stutters: "You have?" You ask with wide eyes.

Drew nods: "Yes, I have. Look at us now. We're married, have a lovely home, and have all we could possibly want in love..." He goes on, "There's an extra room waiting to be decorated."

"Here goes the tears again" you playfully joke pointing to them falling down your cheeks. Drew's thumb taps them away. "You look pretty when you cry" he says before pulling you in for a kiss.

You two have your moment together in silence. Knowing he feels the same way as you makes you feel better inside. It's been your forever dream to become a mom one day. You couldn't be more excited than to have kids with Drew.

⎯⎯ my taglist! 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

✰ if you would like to be added to my taglist and be notified whenever i post please let me know in the comments or in my ask box. if there's a line across your name that means i couldn't find your account.

@chenslucy @rafeyslamb @rosezza @mymultiveres @drewsephrry @drewizz @whorelaud @diqldrunks @starkeyvhs @percysley @francislovergirl @sukuna-wafiu @skyslowalking @kneelarmhstrung @inthelibrarybtw @lilumz-blog @lovingsturniolo @xoxosblogsblog @darkacademictrash @claudiamoscatoo @starkeysturniolo @ratgirlcunt @yanna2coolz @eddxemxnson @raewontgoaway @definitelynotdomanique @isabellaxlilah @inlovewrafe @minyoon23 @stevesxwhore @skywalker0809 @acidfeens @stxrzyn @sfotiegiuls @babypoguelife @dolletebun @stoned-writer @drewstxrky @chris444evr @kiiyomei @bxmaaa @pwertiies @6r4cie @ifwfratboychris @sjmalfoy19 @drewrry @outerbanksloverp4l @thesunflowersociety @drewwhore @my-name-is-baby @sparklyananas @rafesprecious @cherrrrrrycosmo @akobx

[604to647]

Wrong Number

3.4K / Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: Detective Tim Rockford receives an unexpected text after leaving for work.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI pls). Established relationship, nicknames (Shutterbug, baby, gorgeous), roleplay (sort of), possessive!Tim, bratty!reader (but not really, just loves to prank her man and gets exactly what she wants), PWP, oral (f receiving; Tim eats it from the back), unprotected PiV, spanking (ass and pussy), roughish sex, dirty talk, pussy pronouns.

A/N: Been feeling out of practice with writing smut lately so... I practiced 😂😁😇 As with all instalments of The Rockford Portfolio, can be read standalone, takes place anytime after their relationship has been established. Inspired by this TikTok prank/trend (a reminder that Tim does not have TikTok - as confirmed in Macarons).

Dividers by @saradika-graphics - tysm 🥰 / Series Masterlist

You couldn’t.  It’s too mean.

Biting your lip to stifle your own giggles, you practically skip back to your and Tim’s bedroom - pretty pink sheer nightgown flouncing as you contemplate going through with your prank.

Settling on top of your now cooled sheets, your mind flashes back to scenes from the previous night: Tim’s smoldering gaze washing down your body as he towered over you, playing you like his own personal instrument - three fingers strumming and curling until you sang the demanded melody for which only he had the sheet music.  You came twice before he finally fed you his cock - taking you pressed up against the window overlooking the friendly neighbourhood street in front of your building while growling anything but friendly filth in your ear about how anyone could look up and see how you were born to bounce on his dick.

Then there was this morning: Tim’s head between your legs as your thighs quaked, threatening to close over his ears as he pulled orgasm after orgasm from your cunt with his talented tongue; only letting you repay the favour after you had thoroughly soaked his facial scruff and the front of his sleeping shirt with your nectar.  You can still taste the salt of him on your tongue and feel the rawness in your throat from the scape of Tim’s thick length, now much soothed having been coated with the creamy balm of his cum.

You should be contented, fulfilled - but you’re not; the greedy ache between your legs growing by the second and making its presence known like a horny little devil.

As a matter of personal principal, you never say “I wish you didn’t have to go” or “Please don’t leave” to your detective when duty calls.  Though these thoughts are not unfamiliar to your heart, you have no desire to ever ask your man to choose between you and his work, nor do you think it would sit well with either of you if Tim were to shirk his law enforcement responsibilities at your request.

Instead, you just wrap your arms around Detective Rockford’s thick trunk a little tighter, chase his lips a little bit longer like you did only five minutes ago when he left for the precinct this Saturday morning.  You and Tim recited your usual ritual, simple and familiar words dressing feelings of worry and longing that run deeper than either of you can ever articulate in these moments:

Come back to me safe, Detective Rockford.

Nothing could keep me from you, Shutterbug.

This morning, however, these soft declarations don’t calm your heart or abate your want for your handsome detective as they usually would.  Your little devil clenches on nothing, demanding and egging you on – it’s Saturday and he’s only going in for a few hours of paperwork, what’s the harm in reminding Tim of what he has waiting at home?

The words, copied from a couples prank trending on TikTok, loaded with innuendo and implication is already typed out on your phone; your thumb hovers over the SEND button of the fake “wrong number” text: He just left, you can come over now 💋💋💋

You press SEND and wait - the read receipt indicates it’s seen right away; chewing your bottom lip, you watch as three little dots pop up to show that Tim’s typing a response.  Eagerly, you wait for his text - but it never comes; the dots vanish, reappearing a moment later only to disappear again without any message coming through.

Then you hear it.

A siren. 

At first a faint wail, the sound quickly crescendos to a blaring horn as the source approaches at an impressive speed.  You bound to the window and watch as Tim’s Crown Vic, cherry light flashing on the hood, roars down your street and parallel parks back into the spot he only just vacated with a precision that makes your mouth go dry.  Tim climbs out and slams the driver’s side door closed, long legs already taking him halfway to your building.  He looks pissed.

For a second you panic, he does know it’s a prank, right?  He must – Tim’s a brilliant detective after all; there’s no way he would actually believe the text is real and that you’re cheating on him – just as Tim never gives you any reason to doubt his devotion and fidelity, you’re sure Detective Rockford knows that he’s your one and only.  The message has done its job: Tim’s back and he’s definitely riled up - you race back onto the bed, positively giddy with anticipation of your detective’s return.

Faking interest in your phone, you pretend to be unaware of your front door being flung open, then ceremoniously slammed shut with a forceful bang.  Heavy footsteps echo through the apartment, growing in volume before coming to a stop in your bedroom’s open doorway.

“What have you been doing, Shutterbug?”

You look up, the perfect picture of innocence, as if only just noticing Tim’s return: he’s leaning against the doorframe, one flexed forearm braced above his head – you squeeze your thighs together at the sight.

“Just scrolling through Instagram.  You’re back already, Detective?”

“Got a text I couldn’t ignore,” he stalks towards the bed and holds up his phone, the prank text you just sent displayed on the screen, “what’s this all about, baby?”

“I don’t have the foggiest clue, but you’re the detective, not me,” you goad him, unable to keep your lips from curling into a smirk.

Tim studies the dancing mischief in your big doe eyes – he’s seen through this type of feigned confusion from plenty of perps in the interrogation room, but on you, it’s cute.  He begins to crawl over your body, grinning to himself when your breath hitches at the obsidian of his eyes, “I think you wanted me to see this text, wanted me to go nuts.”

You flutter your eye lashes, “Why would I want that, Detective?”

Tim advances, predatory and dangerous – with nowhere to go, you fall back onto your soft bedding with a sharp exhale, “Maybe my pretty baby needs a reminder on who she belongs to?  Or perhaps, you’re just being a greedy girl?”

Still relishing your role as the bright-eyed innocent, you say nothing – Tim’s hulking frame hovers and you happily breathe in his intoxicating scent, a mixture of his cologne, clean soap, and authority.  He’s so, so close but has yet to touch you since returning; it takes all of your self restraint not to reach up and grab Tim by the leather holster straps bracketing his thick arms and pull him down for a kiss.

“Is my little Shutterbug not satisfied? Didn’t I fill you with enough cum last night? You seemed plenty happy this morning when I was eating your hungry hole like a cream puff.”

Fuck.  Your only answer is a pathetic whine.

“You need more, gorgeous?”

Your vigorous nod is almost comical - Tim chuckles darkly and leans in.  You arch up, eager to meet his lips - but the sweet connection you’ve been craving never comes; Tim is stilled above you, teasing eyes fixed on your growing frustration.

“Maybe I’m not the man for the job since I was the one who left you sooooo needy?”

You could cry, “You are! I want you, Detective!”

Tim pulls his handsome face away, escaping the reach of your clawing hands, “You sure you don’t need someone else, baby?  Maybe the lucky man who was supposed to receive this text?”

Fisting his crisp white dress shirt so hard it might rip, you beg, “I’m sure, Tim! You, I only need you!”

No match for Tim’s strength, you watch helplessly as Tim easily breaks free from you grip and moves backwards off the bed, “I don’t know, Shutterbug.  Just a couple minutes ago you were inviting someone over to give you what I couldn’t – you can’t be that sure. Maybe I need to convince you?”

Before you can register what’s happening, Tim grabs you by the ankles and pulls you down the bed towards him, flipping you onto your stomach with a blinding speed that knocks the breath out of your lungs.  His hands travel up your thighs, thick fingers digging into the meat of your hips and yanking up so you’re now on your knees, face still smothered into your bedspread, moaning.

Smack.

You yelp, dizzy from the pleasure of the sting left behind on your ass cheek from Tim’s generous palm.

“Love the way this ass bounces for me.”  Smack, smack. “She dances like this for anyone else?”

Turning your head to press your cheek on the soft covers, you look back to admire the dominating stance Tim takes at the foot of the bed, whimpering, “No, Detective.”

He smiles at you indulgently, but his eyes remain hunter-like; flipping up the thin skirt of your night gown and roughly pulling down your panties before dropping to his knees.

“Hello again, beautiful.” A puff of cool hair hits your glistening pussy and you clench from the syrupy sweetness of Tim’s baritone.

Two thick fingers part your sticky folds and massage your slit, collecting and spreading the slick that continues to drip from you.  You curve the slope of your back further, pressing your chest into the mattress and wiggling your ass for more.  At the two sharp slaps to your pussy, you lurch, moaning heady and unabashed as Tim soothes his reprimand with gentle butterfly kisses all over your cunt.

A smile is pressed to your heat, “Hmmmm, she said she didn’t have anything to do with the text, baby - that it was all you. She’s my good girl.”

“Traitor,” you mutter into the sheets, but beam as Tim nuzzles and strokes his nose over your core, you feel rather than hear his barely audible purring:

Such a good, good girl.  So perfect.  You know who you belong to, don’t you?

“Timmmmmmmm…” you whine, reminding him that you’re the one who needs tending to, you’re the one who called him back.

Tim ignores you and continues to lay soft, sweet kisses to your pussy, singing her praises, “You know you don’t need anyone else - isn’t that right, beautiful?  Doesn’t matter who she texts; no boy is ever going to give it to you like I can.”

A completely irrational, hot surge of jealousy nearly snaps your head around when your body jumps and shudders, words of protest stuck in your throat as Tim dives face first into your blooming cunt and starts to devour you.

There’s no gentleness, no build-up, Detective Rockford simply feasts – guided by hunger, determination, instinct.  Every lick and slurp of Tim’s tongue substantiates the claims of his earlier words, there’s no inch of your pussy that’s safe from the resolve of his mouth.  He power strokes your wet folds and torments your hole with his tongue, his lips, his nose; every switch up, change in direction or pattern is purposeful, meant to disorient you – and it’s working: you think you’re going to lose you goddamn mind.  Arousal flooding down your inner thighs, there’s nowhere for you to find reprieve - Tim’s rough hands grip bruises into your ass cheeks, spreading them wide and keeping you at his mercy.  By now, you’re mewling and clawing at the sheets above your head, the only coherent sound that escapes your drooling mouth is the repetition of your detective’s name.  Tim’s own growls and the wet smacking of his continued raid on your cunt echo off the walls in your other otherwise silent and serene bedroom; impossibly, your detective doubles down with a snarl, sucking and gnawing a practiced path from your clit to your ass and back, over and over and over.  He’s barely breeched your opening and you’re already about to come.

“Fuck, fu- Tim, I’m so close, so close, I’m gon-, gonna… fuck, baby, please!!”

Detective Rockford comes off your cunt with the loudest pop you’ve ever heard, and continues to conspire against you in a playful yet domineering tone, “Should we let her come, beautiful?  Let her be a good girl, too?”

Throwing your head back in a howl, you tighten, empty and desperate – this answer apparently placating Tim enough for him dive back in, he latches directly onto your pulsing clit and starts sucking.

Your orgasm slams into you like a freight train and you scream and pound your fists into the mattress.  Tim’s soothing palm rubbing your ass as you ride out the aftershocks of one of the most explosive highs you’ve ever experienced distracts you enough that you don’t hear the clinking of his belt buckle and the undoing of his work trousers.

Jaw slack and eyes still partially unfocused, you remain faced down and ass up, unmoving, when out of the corner of your eye, you see Tim lift and press one of his knees on the bed for leverage.  He wicks his swollen head through the honey of your release and you shiver in anticipation; later, you would look back on the last thing you hear before Tim pushes in as a clear warning:

“I’m not going to make the same mistake of leaving you needy again, Shutterbug.”

He pounds into you.

Every one of Tim’s thrusts is unrelenting on your sopping hole; she does her best to hug and console his cock with her warm embrace, but Tim’s drive is unforgiving – this is about proving a point.  Panting and grunting with the intensity of his exertion, Detective Rockford ruts into you animalistic, feral and with his vice grip on your waist, he bounces you to meet each punishing jab.  Bottoming out every push, Tim’s balls slap against your clit like the crop against a racehorse’s hind and you neigh and whinny in response - high and wild, trying to run.  He grabs your wrists and pins them behind your back, then lifts his knee to place his foot down in its place; with you pinned to the bed and trapped, the steepness of this new angle is delicious.

Tim repeatedly sheaths himself into your warmth, withdrawing wholly and waiting to witness the cry of your gushing cunt before slamming himself back in again.  You whine and plead, for what you don’t even know – the pleasure that Tim’s giving you is so intense, so merciless, you’re feeling like you might actually float away when your man’s dirty mouth brings you crashing back to Earth.

“Your pussy looks so good like this, Shutterbug – stretched wide and taking dick.”

“Knew exactly what you were doing sending me that text, didn’t you?  Knew even the idea of another man touching you would send me racing home…”

You think you might pass out.

“… to give you this cock.”

“This what you wanted, baby?”

You mumble something incoherently into the pool of drool that’s collecting on the bedspread.

“Yeah?  You wanted to be fucked hard and dumb?”

“Just a little plaything for me to tear apart and put back wet and bare before leaving for work?”

“Omigod, Tim!!  Yes, yes!”  Lightheaded and unable to take a full breath with the way your chest is being driven into the mattress, your pussy throbs - pleasure blossoming from Tim’s possessive and dominant tone.

“Could the little boy toy you text make you feel this way?”

You shake your head into the wet sheets, the welcomed hurt from your arms being pulled back only amplifying just how good Tim is making the rest of your body feel.

“Who is it you need, Shutterbug?”

You want to reply that it’s him, only ever him, but your eyes are too busy rolling to the back of your head and your body is being jolted too violently by the force of Tim’s thrusts for you to collect your thoughts, nevermind form words.

Known for doggedly getting to the truth of any matter, Detective Rockford pulls you up and holds you flush against his chest, strong forearm banding below your tits while his other hand comes to a rest at the base of your neck.  You loll your head back against Tim’s shoulder, sighing at the coolness of his holster leather against the heat of your skin.  Tim fucks up into you from below and you both gasp from the electric shock of this new position, “Fuck, you’re so deep, Detective.”

Your detective bounces you on his cock and with every punch, reaching those part of you that only he’s ever explored and marked.  An alarmingly low growl ghosts the shell of your ear, “I asked, who is it you need, baby?”

 “You, oh god, only you, Tim!!”

“And who do you belong to?”

“You!”

“That’s right.  You’re mine, gorgeous.”

“Gonna make you come so hard, your pretty head will never forget.”

“That you belong to me.”

“This pussy belongs to me.”

“The way it comes belongs to me.”

“You ONLY come for me.”

He’s ramming into you so hard, you can only attempt a pathetic nod against his shoulder, whispering against Tim’s lips, “Yours.”

“Fuck.”

Tim’s lips crash against yours in the first kiss you’ve shared since he left this morning; you both moan loudly at the much-missed contact, mouths unable to conceal the affection and love you hold for one another despite the way Tim continues to destroy your needy cunt.

He tastes of you and when your tang transfers from his tongue to yours, you shudder and clamp down on his cock; sinfully, you lick behind Tim’s teeth and suck on his lips, returning your essence back to its rightful owner - See?  Yours, all of me is yours. 

Grabbing fists full of your tits, Tim squeezes the soft flesh and pulls on your aching peaks, causing you to cry out and break the kiss; he gives it to you so rough and punishing everywhere, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.  The stranglehold of your pussy is sucking him so tight and deep, Tim knows he won’t last much longer, he continues to twist and roll your diamond hard nipples while snipping at your earlobes, “I’m close, baby.  Give me one more and I’ll stuff my pretty cocksleeve to the brim with cum.”

It's the dirtiest, filthiest, hottest thing Tim has ever called you, and wailing something catastrophic, you come instantly at his words.  Tim follows soon after, painting your velvet walls with ropes of white as promised.

While you wait for your heartbeat to return to normal, Tim holds you tender and protective, fluttering sweet kisses all over your face, across your neck, along your shoulders - murmuring with genuine concern, “You okay, Shutterbug?  Was that okay?”

You nod, spent and pliant, “It was perfect, Detective.  Better than anything I could have imagined.”

He lays you down gently and you melt into the bed as Tim goes to fetch a cloth for cleanup.  As he gently wipes the mess that’s begun trickling out of your sore and satiated cunt, you think you hear him whisper to himself, amused, “Stuffed to the brim”.  Sitting next to you on the bed, Tim brushes the hair out of your face and rubs your limp body with his now gentle hands until he’s comfortable with the condition he’s leaving you in.

Grabbing a blanket, he presses soft kisses down your exposed back and at your quiet exhale of contentment, smiles before covering you with the cozy fabric.  He sneaks one last loving kiss to your hair and stands, admiring the angelic serenity that’s taken over your dozing face.

“Tim?” you murmur into your pillow, barely audible.

“Shutterbug?”

“You know that text wasn’t real, right?  There isn’t anyone but you,” somewhere halfway between consciousness and dreamland, you crack open your sleepy eyes, voice vulnerable and small.

Tim kneels next to the bed so you can see the affection in his eyes, “I know, baby.  Just as there isn’t anyone but you for me.”  Lightly stroking your pretty face with the back of two of his thick fingers, Detective Rockford continues, good humour on display, “Besides, what kind of detective would I be if I believed that text at face value when I already have all the evidence in the world that the woman I love is beyond loyal and trustworthy?  She’s perfect and true.”

You give his fingers a sweet peck, too exhausted at the moment to express the depth of your gratitude for Tim’s faith in your love - you’ll have to show him later.  “Ok, good.  Just making sure,” your eyes close again, smile dopey, “come back to me safe, Detective Rockford.”

“Nothing could keep me from you, Shutterbug.  I love you.”

“Love you,” you coo, already drifting off into a deep slumber.

Leaving you to your rest, Detective Rockford departs with a silent promise that he’ll return home as soon as he can - walking to his car for the second time this morning with a little extra spring in his step.

[faeyun]

ˋ 🗯️ ⨾ I’M YOUR SECRETARY

𝖎𝗻 𝖜𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 𓈓 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗶𝗻 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗹.

❛ 박성훈 𝑥 𝑓!reader ❜ ╱ 𝖒. list 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉, 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺𝗎, 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍, 𝗅𝖺𝗐𝗒𝖾𝗋!𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇, 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗒!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ✴︎ 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 / 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 (𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘭𝘶𝘵, 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰𝘺), 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳’𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘰 𓈒𓈒 16OO

( 𝖓 )。 this is directly inspired by the secretary (2002) movie because i am still not over it lmaoo.. hehe thank you my lilypad, @prkhaven, for sending this thought eeeee!!! clearly by the word count i got a little carried away with it… and a special little tag for my love @bambiihee because i can freak out with her about the movie and young james spader now (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)♡

You had to try and hide how giddy you were for this moment—how your body tingled with excitement and how no matter how hard you tried, your hands wouldn’t lay perfectly flat on the mahogany desk.

It took everything in you to look forward, your bottom lip between your teeth and just begging to draw blood. You could feel him behind you, the heat sweltering between your two bodies, and how he faintly trailed his hand along your hip. The excitement that coursed through you was so great that you didn’t even think to hold your breath and wait for it.

“How long has it been now?” Sunghoon asked you, his voice almost monotone, but you could still hear the anger swirling underneath it.

“Weeks, sir,” you replied.

“Weeks,” Sunghoon repeated, “and I’m still finding all these typos on my documents. Do you not understand how this makes me look? Do you expect me to send documents with red circles all over them?”

The typos were on purpose, but you wouldn’t tell Sunghoon that. It was the only way you could get the two of you to this moment—you bent over ninety degrees on his desk while your nose practically touched the paper and him standing behind you, a hand itching to raise in the air. You awaited the spanking—you were desperate for it. So much so that you had to stop yourself from wiggling your ass back towards him.

“No, si—” Smack.

You lurched forward, a half-gasp and half-moan spilling from your already parted lips. The corners of your mouth raised. Inhaling deeply, you repeated yourself. “No, I'm sorry. I’ll do—”

Smack.

Lurching forward again, the sound that escaped you was definitely a moan this time. Your head fell towards the desk as you tried to catch your breath. Sunghoon ran his hand along the fabric of your skirt, fondling your ass right before stopping right where you would be soaking through if it hadn’t been for the layers you were wearing. You bit your lip to try and muffle the groan.

“I’ll do better,” you said, your voice wispy. Sunghoon’s cupped your ass again, before you felt his hand leave and the sound of it hitting fabric reverberated through the quiet office.

Another moan escaped you and you had to lean more on the desk to hold yourself up. Still, you didn’t dare to look back at him and break the unspoken rules that he had placed for you; but you so desperately wanted to. Your knees felt weak and the heels you were wearing didn’t make stabilization any easier for you. You were grateful for the momentary pause that let you both seemingly catch your breath.

“Lift up your skirt,” Sunghoon cuts through the thickness in the air. You pause, unsure if you heard him correctly, and you look back at him.

He sports the same blank face, but you can see how he unravels at the edges around it. You notice the wrinkles in his suit and the way his tie is skewed to the side. His dark hair is in his darker eyes as he stands back and waits for you to obey his command. It almost looks as if he let the words slip from his mouth and it’s too late now to take them back. Like he inadvertently exposed his deepest desire to you by accident. “W-What?” you ask in a small voice, nervous that it’s all in your head, that the excitement has carried you away.

Sunghoon repeats himself, only this time, he adds to what he said. “Lift up your skirt and pull down your stockings and panties.” 

You open your mouth again to ask if that’s what he really meant, but he speaks again before you can. “I’m not gonna fuck you,” he says.

A little disappointed, you inhale sharply at his words. “At least, not in the way you want—though I should after your behavior. You can’t even take a simple punishment without moaning like a damn whore.”

Sunghoon looks you up and down, but you can’t quite read his gaze. He’s too stonefaced. You hesitate, but you face forward again and lift your arms from the table to reach behind you. Slowly, you pull up your long skirt with shaky fingers, and after you pull down your stockings and panties until you’re completely exposed for his eyes to see.

You hear him inhale, but you don’t turn around again. The tips of his fingers trail along the skin he just repeatedly smacked, and the burning you feel there intensifies. A small whimper emits from you that you quickly try to swallow, but Sunghoon’s fingers pause anyway.

This time you feel the wind from his hand before you hear the echo of his palm slapping your ass. Unashamed now, you let your loud moan out freely. Smaller ones follow as you readjust yourself, ready for his next action. The thought that Sunghoon could see how soaked through your panties and stockings were didn’t even cross your mind until it was too late, but your back arched from the thought nonetheless.

Sunghoon’s hand caresses along the bruising skin, and his thumb gently rubs circles into the flesh. Then, his hand moves down, further and further. “Your behavior has been unacceptable. You know I value professionalism above all else, and you are a direct reflection of everything my firm stands for when they walk through that front door. Yet, you parade around, playing with your hair and cutting squares out of your skirts.”

His other hand yanks your skirt further up your back as if it was a nuisance and in his way. At the same time, his fingers delve into your wetness, at the arousal sliding down your inner thighs and coating your waiting pussy. You gasp.

“Are you trying to spite me? Do you want me to treat you like the fuck toy you’re acting like? Because I have no problem doing so.” Sunghoon’s fingers plunge into your entrance and another loud moan is ripped from you, your body lurching forward again as you immediately clench around his slender fingers. His fingers move without hesitation and curl inside of you each time they can’t be pushed in any farther.

Your mouth hangs open and your airy moans fall freely throughout the room. Sunghoon leans down so his face is hovering near yours, and you turn your head ever so slightly to the side so you can see him. His hand doesn’t stop, and neither does the sound from your lips. You can feel the boner through his pants as he leans against you more so you’re almost eye to eye.

Just the sight of his stare through his pretty lashes almost makes you cum. His hand slams down onto the table next to yours and you take the risk to put your pinky over one of his fingers. Sunghoon holds onto that action like it’s his lifeline. In a low voice he says, “I respect you as an employee too much to treat you like a slut. But—just for this moment—I’ll lower my standards for you, slut.”

His fingers move faster, and you feel like all the build-up to this moment was a mistake that you were now feeling the consequences of. You were seconds from breaking completely—and Sunghoon was front row center for the show. Mewling, you bit down hard on your bottom lip and tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to look away from his stare.

You refused to turn away from how heavy his eyes got at each and every single one of your moans. Like he wanted to close his eyes and enjoy the sound, but wanted to witness the face you made as well. Or how his mouth was open and his jaw slack. You especially didn’t want to miss the quiet moans he occasionally voiced, the sound too busy being drowned out by the sounds that you made.

It was all so glorious that your body took over and made the decision for you. Your eyes rolled back as your body went limp. Sunghoon cursed under his breath at the way your pussy held him in a vice grip and refused to let go as you broke around him, covering his hand in a pearly white.

The two of you stood there for a moment, clinging to each other as you struggled to let the oxygen reach your starved lungs. You leaned your head against his, and Sunghoon nuzzled into you before ripping himself away completely.

He pulled his fingers out from inside you, still glistening with your arousal and coated in your cum, and stumbled a couple steps back from you. You turned to look at him, and for a brief second the two of you stared at each other.

Sunghoon then rounded the corner of his desk before falling heavily into his chair, his face mere inches from yours. He closed his eyes for a moment.

“A coffee, please,” Sunghoon said thickly. His eyes fluttered open to look directly at you. You hesitantly stood straighter, confusion written all over your face. Sunghoon plucked the papers off his desk with the hand that had just given you so much pleasure that it was currently dripping down your thighs and puddling in your panties right now like it was nothing. “And this time… add more sugar,” he continued.

Awkwardly, you hiked up your panties and stockings and pulled down your skirt. You grabbed the stack of files that you sat on his desk before standing in front of it for another awkward moment.

“Y-Yes, sir,” you stuttered before rushing out of his office. Sunghoon didn’t spare you another glance.

͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏   ͏  ͏ ͏ ͏͏ REBLOGS ◜◡◝ FEEDBACK APPRECIATED!

✉️   ⦂   godddd i need young james spader so desperately it’s not even funny anymore… anyway are we fw the hard thoughts layout?

𖥦 ﴾ 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 . . . 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 , 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ﴿ @innocygnet @ghstzzn @heechwe @tinycatharsis @prkhaven @bambiihee @fangel @xylatox @izzyy-stuff @hyukascampfire @sunoosgfv @whosserina @jellymochii @sumsumtingz @riribelle @minaateez @everythingvirgoes @lvrs-street2mmorrow @beomieeeeeeeeeeees

© faeyun - all rights reserved. do not repost on any social media or sites, translate, or modify any of my works.

[heartavenue]

⋆౨ৎ˚ Y2K Princess: London Tipton Inspired Things To Script ⋆౨ৎ˚

this post was heavily inspired by @premiumbitch-deactivated2025040. this post is not me trying to be a copycat or anything, I just love London and wanted to make a things to script based off her!

ᯓ★ Spoiled Rotten

Obviously your rich, and I mean rich. Several vacation homes that spans across numerous continents, twelve car garage, custom designer, multi-million dollar mansion that sits upon acres of land, black card toting, trust fund having, rich. Due to your silver spoon upbringing, you have the tendency to be a tad bit spoiled. Now this isn't necessairly a bad thing as you always get what your heart desires. Whether it's that new Channel bag you've been eyeing or just a quick trip to Paris, you always get it. And the best part about it? People adore you for it, you have your parents wrapped around your finger just like that. They give you every single thing you want, and then some.

ᯓ★ Iconic Fashion Style

From a Juicy Couture tracksuit (for whenever you're feeling bummy) to that custom made Versace dress, you are the moment. As soon as you walk into a room you turn heads, people practically break their necks trying to get a glimpse of who you're wearing. You have a sixth sense when it comes to fashion. You know exactly how to style something, it just comes to you. Everything you wear gains traction, people try to copy your style but they just can't because they are not you. Designers wish they could capture your natural sense of style. You were made for the runway. You have brands constantly calling you begging you to wear their work, because you are their stamp of approval.

ᯓ★ Timeless Beauty

Your face is pure perfection, no everything about you is perfection. Your face, your body, your aura, your personality is like you were sculpted by Aphrodite herself. Your beauty rivals no one. All day long you catch people admiring your beauty. Your beauty stands the test of time it spans from generation to generation. Everyone is just so captivated by you, so captivated it is like they are under your spell. They are hypnotized, hooked, longing for your every move. Your beauty transcends this Earthly realm, it is like you are an angel that fell down from heaven. You are constantly bombarded by compliments, not a day goes by without someone just telling you how beautiful you are.

ᯓ★ It Girl Status

There is not a single soul who doesn't know your name. Everywhere you go you hear whispers of people telling others about your arrival. You enter a room and you set the tone, people quiet down anticipating your every word. People move out of their way when they see you, they dare not make eye contact with you. You are beyond respected, no one ever thinks about crossing you. People don't know if they want to be with you or with you. Your presence is well known, and for anyone who doesn't know you...oh they will. Something about you makes people want to follow you around like a lost puppy, they wait in anticipation for your next move. If you say jump, they immediately leave the ground. You have an entourage, fan clubs, and people live for you. They're always wondering what you're going to do next. There isn't one person who's not completely and utterly enamored by you.

ᯓ★ Princess Treatment

You have a commanding yet subtle aura, anywhere you go that places automatically conform to your needs, to your wants. That restaurant you've been eyeing? As soon as you enter their doors they greet you automatically offering their best table, waiting on your hand and foot like the princess you are. When you go into your favorite store the attendants are rushing to your side, offering whatever they have just to please you. No matter where you go people are devoted to you. People give up their seats for you, they clear a path when they see you, if you're thirsty everyone in the vincinity offers you their water. You are the people's princess, it is like it is everyone's life duty to serve you, to live you, to breathe you. This is YOUR world, and you just allow them to live in it.

[hoiststowline]

Would you be able to do crush/relationship headcanons for Perceptor? I just need some more of my nerdy guy 👉🏻👈🏻

_perceptor x reader hc’s 

[a/n: sure! honestly, me too. I had sm fun writing these!! <3!!]

you’d be blissfully unaware for a long while in reference to the fact that perceptor harbors romantic feelings for you, especially with how he behaves after such a realization consumes him. not even in a vague sense, because he isn’t sharing that information, confident that he can not only keep this suppressed, but keep up appearances as normal. perceptor is unable to part with the sentiment so willingly, not when he’s already mapped out about nine different scenarios that all end with you saying no. in his mind, it’s particulars that are best to keep to himself, waiting for a better suited time then trying to shove it from his processor. even if it arises effortlessly, without doubt, every time you’re in the same room as him. perceptor carries on being friendly and congenial with you, never directing personal frustrations your way. it’s like nothing ever occurred to him, but his outward demeanor does not match the rampaging thoughts that are circling his processor on a daily basis. 

it’s become a standoff, whether you bring your feelings forward first or perceptor loses the ability to keep his stifled. and on those placing bets, it’s more than likely the former, as perceptor is pretty sure he could carry such a secret far longer. he’s found himself cowardly in that sense, afraid to break something that doesn’t need to be remedied. it’s perfect the way it is, your current friendship, and while he would be immensely elated to see it escalate to a romantic status, he’s convinced himself otherwise. the copious amounts of ‘advice’ and relentless nudging wasn’t entirely helping his case either, feeling like every time he caught your attention, someone else caught that he was after it in the first place. 

upon entering a romantic relationship, it’s effortless to tell that the things he was already doing for you were silent displays of affection. quality time or acts of service I can see being his love languages, but heavy on acts of service. anything that perceptor can assist you with, it’s an immediate response, no questions asked. he’s also the type of mech to do it without being prompted, but if you approach him with a difficult problem he’s more than happy to offer advice if that’s what you’re seeking on the subject. speaking of, he’s also a very good listener as well, hearing you out from beginning to end before proposing suggestions or pointers. you can actively see him thinking it through, wanting to extend the best possible counsel, hopeful to lead you in the best direction. on the other hand, perceptor finds himself approaching you for opinions and direction as well, pleased to have your undivided attention and suggestions for a resolution.

affection is for behind closed doors and there only. it’s private, and while perceptor is overjoyed to oblige you in the solitude of his quarters, there are small gestures that happen outside of them. well-deserved wins or favorable outcomes merit celebration. perceptor finds that high-fives regarding achievements make you laugh. laughter of delight, soft and meaningful as if you can’t quite find the right words to say at the given moment. neither could he, as to why he proffered his servo to you, knowing that you would wordlessly understand the implication. on several occasions, he’s willing to let you sit on his lap while he’s working, so long as it’s not dangerous. if there’s a chance for you to get hurt, it’s an instant no, but in the early stages of tests and assessments you are more than welcome to join him. perceptor sometimes waits for you to ask, other times, an impatience arises and he’d rather just have you right where he can see you. whilst sitting on his lap, he definitely hunches a bit so he can mumble each step of what he’s doing, voice just above a whisper.

[rositaslabyrinth]

Breaking point - Beau A

Beau Arlen x fem!reader

A fight between you and Beau spirals out of control, exposing all the fear and love you’ve been too afraid to say out loud — until the only way left to hold on is to feel it.

Content warnings ; fighting, smut, angry sex, p in v (don’t take after their example), fingering, morning sex

Word count ; 2,429

Minors please do not interact !!!!

It started small.

It always did.

First it was the late nights. Beau not answering your calls after a long shift.

The way he stopped reaching for your hand without thinking.

The way his eyes started looking through you, sometimes, instead of at you.

You knew the signs.

You’d been through enough goodbyes in your life to recognize the beginning of the end.

And it hurt.

But what hurt worse was that he wouldn’t talk to you about it.

Every time you tried, Beau just smiled that same tired, careful smile and said, “I’m fine, darlin’. You’re worryin’ too much.”

It made you crazy.

It made you angry.

Because you weren’t stupid.

You could feel him slipping through your fingers and he was acting like you were imagining it.

Tonight was supposed to be different.

You’d stayed late at the station, waiting for him. Brought him dinner from that little place he loved — the one you used to sneak off to during slow shifts, eating in the truck bed under the stars.

You sat there for two hours.

Waiting.

When he finally came out, Beau didn’t even look surprised to see you.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t say he was glad you waited.

Just said, tired and stiff, “You didn’t have to do that.”

You stood there, holding the damn takeout bag like an idiot, heart dropping straight into your stomach.

“Yeah,” you said, voice sharper than you meant. “I’m starting to realize that.”

Beau sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Already shutting down. Already pulling away.

That was it.

You snapped.

“You gonna keep pretending everything’s fine, Beau?” you demanded, stepping closer. “Gonna keep feeding me bullshit ’til I finally give up and leave on my own?”

He stiffened.

That slow, defensive posture you knew way too well.

“Don’t put words in my mouth, honey.”

“Someone has to!” you shot back, chest heaving. “Because you sure as hell aren’t saying a damn thing worth listening to.”

People were starting to glance over from the parking lot, but you didn’t care.

You wanted him to feel it.

To feel you.

“God, Beau,” you laughed bitterly, blinking back furious tears. “You say you care. You say you want me. But you act like you’re just waitin’ for an excuse to let me walk away.”

He flinched like you’d slapped him.

“That what you really think of me?” he said, voice low and ragged.

You stared at him, your whole chest aching.

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” you whispered.

And you meant it.

For a moment, Beau just looked at you — so much pain in his face it almost knocked the breath out of you.

But then he shook his head, muttering something under his breath, and turned toward his truck.

Without thinking, you grabbed his arm.

Tried to pull him back.

“Don’t you dare walk away,” you hissed.

He turned — fast, eyes flashing — and for a second you thought he might actually yell. Might finally break that damn wall between you.

Instead, he bit out

“Get in the truck.”

You blinked, stunned.

“What?”

“I said, get in the truck,” Beau repeated, voice low and furious. “You wanna fight? Fine. But not here.”

You hesitated — heart pounding, half of you wanting to scream at him right there — but something in his face stopped you.

Something scared.

So you climbed into the passenger seat, slamming the door.

And Beau drove — silent, tense — back to his place.

The second you walked through the door, the second it shut behind you — you turned on him again, the pressure finally boiling over.Beau was right behind you, voice rough and biting.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me.”

You spun around, chest heaving. “What else am I supposed to do, Beau? Stand here and beg you to care?”

His jaw flexed. His hands were fisted at his sides, like he was fighting the urge to grab something — grab you.

“You know damn well that’s not what this is about.”

You laughed, bitter and broken. “Then what the hell is this about?” you shot back, your throat already tight. “Because you sure as hell don’t act like someone who wants to stay.”

For a moment, Beau didn’t say anything.

He just looked at you — really looked at you — like he was seeing every inch of hurt you’d been hiding.

Then, low and dangerous, he said:

“I never wanted to hurt you, honey. But you think pushin’ me away’s gonna hurt less?”

Your breath hitched. You hated him for sounding so soft when you wanted to stay mad.

“You already hurt me,” you said, voice cracking despite yourself.

And that — that — was what broke him.

One second he was across the room; the next, he was in front of you, grabbing your wrists and pressing you back against the door with his whole body.

Not rough. Not cruel.

Desperate.

Like he thought if he didn’t hold onto you right now, you’d disappear.

“You think I don’t fucking care?” he rasped, forehead pressed to yours, his breath shaking. “You think lettin’ you go wouldn’t kill me?”

Your mouth opened — to yell, to cry, you didn’t even know — but Beau kissed you before you could say a word.

It wasn’t soft.

It was teeth and tongue and the salt of both your tears, messy and furious and so goddamn needed.

You shoved at his chest once, in blind anger — and he caught your hand, lacing your fingers together, pinning it against the door.

“Don’t,” he growled into your mouth. “Don’t fight me on this, sweetheart. Not now.”

You whimpered, your whole body arching into his without meaning to.

He kissed you harder, grinding against you, his hands already moving — yanking your shirt up and off, not even bothering with the buttons. His palms were everywhere, rough and hot, like he couldn’t touch you fast enough.

“You’re mine,” Beau muttered against your throat, voice wrecked and low. “Mine, honey. Been tryin’ to be gentle but fuck, you make it so damn hard.”

You gasped as he bit down just enough to leave a mark, dragging a hand down to pop the button on your jeans.

“Beau—” you choked, but you didn’t know if you were trying to tell him to stop or to hurry up.

He shoved your jeans down your legs, dropping to his knees in front of you.

Looked up at you with those glassy, furious eyes — like you were the only thing keeping him breathing.

“Sweetheart,” he rasped, hands squeezing your thighs. “Look at me. I need you to know. I’m not lettin’ you go.”

Before you could even nod, his mouth was on you — hot and filthy and so fucking good you sobbed his name out loud, back hitting the door again.

“That’s it,” Beau groaned against your skin, licking you like he could memorize the taste. “Goddamn, honey. You were made for me.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, needing something to hold onto. He groaned again — the vibrations making your knees buckle — and he only gripped your hips tighter, dragging you even closer to his mouth.

You were already falling apart, shaking so hard it was all you could do to gasp for air.

“Beau, Beau, Beau,” you whimpered, over and over like a prayer.

When you came, it wasn’t pretty — it was sobs and shaking and Beau pulling you down to the floor with him, cradling you against his chest like he thought you might break apart.

You thought maybe you already had.

But Beau wasn’t done.

He kissed you again, messy and deep, lifting you easily into his arms, carrying you to the bedroom. His hands roaming your body like he needed to make sure you were real.

You could feel how hard he was — the thick, aching press of him against your thigh — and your breath hitched again, more tears slipping free.

“I need you,” you whispered, voice raw. “Please.”

“You got me, darlin’. Always had me,” he said, wrecked. “I’m yours.”

He didn’t rush — even angry and desperate, Beau was careful as he pushed into you, inch by thick inch, keeping his forehead pressed to yours the whole time.

The stretch burned, but you welcomed it — welcomed him — wrapping your arms around his shoulders and clinging.

He cursed under his breath, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in hard enough to make you cry out.

“Goddamn,” he groaned. “Feel so good, honey. So fuckin’ good for me.”

The rhythm was brutal at first — hard and deep, every thrust knocking the breath out of you — but as the seconds dragged on, it changed. Softened. Deepened.

Turned into something almost unbearably tender.

Like he was trying to tell you everything he’d never been brave enough to say with words.

“I love you,” you sobbed against his neck, not even thinking, just feeling. “I love you, Beau.”

He froze for half a second — just long enough for you to panic — but then he crushed you to him even harder, thrusting up into you with a broken sound.

“Love you, sweetheart,” he panted. “Love you so damn much it hurts.”

You came again with his name on your lips, shaking so violently he had to hold you through it.

Beau followed you seconds later, spilling into you with a hoarse, broken groan, his whole body shuddering against yours.

For a long time, neither of you moved.

You just stayed tangled up together on the floor, breathing hard, clinging like if you let go the whole world would fall apart.

Finally, Beau lifted his head, brushing his thumb across your tear-streaked cheek.

“Ain’t lettin’ you go,” he said again, softer now. “Not ever.”

You nodded, throat too tight to answer.

Because somehow, somehow, even after everything — you still believed him.

You woke to the feeling of him already looking at you.

It was a slow thing — consciousness dragging you up from heavy, dreamless sleep — the first thing you felt was warmth.

His body wrapped around yours like a second skin, his hand resting just beneath your ribs, holding you like you’d disappear if he let go.

“Darlin’,” he whispered, so low you almost thought you imagined it.

You blinked against the morning light slipping through the curtains.

Turned your head just enough to catch a glimpse of him.

Beau’s hair was a mess. His eyes were raw, bloodshot.

There were bruises under them, like he hadn’t slept at all — even though you’d passed out together not long after he’d wrecked you the night before.

“Hey,” you croaked, voice rough from sleep and leftover tears.

Beau just shook his head, pulling you closer until your face was tucked against his throat.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice breaking. “God, I’m so sorry.”

You pressed your forehead into his chest, breathing him in.

He still smelled like you.

Like the desperate, furious love you’d torn into each other with just hours ago.

“I know,” you whispered.

His hand slid up your back, slow and careful, like he was scared he’d hurt you.

You shivered, but not from the cold.

“Didn’t mean none of it,” Beau said hoarsely. “Not the way it sounded. I just— I get scared sometimes, honey. Get so twisted up in my head… think if I keep you at arm’s length, maybe it won’t hurt so bad when you realize you deserve better.”

Your throat closed up.

God, if he only knew.

You pulled back just enough to see him.

Cupped his face in both hands — traced the scruff along his jaw, the little line between his brows.

“Beau Arlen,” you said, voice trembling, “you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

His eyes slammed shut like the words hurt him.

“You don’t have to say that just ‘cause—”

“I’m not,” you interrupted fiercely. “I’m sayin’ it because it’s true. And if you keep pushing me away, Beau, you’re gonna break both our hearts.”

He cracked open at that.

You could see it — feel it — the way he exhaled like he couldn’t hold it in anymore, forehead dropping to press against yours.

“I don’t wanna lose you, baby,” he whispered. “Don’t think I could survive it.”

Tears stung your eyes again, but this time you didn’t try to fight them.

“You won’t,” you promised. “You won’t lose me.”

For a long moment, neither of you moved — just breathed each other in, your heartbeats pounding in the same frantic, relieved rhythm.

And then Beau kissed you.

Soft, this time.

No anger, no desperation.

Just a slow, reverent kind of hunger — like he had all the time in the world to learn every inch of you.

He kissed you like an apology.

Like a prayer.

You sighed into it, letting yourself melt into him, feeling every ounce of regret, of fear, of love he was trying to pour into you with nothing but his mouth and his hands.

When he pulled back, Beau’s thumb brushed under your eye, catching a tear before it could fall.

“Love you, darlin’,” he whispered, so quiet it almost didn’t reach your ears.

Your breath hitched.

“I love you too, honey.”

The raw relief in his face almost undid you.

“Let me take care of you,” he murmured against your skin. “Let me make up for it.”

You nodded, already dizzy with the feel of him — his hands sliding under the covers, fingers finding your bare skin like he’d die if he didn’t touch you.

And this time, when Beau moved over you, there was no anger left.

Only worship.

Only love.

He kissed every bruise he’d left.

Whispered sweet nothings into your skin between soft, aching kisses.

“Honey… sweetheart… my darlin’ girl…”Every word was a balm, sealing the cracks between you.

And when he finally slid inside you — slow, deep, overwhelming — you clung to him like he was your whole world.

Because he was.

He always had been.

Beau moved with you, for you, like he was trying to stitch you both back together from the inside out.

Whispering your name.

Whispering “I’ve got you, baby. Always got you.”

And this time, when you came undone in his arms, it wasn’t with fury.

It was with forgiveness.

With hope.

With love so fierce it left you both trembling, gasping, clinging to each other in the soft, broken light of morning.

Liz talks : hihihi i miss Beau so I wrote this lmaoo, I’m thinking of starting like a little Beau series (I say with a billion series that I already have and haven’t touched in forever) but oh welllll.

Tag list : @deansbbyx , @sunsbaby , @starzify , @bluemerakis , @aambearr , @blossomingorchids , @littlesoulshine , @daylighted , @wchswift , @emeraldcrs , @bossyblondie , @lunaleah , @pieandflannel , @sunnyteume , @deanswifeyy , @tinas111 , @kimxwinchester

To be tagged in any future works of mine check out this post !!

To find my my masterlist check out this post !!!

Any engagement is highly appreciated <33

[madamechrissy]

Losing Control Now - part four preview

Pairings: Mobster Gojo x bartender F!reader

Warnings- just suggestive in this, but the story is NSFW, reader and Gojo are on their date hehe. After like over a month and a half (sorryyy) of no thoughts on this, it finally came to me today, so expect the update this week! <3

The wind is gently blowing your hair around your face, the soft light of the setting sun casting pinks and golds across your skin, and for a moment his breath catches, seeing your tired eyes light up, your pretty smile. It makes any and everything he’d have to do to protect you worth it, your giggle as you lean forward, a hand brushing across his thigh now, making him ache for you.

“This is beautiful, Satoru. Thank you so much for this.” Your lips press on his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, the salty sea spray mingling in the air with your perfume, heady and intoxicating.

He swallows a bit, arm wrapping around you now as the two of you sit at the table, food plated by the best chefs he could hire, on his own damn boat he bought for a date, but all you can focus on is him. In his pretty blue eyes, and the way the sun is casting shadows from behind him, illuminating his tall figure when he leans low, brushing a thumb across your cheek.

It’s warmed from the sun, but soon hot under his touch, his bright blue gaze that makes your heart pound. “It’s all worth it.” He murmurs quietly, he knows you don’t grasp his meaning fully, but you kiss him softly, drinking in his sighs, while his touch drifts to the small of your back.

Anything is worth your presence.

“This food looks amazing but I doubt I can pronounce it. It’s insane.” You say softly, eyeing the plates then, and he tries to hold back just lifting you on it, swiping every fancy dish across the wood planks beneath you, and eating you instead.

He doubts that will wait much longer, not with the glimpses of thigh from your high cut dress, not with the way that necklace is dangling precariously against your collarbone that he wants to litter with bites. He takes a breath, putting on an easy smile then. “I don’t either, I just asked for super fancy shit.”

You giggle at it, his sincerity, and he grins so boyish and charming, it melts your fucking heart. “I feel like you can’t be real, and it scares me.”

“Not real?” He frowns a bit, while you take a nibble of one of the perfectly set dishes, sighing as it hits your taste buds, nodding a bit. “What’s that mean?”

“Too good for me? More than I deserve? Too amazing-”

“The fuck?” He glares at you, gripping your chin now, snowy lashes lowering as you sit there, fork clattering from your hand.

“Sorry I-”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that. You fucking deserve everything. Okay?” You blink back emotions, words that shouldn’t spill yet but threaten to, taking a shaky breath and nodding.

“I’m just so tired, Satoru. I’m sorry.” He relaxes his grip, long elegant fingers dancing along your jaw, sighing now as the boat gently dashes through the water beneath you two, and for a moment he’d like it to carry you both away. Far the fuck away. “Thank you for everything, for every moment with me.”

“Don’t thank me for it, right now all I can think of is-” Your phone starts going off then, lighting up at the table, he frowns over at the name as you sigh, ignoring the call. “Your mom?”

“She’ll stop after a few, it’s for money.” You’re so used to this, it infuriates Satoru then, the next call he answers, before you can stop him, covering your mouth in shock, eyes wide as he casually answers.

“Your daughter is on a date, Mom. She can’t give you any money I’m afraid,” you hear her yelling and panicking, but he just sips on a glass of wine, winking at you, as if to tell you he’s got it. “I’ll make a deal, leave her alone all day and night, and I’ll give you some instead.”

“Don’t do that!” Your whisper is brushed off, as he smirks, and you can’t hear her voice anymore.

“Your daughter deserves a day where she’s not carrying all your fucking burdens, mmkay? Great, I’ll send that over tomorrow, meet you soon I’m sure.” He hangs up now, eyeing your shocked face with a shrug. “She’ll leave you alone for a bit.”

“You can’t just pay everyone to leave me alone, this is my mess, it’s-”

“It’s not your mess. You got stuck with hers. And baby Imma fix it all, okay?” He cups your face with both hands, and you’re ended, any resolve, or waiting for the right time, it all falls from your brain, replaced with one thing instead-

You need him.

You need him in every way.

You slam your lips on his then, hot and desperate, he exhales and drags your body against him, until he’s picked you up, sliding plates over and stepping between your thighs, feeling the heat of your needy cunt even over the layers of his pants and the dress he’s slipping up. You cry out against him when he bites the lower lip, the one you’ve bitten to hell, the pain sharp and sweet, soothing it with a swipe of his tongue.

“I need you, Satoru,” you whisper now, eyeing him with a dilated, lidded gaze, your little hands grabbing at his dress shirt, feeling the hammering of his heart against your palm. “Please.”

Who was he to deny you anything?

I'm so excited to get back to this oneee I can't wait

perm tags- @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @indiewritesxoxo @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoao-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @grignardsreagent @shokosbunny

[musicalnobody]

Little Secret Ch. 1

General Shepard's Daughter X Simon "Ghost" Riley ⋆ Call of Duty ⋆ MDNI ⋆ 9.3k words ⋆ 18+, explicit ⋆ Read the tags ⋆

⋆ AO3 link ⋆

Summary: After finding out about Shepherds betrayal, Ghost is sent to raid his residence. What he finds there is too good to resist.

Tags: Rape/noncon, Kidnapping, Drugging (brief, no drugged sex), the dove is struggling, pov second person, daddy issues, daddy kink, reader is shepherd's daughter, unsafe sex, age difference (Ghost is late 30's, reader just turned 18 prior to the story), manhandling, restraints, handcuffs, crying, dacryphilia, breathplay, pet names, squirting, creampie, deepthroating, rough oral sex, no use of y/n, spit as lube, size difference, cunnilingus

A/N: First piece on tumblr! I haven't been on this site since like sophomore year of highschool, so I'm a tad nervous! I have only played a little bit of call of duty so if there's any inaccuracies don't come for me. This fic does handle a couple (to say the least) dark topics so please tread carefully!

Ghost hadn’t wanted to go on this mission, let alone be playing ISpy in the now deceased General Shepherd’s home, a large 3-story, 6-bedroom house that sat in the middle of multiple acres of forest. It was a solo mission, said that it was just meant to make sure he hadn’t left anything at his personal residence that could’ve provided extra intel. When Ghost asked, Price didn’t even think twice, remarking that Ghost was perfect for the job before handing Ghost the papers and sending him on his way. He was excited at first. Free access to the General’s residence to comb through his personal belongings? It soothed his kleptomaniac tendencies. But then Soap had to go run his mouth, the careless bastard making one too many jokes on the way that didn’t land correctly. So, there he was, stomping through the forest as a steady downpour reminded him that his gear wasn’t entirely waterproof.

When Ghost arrived, he was in a worse mood than when he started. He made sure to take a stop into Shepherd’s personal quarters to change out his underclothing for something a bit drier. The pants were a tight fit, having found a slightly bigger size at the very bottom of his drawers. The black undershirt shirt gripped every curve and crevice of his body. As he was putting his vest back on, he heard a noise from the floor below him. He quickly grabbed his gun and went to make his way down the stairs quietly. When he didn’t find anything, he went to find another room he could rummage his way through, finally settling on what looked like his main office. He hadn’t even meant to look at her, but she was too clumsy, stepping on a floorboard that creaked loud enough for Ghost to hear.

She was a doll, a tiny little thing with big, bright eyes and puffy lips that contrasted her dark hair. He tried taking his eyes off her, all pink and frills, but you just begged to be looked at. Your Mary Janes were perfectly polished, the ruffles of your socks covering the buckles, your dress was short, something he wanted to fix, a pink gingham that looked so tearable it might as well have been a crime his hands weren’t on it at the current moment.

Your hair topped it off, two pigtails sitting prettily on your shoulders, white ribbons holding them in place. He had to suppress a groan. You see, Ghost was nothing short of a pervert. The way you were carelessly wandering around the large house, unaware of the other soul that occupied it. He creeped around the office, waiting till you entered the next hallway before slinking out from the doorway. He needed to figure out who you were. Why you were here. So, he chased. Down the hallway, up the stairs, and down another long and empty hallway. He used the shadows to aid him, years of military training finally paying off.

There was always the option to go forward with normal military procedures, but Ghost couldn’t handle himself. He pulled out the vial and the small rag tucked in his vest, saved for special emergencies, usually someone who wasn’t cooperating. But who’s to say how you would react? After all, you were occupying Shepherd’s residence, you could be volatile. At least, that’s what Ghost told himself as he crept up behind you, rag ready in his right hand. Attack. Wrapping his left arm around your waist, there was barely time for you to let out the cutest little scream Ghost had ever heard before there was a rag in front of your nose and your vision was rapidly fading to black.

Ghost grabbed her body, cradling it as he gently opened the door that he assumed led to your room. It was as if a tornado of pink had swept through the room and left frills and lace in its wake, but as he scanned the room, he noticed something. A dingy cage in the corner of the room, large enough to fit your body and a pillow. Something had gone down here, and he was determined to figure out what, but not before utilizing that gear that had already been given to him. Ghost never claimed to be a morally correct human being, in fact, he’d claim quite the opposite, especially as he watched your sleeping body bend perfectly into a fetal position within the cage, tucked in with a light blanket. As he shut the door to the small cage, he smirked to himself, now he could pay attention to more important things: Ripping your room apart for information.

He started with your numerous bookshelves, grabbing a diary and throwing it on the bed to read later. Checking under the bed, he found there to be nothing but stuffed animals and candy wrappers, how cute, he thought to himself. He looked through your vanity, finding various skin care and make up items, as well as jewelry, many adorned with the letter S. But as he moved to your desk, he knew had found exactly what he was looking for. Right there, on the top left of the first paper occupying the desk, Shepherd. His precious daughter.

He had kept you here all along, hiding you from the outside world. Ghost grinned, he could see why Shepherd would keep you here, too innocent to introduce to the cruel world. After all, the General’s life was full of danger that could’ve fallen to her as well. He stepped back and went to go sit on the edge of the bed, grabbing the diary sitting in the middle. Breaking the lock, he started reading the first page.

“Dear Diary, Dad got me this diary for my 18th birthday, said that he was going to start to go on longer trips and wanted me to be able to catch him up on what’s happened.” There was a high chance that you had gone completely untouched your whole life, even a chance that you’ve never seen another male figure except for your father in your 18 years of life. He could almost burst at the number of possibilities that flooded into his head.

Ghost didn’t make it that far before he heard your small whimpers infiltrate his ears. He looked down at his feet and there you were, tossing and turning as the tranquilizer wore off.

“Rise and shine, princess.” Ghost growled as he kicked the cage doors.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

            Your head was pounding, thoughts begrudgingly swimming around trying to collect themselves. You heard a voice telling you to wake a up. A deep voice, one that traveled through your whole body, it was too deep to be father’s voice. You tried to stretch out your arms, the weight of your head enough to cause your arm to fall asleep, but as you go to extend it you feel the dull pain of your hand hitting the cage walls.

“No…” you whimpered “No no no no no,” you couldn’t be in the cage again, you didn’t do anything wrong, you hadn’t seen father in weeks. You hear another chuckle above you and force your eyes open. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the sudden light before you register the sight in front of you.

A man taller than your father stood menacingly over the cage. Large combat boots were the first thing your eyes fully registered. Caked in mud and larger than your head, your eyes traveled upwards till you saw the first glimpse of a color that wasn’t black. You yelped, your eyes filling with tears when you realized who was standing above you. You didn’t have any idea who he was, but you had seen him before. You saw him in papers that you overlooked your father reading and maps with red strings leading to his picture. You knew he was dangerous. “Don’t hurt me please, please I’ll do anything!” You pleaded.

“You should be careful promising things like that” he chuckled as he knelt down.  You scramble away from the cage door on all fours, pressing yourself against the back of the cage as far away as possible. “Awe come on angel, don’t be afraid” he cooed menacingly, moving to unlatch the lock “I won’t hurt you.” The way he was saying it almost made you let your guard down, but then the door was swinging open, and he was grabbing your ankle. You let out a cry and started kicking, but the second he felt your foot reel back so you could make impact his grip tightened.

“Unless you struggle.”

Suddenly, Ghost grabbed both of your ankles and yanked you out of the cage, cradling your head on the way out so you didn’t hit your head. You thrashed, not getting the hint. Ghost rolled his eyes, prepared for this sort of reaction from Shepherd’s brat. He quickly sat down and wrapped his arm around her waist once more, securing his other hand in your hair as he pulled you against his chest. “Stop. Struggling. Make this easy on yourself.” You knew something was wrong. Something had to have gone wrong on fathers last mission that had put you in this predicament. As you sat in his lap, struggling, you were throwing every childish insult at him, clearly not having learned many crass words in your time of confinement. Ghost could almost laugh at how easily he was able to keep you from getting away but couldn’t help but start to stir when you started moving your hips atop his groin. “Stop” he growled lowly, and his tone sent a shiver down your spine. His grip on your hair tightened and you cried out.

“Stop, don’t hurt me! Please!” tears were streaming down your pretty little face, and Ghost finally had the heart to let go of the tight grip on your hair.

“Oh you have no idea the amount of hurt I could cause you”

You frantically looked around the room, seeing your room now ripped apart, and mortifyingly, your diary sitting on the bed. Ghost followed your widened eyes and laughed when he saw the object of your fear. “You had no right to look through that!” You screeched, the waterworks starting back up again, this time in embarrassment. Now Ghost was intrigued, he had only made it through about a dozen entries

“Awe, what possibly could you have written in here that’s so scary? You know what, I think we should look through it together.” He said, and you can see him smile through his balaclava. Your heart might as well have stopped in fear, remembering exactly what’s contained in the small pink book. You realize quickly that your hands are still free and start struggling to pummel this large man in the face with your fists. Ghost snorts, easily dodging your fists and reaching into his pocket, out he pulls a nice set of silver handcuffs. Your tears, which you had somehow gotten to stop, start welling up in your eyes for a second time as Ghost seals your fate, wrangling your arms behind your back and clicking the handcuffs into place. He hoists you into the air, tossing you onto the bed, and grabs your diary. Ghost flips to the page he left off on, uninterested in your mundane retellings of the food you had ate and your studies, before pulling you once again, onto his lap.

“Are you going to tell me what this little diary contains before I continue?” he pries, and you shake your head while scowling at him

“It’s none of your business you brute!” Ghost huffs, before beginning to read your entry aloud

“Dear diary, things have been getting real lonely around the house. The maids have stopped coming around as much, I’ve heard murmurs among them that they haven’t received their payment for the week. I decided to go into father’s office to see if there was any explanation, but all I found were files on some scary men he’s after.” You wiggle again,

“that’s enough, that’s enough! You’ve read enough!” You plead, Ghost just laughs and tightens his grip on you before continuing

“I heard the maids gossiping about me, about how sad it is that the only people I’ve interacted with is them. How sad it is that someone like me hasn’t had a romantic experience yet. Of course, I don’t care or anything, father has his reasons. But since he’s been gone for so long it’s given me time to… explore.” Ghost cocks his eyebrow as he looks down at you, your face is beet red and you’re shaking like a leaf “I found one of his magazines in his office, but everything I read about didn’t help, it still just felt weird. I think I’m broken, I wish I could be one of these girls…” Ghost trails off as he finishes the entry before his gruff voice cuts through the silence

“Time to explore, huh?” The tears that had been threatening to fall finally gave way as you started bawling

“Please don’t tell father, I didn’t do anything, I promise!” Ghost just laughs

“Didn’t do anything? These entries don’t show you didn’t do anything little girl.” You try and curl in on yourself, as much as you can with your hands behind your back. He grabs your jaw forcing you to look at him “But don’t you worry, your father has been, taken care of, to say the least” Ghost says ominously, his whole body pounding with need, with a hunger. Fresh meat. Just sitting in his lap, defenseless. A pang of fear stroke through your heart, your body shaking as you realized just how much danger you were actually in. He let your jaw go, returning his gaze to the diary, eyes scanning the next couple entries. Descriptions of your first time exploring your body, only knowing how because of that mistaken find, how you desperately humped your pillows with restless want, and how you’ve asked the maids for romance novels. Ghost closed the journal, he had seen enough.

“Dirty, dirty girl” he growled, and suddenly your journal was thrown to the side and his hand landed on your thigh.

You whimpered, shutting your legs tightly to try to prevent his hand from travelling further. It was no use. His other hand moved from your waist to your other knee as he wretched your legs apart. God your reaction was pathetic, Ghost thought, watching as you cried out and squeezed your eyes shut. “Come on, don’t you want this” he drawled “I’ll give you what you’ve been dreaming about, sweetheart.” Your thoughts are racing a mile a minute, you don’t know what to do, the only thing you can do is try to get off his lap. This seems to excite him more, actively hearing him try to calm his breath down. You start to whimper, muttering stop between shaky breaths. Your attempts had officially failed, as your mutters seemed to snap the remaining control Ghost had, his hands digging into your thighs roughly. “I’m going to do whatever I want with you, and it’s within your best interest to not put up a fight.” His voice was as rough as the grip on your thighs, and as one hand kept your thigh open, the other started to trail closer to the cloth covering what Ghost really wanted.

“I don’t have anything you want!” You cried, panting as his fingers finally rested on the fabric keeping him from his prize.

“Oh but you do, you have something very special for me to take.” And finally, it really clicked in your head.

“No… No no no, you can’t!” you screamed, fighting the handcuffs keeping you from fighting back. Ghost had enough with your incessant struggling, ripping his hands away from between your thighs, they returned under your arms as he lifted you to throw you onto the center of the bed. The way he was able to maneuver you was dizzying, lifting you as if you were nothing. You went to scoot to the top of the bed, hoping the fluffy texture of your pillows would be enough to calm you down, you faintly heard Ghost snicker. Watching his hulking figure fully get onto the bed and crawl to the middle of it, grabbing your ankle. He pulled roughly and watched in amusement as you yelped in surprise, your head hitting the pillows. You shut your eyes tight, wanting to pinch yourself to escape this nightmare. Ghost groaned as he finally gave himself some well needed attention by rubbing his bulge through his pants, relishing in your fear.

“I can see why your father kept you locked away from the outside world, you’d never make it out there” he cooed, taking in the way your shaking had caused the strap of your little pink dress to fall off your shoulder. Your pigtails had been slightly messed up from the way he had grasped your hair earlier. Your face was wet with tears and your lips were red and puffy from your nervous biting. He needed those lips on his cock, needed your eyes gazing up at him as he wrecked your throat. “Get on your knees.” He commanded, and you opened your eyes to see him in front of you on his knees, still managing to tower over you. You almost scoffed at him, how the hell were you supposed to do that with your hands behind your back. It was like he could sense your attitude as he grabbed both of your pigtails and yanked you forward, forcing you to rearrange yourself to get to your knees. You could see him smile under his balaclava, but his cold blue eyes stared at you with a look of feigned care. “Good girl” he cooed. He released his hold on your hair, letting you fall face first into your covers as he went to unbutton his pants, you turn your neck, trying to see what the large man was doing now. As the sound of a zipper hit your ears, your blood ran cold.

“I have an idea, little one” Ghost said, fake saccharine dripping off his words, everything he said made you feel like you were walking on the edge. Unbeknownst to you, Ghost was pulling a bandana sized piece of fabric out of one of his vest pockets. He used one hand to yank you up again “Keep yourself up” he growled as he folded the fabric. Your brain couldn’t comprehend what was happening until you registered his heated stare and his hands moving to move this piece of fabric towards you.

What was going on, what was he doing? But then it clicked, too late. As you started shaking your head from side to side, Ghost grabbed your chin harshly.

“Stay still, or you won’t like the results” and suddenly the tears were pouring down your face again.

“Please don’t do this, I hate this part, I don’t want to go back there!” Ghost couldn’t help but smirk at your begging, the puzzle pieces of your past slowly falling into place.

“Awe, did your dear old father do this? Take your sight before putting you in that little cage. Letting you sit there and rot?” He questioned, knowing he hit the nail on the head, your fright in the cage earlier helping him gather this conclusion. Your sobs only got louder and more frantic, believing that’s exactly what this man was going to do to you as well.

If Ghost was a better man, he would’ve reconsidered his sick idea. But Ghost wasn’t a good man, evident by the way he yanked the fabric tight around your eyes.

A knot tight enough that only nimble hands would be able to pull it apart, you were close to hysterical.

“Please,” you blubbered “don’t put me back there, I’ll be good!” it was at this confession that Ghost groaned, a groan resonating from deep in the back of his throat. He had you right in the palm of his hands, so malleable that Ghost couldn’t bear waiting any longer.

“Alright, alright” he huffed “I won’t put you back in that stupid cage.” At this your sobs quieted, but only a bit, the vast unknown behind the blindfold still making you vulnerable. “What do you say?” He sneered, patting your cheek lightly.

“Thank you! Thank you, thank yo—“ he cut you off

“Thank you, what?” He growled. You racked your head for what he could possibly mean, you had no idea who this man was, no inkling of a name. Your thoughts were suddenly cut off with a slap to your cheek, the pain causing you to yelp out

“Daddy!”

Time stood still. For the first time that night, Ghost couldn’t breathe. “What was that doll?” He managed to grunt out.

Your brain was so fuzzy from the slap, words were just pouring out of your mouth, anything to try and please the man in front of you “Thank you daddy, thank you” and Ghost simply couldn’t stop the way his hand shot to yank down his boxers, releasing his throbbing erection. He couldn’t be blamed for the way he grabbed your pigtails in his hands and yanked you forward. You cried out at the strain, the lack of support without your arms making this a particularly uncomfortable situation. Suddenly, there was something fleshy prodding against your mouth, you whimpered. What did he want you to do? What was this? Ghost looked down at the young girl in front of him, the tip of his cock was inflamed, he needed relief.

“Come on, sweetheart. Suck.” He growled. I’m going to tear her apart. Your brain had to be short circuiting. Nothing in your books had described anything like this, not even close. Heated make out sessions and light touching were the furthest her books went. What did he even want you to do? He grabbed your chin, squeezing your lips apart before thrusting his hips forward. You were suddenly overwhelmed by the salty, musky taste of his flesh, your mouth forced open to accommodate his width. He had only pressed in the tip, and you were already struggling, trying to shake your head and force him out of your mouth, but his grip on your pigtails returned as he shoved another inch in your mouth. “Come on, doll. You can do it.” The praise made your mind spin as your mouth was opened wider than it ever had before. You tried to follow what he told you to do and suck on the member in your mouth, you hear a low groan above you, a small indicator to keep it up.

“You sure you’re a virgin, sweetheart? Cause you’re taking it like a slut.” It was at this point that he yanked your head forward onto his cock, hitting the back of your throat.

You sputtered, and the tears really started falling, first soaking the fabric and then rolling down your face. Ghost couldn’t help but laugh at the pathetic display in front of him, letting go of one pigtail to faintly trace his hand along the size of your face. You were trying to shake your head again, trying to breathe, when Ghost finally let up. Just to shove you right back down. You cried, and cried, but the more you showed your distress, the rougher his thrusts became. You were desperately trying to suck air in through your nose and the rare times when he would pull all the way out. Then, when you were finally starting to get the hang of it, Ghost kept one hand on your pigtail and moved the other to the back of your head and forced you to the base of his cock. The shock was immediate, your body trying to reject him and your gag reflex kicking in. Ghost growled, you could hear how his breathing had picked up, but that was the last thing you were focusing on as you were desperately trying to break free from his grasp. Drool was pooling around the sides of your mouth, sweat had your hair sticking to your forehead, as you desperately tried to breathe, Ghost making it increasingly harder to. “Come on baby, you don’t need air that badly, you can just be a braindead whore.” His words faintly registered as your head increasingly felt fuzzier. You could feel yourself giving up the fight, letting him force you to deepthroat him.

“Finally,” he groaned “Let yourself be used like a little fleshlight.” You felt filthy, mixes of fluids dripping onto your chest. Ghost’s hips stuttered as he threw his head back, a low moan coming out of the back of his throat as once again he shoved your head to the very base. You still weren’t prepared, and this time, it was accompanied by a salty liquid hitting the back of your throat. He was forcing you to swallow this liquid that you had no knowledge of, not aware of what it was at all. Ghost could hear your cries, your gurgles as he came down your throat. It only got him off more. Finally, Ghost ripped his cock out of your mouth, forcing your mouth open to inspect it, making sure you had swallowed all of his cum.

“W-What was that, what did I just swallow?!” You cried, letting your head fall to his thigh.

“Oh, relax my sweet angel, you’ll be just fine.” It hadn’t even passed through his mind that you wouldn’t have any idea what cum was, and the very thought that you didn’t was enough to get him stirring again. You were desperately trying to get your body to calm down, finally able to breathe. You still couldn’t see, and Ghost had no intention of letting you anytime soon. Ghost picked up his half hard member and stoked it a couple times to the image of you in front of him. You had made an absolute mess on your covers, a large puddle of spit and tears evident below you.

“What a messy baby.” He laughed, tilting your face up so you could “look” at him. He looked at you again and realized that he wanted you on your back, now. He leaned down to your ear,

“Do you think you can follow Daddy’s orders? He whispered, the grumble in his accent making you shiver. You slowly nod your head, scared for what would happen if you disobeyed his actions. “Lay on your back.” He demanded. You suddenly had a choice, try and turn around and flop like a fish, or fall back and hope you didn’t hit your head. Before you could choose, Ghost was choosing for you, picking you up once again below the arms and throwing you onto your back. Your head hit the pillows, and you let out a small cry of surprise. “Not moving fast enough, princess” your head was spinning with all these pet names, each one leaving you with a different feeling.

“You’re wearing too much clothing doll, I think we should change that.” He observed, letting his hand run up your thigh again.

“No, no, I did what you wanted, I don’t want you to see me naked!” you wept, trying once again to close your legs.

“Oh, come on, little one, haven’t you learned by now?” His voice reached your ears as you suddenly hear him unsheathe a knife from its holster. You suddenly feel what you assume is the back of the knife along the outside skin of your thigh, and you bite your tongue to stop the tears from falling again, settling to whimper instead.

“Daddy, please, please don’t hurt me!” Ghost sits back, sets his knife down, and pretends to ponder even though you can’t see him.

“Hmm, I think I know just what to do with you.” You lay there hoping that means you’ll be released from these handcuffs, your hands uncomfortably sitting behind your back, but he opens your legs again instead. Ghost grabs his knife again, lifting your dress to reveal your panties. White cotton with pink rabbits decorating the fabric, and a cute little pink bow in the center, Ghost almost lost it right there. How adorable.

He peels the fabric away from your skin, he knows he could do this the easy way, but fuck, the power he held over you was enough to make him feral. He held a knife up into the fabric and pushed, the fabric giving way under the sharp knife. You cried out, not expecting your underwear to be violated in such a way. He continued to expertly cut the fabric off your body, before disposing of the ruined cotton off the side of the bed. This time, the tears had no choice but to fall, and Ghost realized after the first sniffle. “Awe sweetheart, don’t you worry, I won’t cut you unless you disobey me.” Yeah, because that was supposed to make you feel better. You mewled pathetically, trying to save yourself one last time

 “Please! Just don’t cut up this dress, if you uncuff me I’ll take it off for you and then you can put the cuffs right back on. Daddy please, please!” You rushed, trying to save one of your favorite garments. Ghost tutted at your display of fear, genuinely thinking your offer through.

“Mm, fine.” He grabbed the key from another pocket in his vest, unlocking your cuffs and grabbing them, keeping them close to him. “Put on a show, babydoll.” He leaned back, hoping that he had shown you enough to scare you out of disobeying.

You really wanted to run, you should’ve. But instead, your body started moving, hips swaying side to side as your hands went to clumsily fumble for the zipper. Ghost just sat back and watched you struggle, watching as you finally got your hands on the small piece of metal. Slowly pulling it down, he watched as you slid the lace straps of your pink gingham dress down your arms. Everything you did was with such sensualness that Ghost couldn’t help but feel proud of the display in front of him.

“Good job baby girl, now take it off for me.” And with that you slid the dress down to your waist, over your hips, and suddenly Ghost was growling low. His hand crept closer to the cuffs again, and he pounced. Just as your dress reached the crease of your knees, Ghost ripped your hands away from the dress and joined them above your head. The show obviously stunned you, causing you to cry out immediately, your heart starting to race.

“No, I thought I was doing good!” You pleaded, but Ghost just laughed.  “Oh you’re doing great sweetheart, but you look so much better defenseless.” His words laced around your heart, squeezing tightly as you started shaking from the cool breeze. You were exposed, your dress bunched at your knees, your hands held above your head, and your simple white bra covered your tits, something Ghost wanted to change. But first, he wanted you back in those handcuffs. He grabbed them from his pocket and wrapped them around your wrists, tighter this time just to see you squirm.

“It hurts,” you sniffled, the words barely leaving your mouth before a loud smack was heard resonating throughout the room. He had smacked you.

“That, is hurt, princess.” He sneered, watching as your head dropped in front of you, chin hitting your chest. You were truly in the hands of a bad man. Tears starting to dampen the fabric again, snot running down your nose. Ghost let your hands fall in front of you this time before pushing you backwards onto the bed. Once you landed on your back, Ghost took the opportunity to take off the dress and throw it into the corner of the room near your closet. “I’m going to devour you.” He growled as he spread your legs. If it weren’t for the fact that your head was still pounding from the last time he smacked you, you probably would have resisted the motion, but you couldn’t find it in you. You felt his hand snake behind your back as he expertly took off your bra with one hand, his skilled hand taking off your bra and roughly palming one of your breasts in his hand. Your tits weren’t small by any sense of the word, yet Ghost was able to almost cover an entire breast with one hand, something that reminded you of his sheer size.

“You have such perfect tits for me to play with,” he growled as he leaned down in front of you, one hand still palming your breast. Ghost shoved his mask up to his nose and suddenly, you could feel his hot breath inches away from your cunt, you didn’t know he meant devour literally. But your theory was confirmed as you felt the long stripe of Ghost’s tongue from the bottom of your slit to the top of your mound. You cried out at this, not knowing what to do at the new surge of pleasure that radiated through your body.

“What are you doing, what are you doing?!” You cried, you knew this was wrong, nobody was supposed to do this.

“Come on little girl, just let yourself experience this.” His voice almost like the devil on your shoulder, urging you to let him keep going.

“I don’t want you to see me like this, I don’t want anyone touching there!” The way you didn’t exactly know how to describe it was driving him nuts, leaving most thoughts behind he decided to bark out

“Quiet, before I shut you up in a different way.” The threat hung in the air as you whimpered pathetically. Ghost took this as his cue to continue his attack on your cunt. Despite your cries and protests, you were wet, deviously so. Ghost couldn’t get enough of the divine nectar that was gracing his tongue as he dove into you at a rabid pace. Shoving his tongue as far as he could into your hole, the intrusion foreign to you.

“Oh my God! D-Daddy!” You screamed, you didn’t know what to do. You had never felt so much overwhelm in your life. Your walls were clenching around his tongue, and just that was enough for his erection to make itself very noticeable. The only stimulation being the small rubs against the covers when he lapped at you just right, his cock was once again flushed. The tip dripping precum. But Ghost had a mission. Your cries of “stop!” and “help!” were mixed in with broken moans, that’s how he knew he was getting closer to his goal.

As he shoved his face further into your pussy, lapping at your spongy walls, you were squirming and crying, hands grasping at the top of his balaclava trying to get him to stop. “I can’t take it!” That was what he wanted to hear. Switch. His tongue trailed up to your clit, and suddenly your body was ignited with a fire that you hadn’t been feeling before. Your screams grew louder and higher as you begged him to stop. “Daddy I can’t take this, somethings happening!” It dawned on him that you had definitely never had an orgasm before, and you could feel the wide grin that spread on his face as he continued his assault.

“Come on baby girl,” he growled out, voice muffled between your thighs. His lips wrapped around your clit, and he sucked, hard, and suddenly your vision was going white. You were seeing stars. Ghost had to hold your legs in place as you screamed “Daddy!” so loud that he was glad this was your own residence.

“You make so much noise, princess. So greedy” He tutted. Tapping on your clit with his finger.

The stimulation was almost too much, lighting a spark again. Ghost rose from his hands and leaned back on his knees, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “Such a delicious meal though, you did so good.” He cooed, and you preened with the praise, back arching and a small smile coming across your face, quickly overtaken by a look of fear again when you felt Ghost’s hands travel from your thigh to your core.

“What are you doing?” You said in a panic, “I’m sensitive!” you cried out, truly believing that would be enough to deter him. Ghost laughed, shocked that you hadn’t learned.

“No no, you owe me something baby girl,” And with that both of his hands were roughly grabbing and kneading your chest, pulling and pinching at your nipples as you mewled and moaned in abandon. He kept his left hand on your breast as he used his other hand to guide his cock to your pulsing entrance.

“What!” You shrieked. “What are you doing, I’ve had enough!” But Ghost wasn’t having it. Removing his hand from your breast with one last rough pinch to your nipple, he replaced it over your mouth to stifle your shrieking.

“Oh be quiet. I’ll take great pleasure in taking you.” You were already pushing against him, but still, the little lubrication you did have allowed the very tip to slip in with a “pop!” It was then that Ghost removed his hand from your mouth, and you screamed.

“Help, help, Daddy!” you cried. Tears readily streaming down your face. Ghost looked down and almost came on the spot, blood. Just a little bit, from the lack of prep. It was at this point that he didn’t want you blindfolded anymore. He wanted you to see how much he was wrecking your body. He wretched the tip out and you sighed in relief before Ghost’s hand snuck behind your head. Your breath hitched. Was he finally doing what you wanted? As the maker of the knot, he was able to take it apart quite easily, watching as the piece of fabric fell from your face. He rubbed his fingers between the soaked fabric, groaning as you still refused to open your eyes, afraid of what you would be faced with.

“Open your eyes, pretty girl. I want to see your eyes when I break you.” Your skin around your eyes was puffy and red, your eyes bloodshot, your mascara running down your face, lips cracked and bleeding from how much you had bitten them. You were the definition of wrecked beauty in Ghost’s eyes. You finally looked between your legs, seeing Ghost’s massive cock resting between your legs. Your sobbing started up again when you registered the red tinge on his tip, evidence of the strain the first time. “Oh come on baby, I can make this easier for you.” He cooed. He quickly leaned down and pulled his mask up to his nose, gathering a large wad of spit that he skillfully spat directly on your clit, watching as it slid down your pussy. “God, what a sight.” Ghost groaned as he pulled his mask back down.

“Please, please don’t do this,” you tried your best to get him to stop. There was no way this behemoth was going to be able to fit. You were going to die. Ghost just laughed at you again, “Come on, you know that won’t work with me.” He smiled underneath his mask and once again guided his member to your entrance.

“Three… two…” He didn’t let you wait. He shoved just a little more than the tip in, and even though the spit provided some lube, you still screamed.

“It hurts! It’s too much!” Tears were streaming down your face, the hulking man bullying his way into you had started to seriously break your mind. You were going mad. You swear you could feel your body tearing open, your brain was screaming at you to get him to stop. There was no way he was going to be able to fit. He was insane. Ghost must have sensed your growing anxiety, as he cooed at you quietly that you were doing “so good,” trailing his fingers from the center of your chest down to rest over your clit. Starting to circle his fingers around your sensitive nub, your cunt slowly started pulsing around Ghost’s dick. He wanted to take pity on you, really, he did, but you just looked so pretty stretched around his cock like this. As Ghost went to take one of your breasts in his hand again, you squeezed your eyes shut, but this wasn’t for long as the second Ghost noticed, a loud slap could be heard.

“You’re not being a good girl for me, isn’t that what you want to do, be a good girl?” He questioned as you tried to focus your eyes on the masked man in front of you. He was looming above you, one hand resting to the side of your head to steady himself and the other returning his harsh treatment of your breast.

Out on display like this, your body was shaking from both the exposure and the fear coursing through your veins. The slap had once again made your head fuzzy, like every time you received impact from his large hand, your brain reset. Ghost leaned back to inspect the way that you wrapped around him as he went to slowly push a few more inches in. There was one thing you were right about, and it’s that Ghost’s cock was most definitely too much for you. But Ghost didn’t have the heart to care, he would make sure it would fit.

“Don’t worry princess, you’re halfway there.” Your heart dropped, your sobs getting louder. At this, Ghost laughed, reminding you of the heartlessness of this beast.

“Go easy on me! Please, just this much, no more, no more!” You cried, and Ghost responded to this by pressing just a little harder on your clit.

“You need to realize that the more you struggle, the more this is going to hurt.” Ghost grunted out. But you didn’t care, you wanted him away from you. You utilized the fact that your feet weren’t bound and kicked your heel into his back. You heard a little “oof” before Ghost stopped all of his movement.

Uh oh. Something told you that was a bad move. A low growl reached your ears and your heart dropped to your stomach.

“You know,” He reeled back, stroking at his chin in faux pondering “that was laughable, mutt. We should really teach you how to kick properly.” His eyes looked down at you with amusement before narrowing “But that was also bad, very very bad.” His voice was thick, reaching your ears with such ferocity that your skin immediately erupted in goosebumps. Slowly, you could feel Ghost pull out, leaving just the tip inside. Without warning, his hand shot to your throat, squeezing immediately and causing you to choke on your breath.

“Oh you poor,” he slid in another inch, “sweet,” another inch “pathetic,” your head felt like it was surrounded by pillows and your vision had black dots swimming in front, you needed air, you needed- “whore.” And suddenly, he was thrusting his cock into you, A scream was ripped from your throat, the lack of breath causing it to die quickly. Your body was on fire, you couldn’t breathe, and you were thrashing to get out of his grip. But without air, your body was losing momentum quickly, and those black dots were getting increasingly larger. He hadn’t even moved, instead he squeezed your throat tighter. “Come on,” he grumbled lowly “submit.” You hadn’t had air for at least a minute, Ghost looked down at you and very faintly you could make out his grin through the mask. This sick bastard.

Despite you being the one with a hand around your throat, Ghost also couldn’t breathe. The way your cunt was pulsing around his cock had him trying to steadily gather air. “Fuck princess, you’re squeezing me so tight.” He groaned, but if you could hear him you didn’t make any indication of it. Ghost didn’t want to let his grasp on your neck go, your eyes were rolling back into your head. He felt like a teenage boy again, gathering the strength to not cum right then and there.

Finally, when the black dots had become swarms in your vision, he released. Your chest was heaving as you gasped for air, your head feeling as though it was underwater. But then your thoughts came back to you, and you broke down again.

“Please spare me! I don’t want to die, please, just leave me alone!” Ghost wasn’t listening, instead going to pull his hips back slowly, teasingly, as your walls clenched onto him like no tomorrow.

“You feel so good though sweetheart, how could I ever leave you alone” he cooed, his voice still carrying a dark weight behind it as he thrusted forward again. This caused yet another scream to be pulled from your body. You were mortified; you had no idea what to do.

Ghost couldn’t fucking believe the scene that was playing out in front of him. The velvet that was wrapped around his cock was addicting, and it took every fiber of his being to not slam into you repeatedly. He was trying to be nice, trying not to jackhammer into you like there’s no God, and yet he could feel his self-control slipping away. Piece by piece, his resolve fell away. Instead of the spit acting as lube, your own wetness was starting to drip onto him, and it was turning him on to no end. Knowing your body was slowly giving into him.

Knowing your body was slowly giving into him was only making you cry out louder. It was getting to your head, feeling hazy and clouding right from wrong. You started really looking at this man, tears swimming in your vision. You looked right into his icy blue eyes, the military paint around his eyes making them look so stark in contrast.

The eye contact was the last straw. The way your teary eyes were staring so intensely into his, almost studying him, made him snap. “Oh princess,” a slow thrust here “don’t look at me like that” another thrust, a bit quicker this time. “You’re gonna make me lose my resolve.” He growled. With that, he quickened his pace, and oh how you reacted. Your moans graced his ears with a heightened pitch and increase in quantity. “You’re such a whiny little baby” he cooed, watching you squirm as he used the same tone to belittle you further, “Can’t even handle me like this, so pathetic.”

The tears rolled down your face. You didn’t understand how any God could leave you at the hands of a man so cruel, but for once, the extra crying seemed to work on him. Almost.

After patronizing you more and watching fat tears roll down your pretty little face, Ghost was hit with an idea.

As you closed your eyes, you suddenly felt his warm tongue lap up the tears that had trailed down your chest, causing you to shiver. “D-Daddy!” You moaned, not expecting the sensation as he slowly trailed up your chest, up your neck, to your jaw, and finally your cheek.

“You want me to be nice to you sweetheart?”

You nodded, eyes looking up at him with such want, such plea, that Ghost almost felt bad was what he was about to do. He went to pull out, teasing your entrance with the tip. But then you started wiggling, whining at the loss of the feeling, and Ghost just couldn’t take it.

“Too bad.” He growled, and with that, he slammed into you with no remorse.

The scream you let out could’ve broken windows, and oh how it was music to Ghost’s ears. “Oh yes baby girl, let it allll out, tell the world exactly who this pussy belongs to.”

The pace that he begun was like that of a jackhammer, your pussy was on fire. The squelching noises mixed with the sounds of your screams? Moans? (You couldn’t tell anymore) had you realizing just how ruined your bed was going to be once this was all over. If it ever ended. But slowly, against your will, your body started reacting. The pain slowly subsided, and it started to feel good. The fire was still ongoing, but it raged in your core instead. Every thrust left you clinging to your soul and you weren’t sure you were going to get it back. Just then, Ghost went to angle his hips just a little higher, grabbing your hips and starting to use you like a fleshlight. Your breath hitched, and suddenly you were gripping onto your covers for dear life.

“Daddy, daddy! There, oh my God, there!”

“Oh yeah?” His fingers grabbed onto your hips harder, adding more pressure and making sure it would bruise. He watched as you nodded before thrashing your head back and forth. He almost wanted to take his mask off so you could see the wicked smile etched across his face, but he knew better.

You started to feel the sensation you had when Ghost’s face was between your thighs, and you almost wanted to run from it. “No, no! It feels weird, I feel funny!”

Ghost took that as his chance to make you launch into orbit, using one hand to trail up your chest to your neck, and his other to rest on your clit. Making small circles, your mewls were just getting louder and louder. But that stopped when Ghost started choking you again, your hands trying to wrap around his arms and pull them away.

“N-No” you choked out, tears starting to stream down your face again. But for some reason, the feeling persisted. As he was thrusting into you with the strength of a God while cutting off your air supply, you realized your body was still feeling good.

“Come on baby, submit. You know you like this.” Your pussy was squeezing him tighter the longer he rested his hand on your throat. He reveled in it before he started feeling the familiar pulsing he felt around his tongue. The sensation had him loosening his grip on your throat, watching as you gasped for air.

“Daddy, I can’t take this!” You cried, digging your nails into his back.

He groaned “Yes you can angel, let go.” He picked up the pace by a notch, ramming into you like there was no tomorrow and God did you react. Ghost felt a final squeeze, before realizing his abdomen felt a little more wet than it did before. You had squirted on him.

The feeling was dizzying, fireworks were exploding behind your eyelids. The release was overwhelming, the way you screamed while digging your nails into his shoulders had you convinced there had to be blood. You felt electrified, panting heavily before realizing he hadn’t stopped, but his thrusts were faltering.

“Fuck, you can’t do that to me you dirty girl.” He grunted out. Resting one hand by the side of your head and the other on your breast, he started groping you before picking up his pace once again.

“W-Wait, I can’t take anymore!”

“Shhh, just a little more.” And then, with a particularly rough palm of your breast, he came. The thought of his cum being the first to fill you was enough to make his dick twitch to attention again, but he wanted to give you a break.

The feeling was unknown to you. You gasped quietly. You had just felt him twitch, felt the hot liquid hit your walls.

“Good job angel. You did so good for me.” He cooed, and you couldn’t help but writhe shyly at his praise. You felt him slowly pull out, and you whined at the loss. The empty feeling foreign after his onslaught. The wet feeling between your thighs seemingly growing by the second.

Ghost peered between your legs and groaned, watching his seed drip out of you slowly, before pulling his boxers and pants back up, turning around, and walking out of your bedroom. You tried to sit up quickly and fell back, whining loudly to try and show your distress. “Where are you going?” You shouted worriedly. You almost started to cry when you heard no response, but then you heard the faucet running. The large man appeared in the doorway holding a washcloth “I’ll give you the option, would you like a bath or just a rag?”

“Um… a bath would be nice?” You couldn’t believe you were letting this man pamper you after he broke into your house, but what else were you supposed to do? Your moral complaints were quickly quieted when he picked you up bridal style to walk you to the bathroom. He had somehow found the bubbles, and lined the tub ledge with the products that you used.

After finishing your hair, Ghost began to wash your body, taking great care to grope and caress each curve of your body. The bath felt too sensual, but you couldn’t be bothered to care when the water was so warm, when his hands were so comforting, when the feeling was so… nice. When all was said and done, he drained the bath, wrapping you in a fluffy towel and bringing you back to your room.

Pulling open your closet, Ghost’s eyes were assaulted with pink and frills. You had an array of dresses and outfits that he could choose from. He decided to randomly choose a pale pink dress that looked tantalizingly short, decorated with ribbons, lace, and bows, he could tell you were satisfied by his choice.

“Put this on princess, then we’ll leave”

“Leave?!” You panicked, scrambling away from him once again.

“You really think you can live here on your own? When all the maids have stopped showing up? What happens when you run out of food?” He growled; he didn’t have the patience for this.

“I don’t want to! Please don’t take me from here!” You cried, tears starting to well up in your eyes. “Daddy always told me I wouldn’t be able to survive out there, that they would eat me alive”

“Oh they would. Which is why you’ll be with me” He grunted. “You don’t have a choice little one, so make this easy on me, won’t you?”

The tears started falling as you nodded, grabbing the dress and slowly putting it on. You stood up and maneuvered around him carefully to grab white ruffle socks and some white mary janes, hearing Ghost groan behind you.

“You make it so hard not to rip your clothing off and take you all night long.”

You shy away from him, the statement reminding you that he was not a good man. As you go to grab underwear, he stops you.

“None of that, you don’t get that luxury”

You whimpered quietly, uncomfortable with the thought of going out without anything covering you. The dress was already short enough, one that you only wore when your father wasn’t around, and here he was, forcing you to go out of the house without. Too scared to complain, you grabbed a couple toiletries and your diary, before turning to him. “If you’re going to take me, can you at least tell me your name?”

His eyes narrowed. “Ghost.”

You opened your mouth to start to complain before shutting it again, accepting the answer. “Where are you taking me?”

“The base. Where Price will figure out exactly what to do with you.”

You swallow, not exactly thrilled with the answer but you nod anyways. Ghost checks over the room one more time before turning to you and picking you up bridal style once again, a shocked noise coming from your mouth.

“Can’t have you going anywhere sweetheart.”

And with that, you’re leaving the house for the first time in your life. He watches as you take in the woods around you, glad that the rain stopped a bit ago.

“Johnny will be waiting for us, you’re in good hands.”

You can't help but doubt that.