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willowed-wisp · 5 months ago

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stitches [simon ‘ghost’ riley]

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x reader/you

Hopefully this doesn’t suck and makes sense for the most part. Thanks for anybody that reads this 🥰

WARNINGS: smut, descriptions of injury, body insecurity… a bit of plus size!reader

When you joined the Special Forces, you didn’t want to form attachments.

That was the only rule you held yourself to.

As a medic back at base, you thought it would be easy. Alas, fate had other plans in the form of Task Force 141.

Lead by Captain John Price- who had handpicked you for medical support- to stay back at whatever base looked like- whether it be a van or a safe house.

With that, you lived with the boys. John Price, Kyle Garrick, Johnny MacTavish and Simon Riley. You kept yourself to yourself at first, not confident among four SAS soldiers nor in yourself. Knowing of them only.

So you planned to stay huddled in the corner and quiet.

Then in the middle of the night, you came face to face with a black balaclava and a gruff voice, “Ya good?” You only remember the nightmares… more so flashbacks. They were relentless- creeping in the recesses of your mind, waiting for times when stress peaked. Unfortunately this entire ordeal was nerve-wracking.

You only noticed the warm hand on your shoulder, instinct led you to stare past the noir covering the majority of his face and into his eyes. Caring eyes.

He had no need to check if you were okay, he didn’t know you but, nevertheless, it was nice to see the lieutenant as something other than a looming figure.

The seriousness became too much to bear for you, “Do you sleep in that thing?” Using humour to take the edge off- well trying to.

“Soundly,” Earthy, rugged… British yourself, he sounded awfully English. That was when your eyes dawned on the clock- the time more specifically. 02:01.

“Do you sleep at all?” Another attempt but he didn’t laugh- your smile faded, maybe a tad intimated. He wasn’t exactly small.

He stood away, no longer crouching at your bedside. How tall was the guy? You tried to hide the wonder on your face, “Better than you… when I do get a kip…” Some pain in those words. “Better get some shut eye, Y/L/N… see ya at dawn.” You slept better knowing at least someone in 141 had your back.

After that you started integrating more with the lads. You learned that Johnny could clean his messes up exceptionally well, and that’s why he was called ‘Soap’. Price still thought the name was bullcrap but alas, not your problem.

You also noticed that Ghost never showed his face. Black face paint shrouding the skin showing around his dark eyes or his sunglasses. You preferred the face paint.

He had a habit of watching you from across the room chatting with Soap and Gaz- you blocked any possible avenues of relationships. Not that they’d be interested in you (your own thoughts). You didn’t find yourself attractive or good enough. A bit too much weight, you continued to think.

It was a good thing, you couldn’t get distracted.

That was until that day…

Supply checks… stock up on the sterilised needle and stitch thread. You barely had any use to 141, just a glorified nurse who had no business being given a code name.

“Stitches! It’s LT!” The brash Scotsman bolstered his comrade over to the gurney in the impromptu medical van. Blue eyes flashed over into yours, hulking the larger man to lay on his back.

Ghost wasn’t having any of it, attempting to sit up only for more blood to gush from his thigh. You rushed into action, “Soap, get us out of here,” said all too calmly for someone under such pressure. The man did as he was told and they were off. Meanwhile, you had pushed the lieutenant down on the bed. He grunted in pain each time he made a move, “For fuck’s sake, stay still so I can fucking see.” Blue gloves on, as he stopped wriggling, “Thank you.” You were still unimpressed but at least he listened. Unbeknownst to you under the mask he donned a pained smirk- unaware you could be so commandeering. Almost proud of you.

A grunt paused his pride, “Fuck…” Through gritted teeth. Your fingers working the tweezers with expert precision.

He went to sit up, your left hand pressed against his sturdy chest- pushing him down, “Want me to snag your femoral artery, Ghost?” In no time, a red-coated bullet laid in the metal tray and he sat there in his boxer shorts- watching you work and hitching a breath each time the needle breached skin.

They were the gentlest hands that had ever worked on him. “What happened?” Eyes boring into his as you cast off the stitch.

“Someone got the jump on me, should see ‘im,” you smiled at that, able to tell he was too. By his eyes.

The ones you dreamt of every night- except when the terrors returned. Johnny was too heavy of a sleeper to hear you, but Simon’s eyes were what you woke up to. In the flesh. He never asked what they were about, just comforted you.

When your deployment ended, and you returned home… you missed the guys. And his warm eyes whenever you returned to the land of the living.

Johnny contacted you. A pub crawl in Scotland, apparently Gaz, Price and even Simon were game.

Turns out you and Ghost didn’t live too far away. In ten minutes, a knock at your door and you met that deep gaze. “Johnny only just message ya, didn’t he?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I’m drivin’ us, don’t trust Gaz’s deathtrap…”

“Well… I just need to grab my stuff,” He started to walk away up the path to his 4x4. “You can come in and wait if you wanted?” Who was he to turn you down when you asked so nicely.

He helped you with your bags, “You sure ya gonna get through with that?”

“Haha,” dry humour, there was a reason you seemed to get on, “And if you want me to get more shit…”

You could see a glint in his eyes, “Nah, you’re alright, love…” That went straight down to between your thighs, the look on your face amused the man.

Surprisingly, the two of you weren’t awkward. Quiet here and there.

You assumed he wasn’t used to social interaction in general- especially wearing that balaclava, not good for conversation.

Simon was good to talk to, all waffled speech was redacted with him. Straight forward, sometimes sarcastic and wholly looking for banter- that’s what you preferred.

And there was no chance he would be interested in you. He has the aura of a guy who gets the attention of stunning women. Why would he want you? (You thought)

It was never going to happen.

By the end of that car ride, he learned about your messy string of exes and he had way too much Shania Twain on his playlist (and knew all of the words).

Johnny greeted you both with open arms, a tight hug for you, “You been ta’ing care of yourself, Stitches?”

“Better than you look, use more soap…” The laughs and hug came to an abrupt end- his stare directed over to Simon who loomed behind you. Was it just you, or did Johnny look scared?

“Let me show y’ where you’ll be sleepin’…”You went to grab your bags but Ghost already had it covered.

Poor you, you didn’t know what would await your stay at Johnny MacTavish’s.

The tip was a stretch, your head thrown back against the blanket pillow. Silent screams playing in your throat. He could feel the struggle and see the pleasure striking your visage. Murmurs of his name, “Si- Simon -!” Broken and whimpering. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t on the edge of losing his cool. You were pulsing around him so angelic.

“You’re takin’ me so well, lovie,” His hips took a full stroke, bracing your cervix. Thrumming and dripping wet. Another groan of his name.

The rhythm sank in, strangled moans trapped- your breathing wild against his ear. His thrusts swinging all the way back until they gutted you. Over and over. “Feels. So. GOOD -!” His hand covering your mouth, noting that the owner of the house was just next door and the other two at the end of the hall. Simon’s place supposed to be on the couch downstairs surrounded by Soap’s army memorabilia. Not right there, balls deep inside of you. Loving every second.

Cherishing every inch of you, kissing you in the moment to stay quiet so he could remain there for a while longer. So he may get some sleep, for the first time in a week.

Before you know it, his hand anchored around your ankles- spreading them to hook better. You’ve never moaned so loud in your life. Even echoing off the walls of the room. “Fuck it…” He was too far gone to care what the boys heard or thought. He had been thinking about that moment since he met you, looking so delectable with his cock hammering into you. Taking him so well.

You didn’t know if he would ever tire out, another rush of adrenaline and exhaustion swept over your limp body- numb to anything other than where his thighs slammed against your own and how raw you were going to in the morning.

Your legs fell, his grip focused at your jaw; leaning over- rubbing against sensitivity deep- and claiming your lips in a ravenous kiss that had your head spinning more than before.

Hands falling to your hips, thrusts sloppy as you tightened once again. “Where can I- ,” Drunk on how he tasted, your legs locked around his body.

“Inside,” Your hand found the base of his hair at Simon’s neck, holding on for dear life. Warmth spread downwards as your nails dug into his toned back and neck alike. A thick groan filled the air- enough to become addicted.

Neither of you panted, thriving in the silence. He savoured being hilted inside you, careful not to crush you beneath him. Hot breath spanning your collarbone. “Can’t tell ya how long I’ve wan’ed to do that…”

You felt so small against him, so yearned for. No face covering on his end, no boundaries. Laid bare to him and he wanted you anyway.

Fingers stroked at his thick hair, “Same, Si…”

Neither of you knew who fell victim to slumber first.

The morning came around, the boys had looked proud of themselves… too proud, too giddy. Especially Johnny.

“I think the gutters need check’ng, heard some weird noise last nigh’,” You’ve never threatened Johnny’s mohawk before but that day you grew close.

Price even had a glint of mischief in those clear eyes of his, “Vampires common in Scotland?” You didn’t check your neck, too caught up in the heat the previous night.

Gaz had a smirk on his face, “Not from what I know of, sir…”

Christ, you were never gonna hear the end of it.

______

masterlist

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost x you #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost #cod smut #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #cod #smut

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blindmagdalena · 1 year ago

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Guilty Pleasures ( chapter four )

18+ 5.2k homelander x plus size f!reader. office romance, stalking, voyeurism, office sex, cunnilingus, cream pie, breast play, flight sex, lite overstim, riding. nebulously takes place post s1. part 4/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory

Homelander takes what's his, and you get what's yours.

welcome to the final chapter! thanks so much for reading. i really enjoyed the dynamic between these two, and i hope you do, too. 🖤

Homelander doesn’t hold it against you that you take him up on his suggestion to be absent the following day. He leaves a little peace offering in your office to say as much: a mug for your collection that reads simply, You’ve Been Mugged. He adjusts it seven times on your desk before he finally leaves it alone, surveying your office a while before letting himself out.

The thugs he lasered down in the alley don’t garner much attention, but it’s enough to warrant a statement on the truth of what happened. With them dead, the truth becomes whatever he makes of it, and his truth is that two vagabonds were assaulting a cherished Vought employee before he put a stop to it.

It’s precisely the kind of hero story the public loves.

“I acted on instinct,” he tells the newscaster. He relives the moment as he tells it, recalls only to himself how fierce you had been. How determined you were that if you were going to die, you would die fighting. “They were going to hurt her. I like to believe any good citizen in my position would have done the same.”

Madelyn taught him that conviction without contrition would always read as arrogance, so he speaks firmly but with a furrow to his brow, and he closes his eyes when he inclines his head to accept praise. No matter how dead she is, her voice remains an echo in his mind: follow the script, and you’ll be fine.

They use his words to segue into a discussion of gun control, and Homelander’s mind drifts somewhere distant, hearing without listening to the petty squabbles of humans crying about their little toys and laws. He supposes this is how God feels when humans pray to Him over every minor inconvenience. Bored and painfully above it.

While it’s easy enough to keep himself distracted during business hours, Homelander’s life comes to an abrupt halt alongside the end of the working day. Like the equipment that broadcasts him, there’s little use for him once the cast and crew goes home. All around him the employees commiserate at the end of their work day and pass around invitations to the bar.

He receives none.

Not that he would accept them if he did.

Seeking both council and companionship, Homelander finds himself in Noir’s apartment, seated in the chair Noir keeps for him. It’s the only one the hero owns, what with his interior design being deeply steeped in westernized ninja nonsense. The place is half dojo, half living quarters.

He laments his situation to Noir, explaining his patience in courting you, the lengths he’s gone to endear himself to you on a personal level, and the bitter sting of your rejection.

“See her,” Noir writes in his sketchpad, sitting on the floor on the other side of the low table. “If glad to see her, good. If not–”

Homelander snorts at the series of knife sketches that follow. He has no doubt Noir would put an end to anyone for any reason Homelander gave. Simplicity has allowed Noir an unwavering loyalty to Vought, and as an extension, Homelander himself. Luckily for you, he has no interest in that happening. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Noir,” he muses, clapping his hands on his thighs before he stands up. “You’re right. I’ll go see her. Thanks, buddy.”

Noir offers two thumbs up. A true uproar of approval.

Under the cover of darkness, Homelander returns to your house, the flight path a familiar one now. He lands silently on your roof this time, cocking his head. He’s not confident he’ll be able to resist your siren pull if he approaches now. He folds his hands behind his back and peers through each layer between him and your bedroom, stopping when he can see you.

You’re nestled deep in the splay of your blankets, lips parted around shallow breaths. He bites his own bottom lip, remembering how badly he’d wanted to feel them. Taste them. He’s certain now that if he allowed himself to be close enough, he would. Denial, for as much as it stung in that moment, has only made him hungrier for you. Fuck, the way he’s craved you from the moment you first brushed him aside.

He watches you shift in your sleep and his eyes narrow, honing in on a familiar flash. His stomach flips–it’s his cape, the fabric pinned between your blanket and your body. You really are sleeping with it, the star spangled blue fabric tucked up under your chin. Do you smell him on it? Homelander groans softly. Like your underwear in his bedside drawer, you sleep with a trophy of your own.

“Fuck,” he says, aching. His heart, his mind, his cock–all of it at once a cacophony of vicious yearning and impatience. The urge to peel the roof like a sardine can and carve his way straight to you nearly knocks the wind out of him, has him preemptively reaching for the shingled surface.

Only the lingering wound to his ego gives him pause. He’s been bitten once, leaving him shy to instigate, but this revelation feels like progress. You’re aching for him as much as he is for you. He’s sure of that now. It’s time that he made you feel that ache. Feel his absence. Then you’ll realize the foolishness of your coy game.

Clenching his jaw defiantly, Homelander lifts up into the sky.

He’ll be benevolent when you come to your senses.

The next day, Homelander keeps himself scarce, preoccupied. Ashley is perkier than usual, thrilled–if not suspicious–with his easy participation in whatever inane business she brings to him. It helps distract him from the endless feeling of waiting that he’s enduring.

He sticks stubbornly to his schedule, fantasizing about the torment his avoidance has surely wrought. He’s tempted a time or two to break, but each time he remembers the mortified Oh! you uttered before he kissed you, he refocuses himself.

You’ll come.

Not before lunch, but that is the perfect opportunity for it. He makes himself more available then, tapping his fingers against the armrest of his chair.

No sign of you.

He gives you the benefit of the doubt. A meal to embolden you.

Then you’ll come.

He waits.

Lunch long since over.

He waits.

The day is winding down.

He’s fucking tired of waiting.

Where the hell are you? He’s given you the entirety of the day to seek him out, ample opportunity to come thank him for his gift, to address the aching thing ruminating between you. You’d be a fucking liar to say you don’t feel it, too. By midday, he’s seething with impatience and hurt. There’s no chance he’s going to let you stand him up.

It’s precisely the wrong time for Ashley to rear her head back up. “Okay! That’s that, now regarding the amnesty for–”

“Ashley!” He snaps, a harsh and throaty sound. “Would you shut the fuck up?”

She stops in her tracks, staring wide-eyed. Of course it was too good to be true.

Homelander all but leaps to his feet, pushing out of his chair so hard that it flips backwards and into the wall in a heavy clatter. She clutches her vPad to her chest and quickly back steps out of his way, watching in frightened bewilderment as he storms from the room, making a beeline towards your office.

He doesn’t bother knocking this time. Still, his restraint is undeniable when he pushes your door open. He barely catches himself from pushing the damn thing clean off the hinges.

Your head snaps up from your computer, eyes wide. He hears your heart jump and he savors the alarm that shoots through you. Payback for the awful misery you forced him to endure in the hours since he last saw you. Still, the sight of you disarms him. For all his seething anger, there is something small in him that retreats it when your eyes are on him.

There’s a heaviness to your gaze that his strength can do nothing to alleviate. No incredible feat of his can wrench away what it is he wants from you. What he needs. It’s something you have to give him willingly, and that alone is enough to temper his rage. The familiar fear that you won’t.

He marches to the front of your desk and levels an accusatory finger on you.

“You like me,” he hisses, bending to brace his opposite hand on your desk.

You blink owlishly, lips parted. That clearly wasn’t what you expected him to say. He’s not sure it’s what he meant to say. “Homelander–”

“No,” he says, voice pitched low, a warning. “No, no. No games, no workarounds. You like me. You do. And I like you. So,” he abandons his point to make a vague encompassing gesture, but he doesn’t know what to say next. He didn’t think this far ahead. All day he had practiced the calm benevolence he would show when you approached him, chastised and yearning. He has nothing to back up this frenzied play for.

You stand. Homelander rises to his full height with you, jutting his chin out. He watches you with all the wariness of a wounded predator as you circle around your desk, your hand gliding along the wood like you would flank a horse so as not to spook it.

He can’t determine the intent behind your gaze. He angles his body towards you, facing you head on. You look like yourself again, in your element and free from the fawn fear of the alley. He can’t entirely decide which way he prefers you. When you were in his arms, he was your hero. In your office, his position feels more precarious.

The silence stretches on for hours–or seconds, it’s impossible to say–before he can no longer stand it. Sucking in a breath, he–

You kiss him.

Homelander goes shock still, hyper aware of your lips pressed feather light to his, your breasts against his chest, your hand on his forearm. He doesn’t know when he closed his eyes, but he senses when you begin to pull away.

In a flash he cups your face in his hands and pulls you in deep, inhaling sharply, like he’s only just remembered how to breathe. He kisses you, kisses you, kisses you as if he can trap you in the cycle of it. You don’t resist, you don’t tense. Instead, you sigh an angel’s breath against his lips. Only then does he break to look at you.

“I don’t understand,” he says, bewildered, flushed.

“I do like you,” you say, eyes glassy.

His brows pinch. “But… That night–”

“Wasn’t right,” you interrupt. “I wanted to kiss you, but not like that. Not then. Not because you saved me, not because I was in shock, not because of…” you rock your head side to side. “Whatever other bullshit… You let me down that night.”

“Let you down?” Homelander echoes, taken aback. “By saving your life?” He asks, his temper a perpetual simmer ready to flare. He’s immediately tempered by your hands taking his wrists, squeezing. You hold his gaze and your expression is gentle, but there is a firmness in your stare that he finds intoxicating. Not an ounce of fear, even when his anger emerges.

Good. You shouldn’t be afraid of him. He saved you.

“I was shaken. Badly. My date was an entitled asshole, those men, they tried to…” You shake your head, holding his hands to your face. “I didn’t need you to be a man. I needed you to be a hero. I wasn’t ready.”

A light in Homelander’s eyes flicks on. You just weren’t ready. He’d been right after all. He fixates on that, choosing to forgive you for that, at least.

“Well, why didn’t… You could have said something,” he says, feeling like a deflated hot air balloon, all slack expansion and heat with no purpose.

“I would have,” you say, your cheeks soft and round in his hands, lips slightly puckered from his hold on your face. “But you ran away.”

“What? I–” He laughs incredulously. “I did not run away.”

“Flew away,” you say, pushing in to kiss him again. He screws his eyes shut. Fuck, fuck. Oh fuck. He’s been dreaming of this, aching for it. To feel you against him, wanting him as much as he wants you. “Pretty fast, too. Looked like you shot straight up to the moon,” you say, breath hot and sweet on his lips.

“I…” He swallows, hands slipping down to either side of your neck, thumbs tilting your chin up. “I’m sorry. I wanted you,” he says, trailing his parted lips along your jaw, kissing and breathing you in the way he’s craved to. He can feel your skin growing hot against his lips, hear the uptick of your pulse as your heart begins to race.

“Do you still want me?” You ask, voice lower now. It sends a delicious hot pang all the way through him.

“You have no fucking idea,” he murmurs, nipping at the lobe of your ear, desperate to test the give of you under his teeth, the feel of your soft and yielding flesh branded into his memory the moment his lips touched your skin.

A knock snaps his attention away from you, but it isn’t at the door. He looks down and sees that it’s you knocking on your desk. “So take me,” you say, voice laced with heat. His lips split into a wicked grin. He snatches the edge of your heavy wooden desk and effortlessly tips it backwards until everything slides off of it, clattering to the floor. He lifts you up, relishing your delighted little yelp, and places you down on the cleared surface like a doll, stepping in between your legs.

He kisses you again. Let me in, demands the press of his tongue. You yield to him, but it’s far from a surrender. Your tongue meets his eagerly, tasting him as much as he does you. Tasting you. That’s what he wants. He wants to map every inch of you with his tongue.

Homelander slips his hand between your legs, pushing your skirt up out of the way. He presses his fingers to the heat between your thighs, rubbing through the thin fabric of your panties. You sigh that same seraphic sound against his lips, slipping your hands up into his hair, already taking a handful of it to tug gently.

He breaks the kiss and takes his fingers from you after the barest tease of pleasure. The impatient sound you make goes straight to his cock, as does your flustered expression. He brings his fingers to his lips and drags his tongue over the leather of them, sliding them past his lips to give a quick suck. It’s not enough, too slight a hint of you. He needs more. You watch him with rapt attention, giving his hair a demanding little tug.

“You can pull as hard as you like,” he tells you with a smile, tilting his head against the grasp you have on his hair. “Tells me I’m doing a good job.”

“I’ll tell you when you’re doing a good job,” you rasp, giving his hair a sharp pull and then a downward push. That sends a shiver down his spine.

Fuck yes.

Homelander sinks down onto his knees, lifting each of your legs up over his shoulders. You give a little gasp when he yanks your ass to the edge of the desk, giddy with the way he manhandles you. He swallows, mouth dry, thirsty for the wet, heady smell of your pussy. He maneuvers his head under your skirt until he’s close enough to drag his tongue up the soft cotton of your panties. Your breath hitches and your grip in his hair tightens while you egg him on with sharp little rolls of your hips.

He closes his eyes, giving a rumbling moan for the taste of you, even through the fabric. He laps until the fabric is soaked, clinging to your skin, and he can feel your clit swollen and stiff on his tongue through your panties. He closes his mouth over it, sucking you through your underwear while you writhe above him, keeping yourself quiet.

That won’t do.

He wants to hear you.

He wants the whole fucking Tower to hear you.

Hooking the crotch of your panties with his finger, it only takes one sharp little tug to tear them, exposing you to him.

“Homelander,” you moan. The sound of it lances a spear of heat through him, leaves his cock throbbing needily in the rigid confines of his cup. He groans into you, rocking his hips against the empty air. The only proper answer is to dive in, to close his lips around your clit and finally suck the rich nectar of your cunt without the filter of fabric between you. You taste even better than you smell, like salt and sex and sweet ripe fruit. It overwhelms his senses immediately, his eyelids flickering.

The more he laps at you, the silkier your pussy becomes. Between circling your clit, he drives his tongue deep into you, drinking you down noisily and messily, a parched man gulping from an oasis. Your thick thighs are tight on either side of his head, your pulse pounding in his ears. He moans low and wicked for the taste and feel of you.

Your grip on his hair tightens sporadically, sharp little tugs that match the staccato cadence of your breaths. “F-fuck, your tongue feels-feels fucking unreal,” you moan, grinding down against it. The strength of it, the slight thrum of restrained power that courses through him, and the sheer relentlessness of his stamina is driving you wild against his mouth. “Fingers, use your fingers,” you tell him. He loves the rawness of your voice, the authority and desperation in your demand.

Removing one of his gloves, he moves his bare hand to the sweltering wetness of you, teasing his finger just below where his tongue is rubbing your clit. His index finger slips easily into the slick mess, and he savors the quiver of your velvet walls around it. He lets you ride his finger, stays all but still while you greedily bounce your hips, both hands fisted in his hair. You use him for your pleasure, and it makes him delirious with want.

Homelander's gaze flickers up. He peers through the layer of your skirt to catch a look at you, to watch you while you cannot watch him. You’re losing track of yourself, lips parted, eyes glazed with pleasure, shivering with each flick of his tongue and dive of his finger. Euphoria looks good on you.

Christ, he has been patient. He would chastise himself for waiting so long to touch you, to taste you, to feel you, but he can’t bring himself to. The wait gifted him with this exquisite hunger, and he proved something important; you both yearn for the other. You crave him. He can see it in your hazy eyes, taste it in the spill of your sweet cunt.

You belong to him. He needs only to take you.

One finger becomes two, and then three. Your heels dig into his shoulders and fuck yourself down on them, moaning recklessly now, not caring who hears you. It’s music to his ears.

“Fuck, Homelander, I-I’m coming, I’m-don’t stop, don’t stop,” you beg prettily. You don’t need to, but he enjoys the song anyway. He laps at your clit in quick upward pulls of his tongue, lips creating a seal around it. His brows furrow tightly, his own neglected arousal pounding through his body like a wardrum, but he doesn’t touch himself, too focused on you.

Your whole body locks up tight when you come, breath caught in your lungs, your clit fluttering delicately. He presses his tongue to it, savoring the taste of your euphoria, how it floods your system and changes the flavor of you. Your pleasure grows his hunger into something monstrous, something demanding, but there is satiation at least in bringing you this, in showing you all the things he will be for you.

You’ll never want for anyone–or anything– else ever again.

Homelander doesn’t stop. You begged him not to. He finger-fucks you through the aftershocks, lapping up every drop of your pleasure, stroking you inside and out while your cunt squeezes his fingers. He doesn’t stop until he feels you pushing him away, your sweet songbird moans sounding more like whimpers, oversensitized. He withdraws his fingers, giving one last noisy slurp before emerging from beneath your skirt. His face is shiny and wet with your slick, his pupils blown black. He's panting, looking every bit like a beast lifting its bloodied head from the belly of its kill.

Crawling up your body, still predator hungry, he rests his knee on the desk between your legs. He cups either side of your face, fingertips digging possessively into the back of your neck. He meets your eyes, pinning you with the intensity of his gaze, wordlessly drilling into your mind that this moment, this feeling, this tingling warmth in your body is him.

I did this to you, his expression reads. You’re on my lips, he says by pressing them to yours, kissing your own taste into your mouth, his body throbbing, desperate for an ounce of that same relief. You’re mine.

To his amazement, your eyes mirror his own savage hunger. You kiss him hard, shamelessly licking into his mouth, huffing shallow breaths from your nose. “Lie down,” you tell him, voice as sweet and coarse as raw sugar. “I’m going to ride you.”

Homelander doesn’t need to be told twice. Exhilarated, he rolls over, flipping you with him and steadying you above him in a fluid motion. The desk isn’t as long as he is tall, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already half suspended in the air with his own excitement, helping you with overly eager hands that fumble alongside yours with his belt, which falls to the ground with a distinct thud. He gives a little jump at the voracity you rip his zipper down with, grinning.

Together, you shuck his pants down to his thighs. You grip him through his red briefs, a fractured moan falling from his lips.

“Cute underwear,” you coo. His cheeks flush to almost the same shade. You flatten your palm over his cock and he bites back a whimper, teeth sinking into his tongue. You give a light squeeze, fingers curling around his cock through the fabric, and he lets out a rough breath. “You feel close,” you tell him, stroking him in a loose fist, your hand warm, the fabric soft.

He nods fervently, the friction and your voice already teetering him towards the edge. He makes a sound of both anguish and relief when you release him, his eyes snapping up to meet yours. You tug his underwear down, his cock bouncing free, engorged and dripping precome.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, bracing one hand on his chest and sliding forward, your other hand moving between your bodies to steady his cock against the rapturously hot press of your soaked cunt. His hands fly to your hips, fingertips biting into the softness of your body. You allow him that, focused entirely on the act of taking him into you. The fat head of his cock it slips inside, evoking a sweet little gasp from you, and Homelander fights not to slam in the rest of the way.

Both of your hands fall to his chest, your eyes meeting his. He holds your gaze, mouth twitching around silent sharp breaths. He watches you sink slowly down the length of him, engulfing him in such sublime rapture it’s a wonder he doesn’t come right then and there for the feel of you alone. His grip on your hips flexes and he gives a sharp little thrust up, forgetting himself to the divine feel of your pussy.

“I said don’t move,” you remind him breathlessly. God, you’re beautiful like this. The fluorescent light behind your head haloes you, giving you the look of a debauched angel he plucked from the heavens to have and keep as his own. He expects you to move, to bounce yourself on his cock like you did his mouth and his fingers. He wants to watch your tits bounce, see your face clearly when you come on his cock, but the only part of you that moves is your hand.

His gaze drops and quickly darkens, watching intently as you stroke your clit. The initial contact alone makes you jerk, makes your pussy spasm and squeeze him so good he almost chokes on it. Your only response is to sigh, tipping your head back and spreading your legs a little wider, taking him deeper. He wants so badly to fuck you, to slam you down and rail you until your desk cracks in half.

“Mmmm, fuck,” you moan, rubbing yourself in circles, the lewd noise of it loud and irresistible to his ears. “Fuck, fuck–ah, god,” you start to pant, head falling forward, brows tightly pinched. You’re so sensitive after the assault of his mouth, the flavor of you still fresh on his tongue. The faster your fingers move, the closer he feels you get, the clench around his cock steadily tightening. He wants to thrash, but you keep him pinned in place with your look of expectation and pleasure. You’re getting off on him as much as you are your own fingers, on the swell and throb of his cock inside you, on the sheer power you hold over a god.

You’re loud when you come, nails clawing into the chest of his suit. Homelander’s eyes roll back, lips parted on a soundless cry of his own. The spasming heat of your release is too much and he loses himself to it, eyes flaring up with crimson light as he comes with you, every shudder of your climax stroking and milking him of his own, flooding you with his own wet mess.

His restraint breaks with the dam and he sits up abruptly, startling a noise from you, which he swallows with a hard kiss, cupping the back of your head. He holds you still and he fucks you, lifting from the desk entirely so that he alone supports your weight, driving you deeper onto his cock. Your legs tighten on either side of him, shaking.

Out of his mind with pleasure, he tears your blouse open with his teeth, diving in close to lick, suck and bite at your chest. He buries his face between your breasts, holding you tightly as he fucks you both through your respective orgasms, the slap of flesh against flesh echoing obscenely in your office.

Hitching your legs properly around his waist, he bounces you on his cock until the pleasure borders on pain and a secondary shock rolls through him like another orgasm, stealing his breath. Only then does he finally slow, mouthing languidly at your chest until he sucks your nipple into his mouth. He moans against you, grinding to an eventual halt. You comb your fingers through his hair and goosebumps erupt across his body, which shivers in the euphoric aftermath.

He loses track of how long he stays suspended like that, lost to the overwhelm of sensation. Your legs go slack while his angles slightly upward, his face pressed to your chest, your head resting atop his. He nuzzles at you, bleary eyed and slack with pleasure. He kisses a trail up to your clavicle, your throat, your jaw, smiling in the loose, easy way that only a good fuck can never make him.

“Wow,” he says after a while, voice thoroughly frayed.

You giggle, groggily lifting your head. He adjusts until you can relax against his chest, fold your forearms across it and settling your chin atop them, admiring him. He touches your face with his ungloved hand, stroking your cheek with his thumb, then the curve of your bottom lip. His smile widens when you kiss the pad of his thumb.

“Wow indeed,” you say, swinging your legs lightly. “Can’t say I’ve ever been fucked mid-air.”

“One of the many benefits of dating me,” he purrs, caressing your cheek with his knuckles. He kisses you again, drifting slowly back down, unhurried.

Your brows lift lazily. “Who says we’re dating?” You ask, but your smile keeps his hackles from rising.

“Me,” he says, eyes crinkled at the corners. He lands gently on the desk, helping you to it. “You and I are officially going steady.”

You give a thoughtful hum, carefully untangling your limbs from his. You slide off of the desk while he puts himself back together, your knees trembling faintly. “Fairly sure asking someone out requires a question mark. You know. The asking part. You didn’t even buy me dinner.” You attempt to button up your shirt, but it’s obviously a lost cause.

He exhales a quiet laugh, pulling you back into his arms. “Well, I certainly ate.”

“God,” you laugh, rolling your eyes, but they don’t stray from him for long. There’s a sparkle to your gaze that he wants to capture in his palm and never set loose.

“Will you go out with me?” He asks, lips brushing yours.

“Mmmmmmmm….” You hum once more, drawing it out, feigning a great deliberation. “There’s something you should know first.”

He quirks a brow. “What’s that?”

“My guilty pleasure,” you say, nose bumping his.

Intrigued, he inclines his head to prompt you to continue. Can’t be worse than mine.

“Superheroes,” you say conspiratorially. “Can’t get enough of them. Loved them my whole life. Especially this one in particular…”

He breaks into a frayed, charmed laugh. “Let me guess, name starts with an H?”

You suck in a breath through your teeth, lips curved downward in a mock grimace, and nod subtly. “ Total fangirl. Embarrassing, right?”

Homelander shakes his head. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never felt guilty about pleasure. Where’s the harm in it?”

The harm inflicted on those thugs couldn’t count. They had it coming.

“Harm to my pride, my ego, my reputation,” you list, tapping his suit to punctuate each one. “I made a pretty big fuss about not liking you. I had myself convinced that my Homelander only existed in my fantasies, and you were just the guy who plays him.”

My Homelander. The words stir an unexpectedly sentimental surge of emotion that wells up from somewhere deep in his chest. He clears his throat lightly. “What’s the verdict now?”

You sweep him with an appraising gaze. “Still deliberating.”

He clicks his tongue, nodding. “I don’t suppose I could arrange a meeting with the jury?”

“They’re available for dinner tomorrow,” you say, the tilt of your lips sly.

“It’s a date,” he murmurs, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. You kiss him, pressing your smile to his. He doubts he’ll ever tire of the softness of your lips, or the easy way you melt against him. He wraps his arms around you, content to let this moment pass only because he knows there will be more to come. He’s determined to make every one of them better than the last.

All of the pleasure, none of the guilt.

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fanfiction #my writing #x reader #yandere x reader

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badasoneandonly · 3 months ago

Text

𝘗𝘜𝘛 𝘔𝘌 𝘐𝘕 𝘈 𝘔𝘖𝘝𝘐𝘌 || 𝘏𝘞𝘈𝘕𝘎 𝘐𝘕-𝘏𝘖 × 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙

𝘞𝘤: 1,118𝘬

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺:

Y/N is manipulated by her neighbor Hwang In-Ho into a relationship, questioning it only to be gaslit into submission, ultimately losing herself to his control.

𝘎𝘌𝘕𝘙𝘌: MANIPULATIVE INHO, NAIVE READER, READER IS 22 WHILE INHO IS 45, NEO-NOIR, DARK ROMANCE, TOXIC RELATIONSHIP.

𝘈/𝘯: 𝘈𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘏𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘰 × 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 ;)

"C’mon, you know you like little girls,” the voice cooed from Y/N’s phone as Lana Del Rey’s lyrics flowed through her headphones. The eerie, saccharine melody filled her quiet room as she absentmindedly hummed along, the words settling somewhere deep in her subconscious. She wasn’t sure why she liked this song. Something about it felt unsettling yet intoxicating, a contradiction that mirrored her own life.

Her neighbor, Hwang In-Ho, had always been there. He had lived next door for as long as she could remember. While their families were close, her connection with In-Ho had always been... different. As a child, she idolized him. He was older, wiser, and had a calm, commanding presence that made her feel safe.

But now, things felt different.

---

Y/N was sitting in her backyard, flipping through a novel, when In-Ho leaned over the fence that separated their properties. His casual smile disarmed her, as always.

“You’ve been reading that book for weeks now,” he teased, his deep voice carrying warmth.

She smiled shyly. “I like to take my time.”

“Some things are worth savoring,” he said, his words laced with a meaning she couldn’t quite grasp.

They chatted for a while about nothing in particular, and before long, he invited her over for tea. She agreed without hesitation. It was second nature to her—In-Ho had always been like an older brother, someone she could trust implicitly.

But that trust would soon be tested.

---

As they sat on his patio, sipping tea, In-Ho began to reminisce.

“You know, I remember when you were just a little thing,” he said, his eyes glinting with nostalgia. “You used to follow me around everywhere.”

She laughed softly, her cheeks warming. “I was a kid. You were the cool older neighbor.”

“You still do,” he said under his breath, but loud enough for her to catch.

Her laughter faltered, and she looked at him curiously. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, his smile returning. “It’s just funny how some things never change.”

The conversation drifted to lighter topics, but a strange tension lingered in the air.

---

That night, as Y/N lay in bed, the memory of his words replayed in her mind. “Some things never change.” It was such an innocent phrase, but the way he’d said it made her skin prickle.

---

The weeks that followed were filled with small moments that left Y/N questioning everything. The way his hand would linger on her shoulder during conversations, the way he seemed to watch her a little too intently when she laughed, the way he always seemed to be there when she needed something.

She told herself she was imagining things. This was In-Ho. He’d always been kind and attentive. He was like family.

But then he confessed.

---

It happened on a quiet evening, as they walked together through their neighborhood. The sun had set, and the streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement.

“In-Ho,” she said, breaking the silence. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he replied, his tone gentle.

“Why do you spend so much time with me?”

He stopped walking, turning to face her. The look in his eyes was intense, almost desperate.

“Because I care about you, Y/N. More than you know.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve always cared about you,” he said, stepping closer. “But it’s not just as a friend or a neighbor. It’s... more than that.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“I-In-Ho, I don’t know what to say,” she stammered, her mind racing.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” he said, his voice soothing. “Just think about it. All I want is to make you happy.”

---

Y/N spent the next few days in a fog of confusion. She had never been in love before, never even dated. The idea of someone feeling that way about her was overwhelming.

And then there was In-Ho. He was safe. He was familiar. Maybe this was what love was supposed to feel like.

---

She agreed to date him.

At first, things were almost perfect. He was attentive and thoughtful, always making her feel special. He would surprise her with her favorite snacks, take her on long drives where they would talk for hours, and tell her how beautiful she was in ways that made her blush.

But as time went on, the cracks began to show.

---

He would ask her not to wear certain outfits.

“You don’t need to dress like that,” he said one evening as she prepared for a dinner with friends. “You’re already beautiful. Besides, who are you trying to impress?”

The comment made her stomach twist, but she brushed it off.

He started isolating her from her friends.

“Why do you need to spend time with them?” he asked one afternoon. “I’m here. Isn’t that enough?”

The questions felt harmless at first, but they began to pile up, eroding her confidence.

---

One evening, as they sat together in his living room, she finally voiced her doubts.

“In-Ho, do you think this is right?” she asked hesitantly.

He looked at her, his expression unreadable. “What do you mean?”

“I just... I feel like something’s off. Like this isn’t how things are supposed to be.”

He sighed, reaching for her hand. “Y/N, you’ve never been in love before. It’s normal to feel uncertain. But I know what I feel, and I know this is right. You just need to trust me.”

---

“C’mon, you know you like little girls,” the lyrics played in her head like a taunting whisper.

She began to question everything: his intentions, her own feelings, the way their relationship had started. But every time she tried to pull away, he would pull her back in with words that felt like a lifeline.

“No one will ever love you the way I do,” he told her one night, his voice soft but firm. “No one else could ever understand you like I do.”

---

Y/N wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that this was love, that the unease she felt was just her own inexperience clouding her judgment.

But deep down, she knew.

She knew that something about this wasn’t right.

---

By the time she realized the truth, it was too late.

In-Ho had woven his way into every aspect of her life, his presence a constant shadow that she couldn’t escape.

And somewhere along the way, she had stopped trying.

𝘛𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵: @ehcausewhynot @akumazwrld @elledumplings @jamiewritesfanfiction-blog

𝘈/𝘯: soo that happened, ik this isnt the usual sad angsty sht i post but like hey its just me branching out to diff genres ^_^ let me know if u liked it, i would love to hear yalls thoughts...

#SoundCloud #frontman x reader #hwang in-ho x reader #hwang in ho x reader #hwang inho x reader #player 001 #squid game #squid game fanfic #lee byung hun fanfic #lee byung hun #oh young il fanfic #oh young il

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theonottsbxtch · 7 months ago

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THE OTHER GUY PT.5 | FC43

an: i read this outloud to @diycriptheory and she said this sounded exactly like a lesbian's worst nightmare. so enjoy xx

part one | part two | part three | part four |

francolapinto’s story

[descanso y relajación]

The evening sun filtered through the curtains of your hotel room, casting a warm glow that did little to calm the knot tightening in your stomach. You glanced at the clock on the wall—it was almost time. Franco would be here soon.

You’d changed your outfit three times already, and even now, standing in front of the mirror, you weren't not sure if this was the right one. You smoothed your hands over your dress, biting your lip as you tried to steady your breathing. Why were you so nervous? It was just a date. A date with Franco.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of laughter in your room. Oscar and Logan had been hanging out, oblivious to your mounting anxiety. You stepped into the living room where they were lounging on the couch, both of them looking far too relaxed for your liking.

Oscar looked up at you and grinned. “You look… weirdly fancy.”

“Thanks,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Just the boost of confidence I needed.”

Logan chuckled. “Nervous much?”

Folding your arms, sitting on the edge of the desk, you raised a brow. “Is it that obvious?”

Oscar shrugged, grabbing a handful of chips from the bowl between them. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just a date.”

You shot him a look. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one going on a date with a guy you’ve been pretending to hate for months.”

“Pretending?” Oscar teased, looking at you with an incredulous look.

“Okay, maybe not pretending,” you admit, “but I’ve definitely been giving him a hard time.”

Logan leant forward, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Come on, you’ll be fine. He likes you, obviously. And you’ve stopped hating him—right?”

You groan, sinking into the armchair beside the desk, across from them. “Yeah, I’ve stopped hating him. That doesn’t make this any less nerve-wracking. What if it’s awkward? What if I say something stupid?”

Tossing a chip at you, Oscar laughed. “You always say something stupid. He probably expects it by now.”

Grabbing the chip from where it landed on your lap, you threw it back at him, grumbling when he caught it in his mouth. “Not helping!”

Logan chirmed in again, more seriously this time. “Look, he’s probably just as nervous as you are. You guys have been in this weird back-and-forth for so long—tonight’s a chance to just… let it go. Be yourself.”

Oscar nodded, being serious for once and looking like he was giving this some thought. “Yeah, and if it goes bad, you can always blame me for getting you into this mess in the first place.”

“Or, blame me!” Logan added. “After all, he replaced me didn’t he?”

Laughing at Logan’s comment you went back to fiddling with your hands in your lap. “Yeah.”

There was a knock at the door, and for a second your heart skipped a beat. Taking a look at Oscar and Logan, you ignored the look on their faces, as though they were waiting for this all day.

“Good luck,” Logan said, winking.

Standing up and smoothing your dress again, you headed toward the door. Your palms sweaty, your heart racing, nerves clouding your mind —a sense that this night could change everything.

With one last deep breath, you opened the door, and there Franco was, standing in the hallway, looking just as handsome as ever. His eyes swept over you, and the smile he gave you made your stomach flip.

“Buenas tardes hermosa (good evening, beautiful),” he said, his voice soft but confident.

You could feel the warmth rising in your cheeks as you stepped out, closing the door behind you. “Thank you, you’re not so bad yourself.”

ynpiastri's story

[who likes my chat noir cosplay? 😴]

The soft murmur of the ocean is the only sound as you stepped out onto the balcony while Franco got some more drinks, the warm breeze brushing against your skin. The night was still, the air heavy with the scent of saltwater, and the faint glow of the stars above barely lit the secluded space. The dim ambiance makes everything feel more intimate, more charged.

You felt him before you saw him—his presence behind you was unmistakable. He stepped out, his footsteps soft on the stone floor, but when his gaze locked on yours, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you. He leant casually against the railing, but there was nothing casual about the way his eyes were trailing over you.

“Nice view,” he said, voice low, thick with a tension that sent a thrill down your spine. There was a deeper meaning to his words, and you knew it.

You nodded, barely able to respond as your pulse quickened. “Yeah. It is.”

His eyes never left yours, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The air between you felt thick, crackling with an unspoken anticipation. He pushed off the railing, moving toward you with slow, deliberate steps, his confidence evident in every movement.

“I’ve been thinking about this moment all night, hermosa” he murmured , his voice soft but heavy with meaning. He was standing close now, so close that the warmth of his body radiated toward you, and you could feel every breath you took deep in your chest.

Your throat tightened, and you glanced away, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the intensity in his gaze. But he stepped even closer, his fingers lightly grazing your arm, and the simple touch sent shivers through you. Your skin tingling where his hand touched, and your heart racing faster.

“How’s it going so far?” you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Better than I imagined,” he said, his lips curling into a smirk, but his eyes were serious, dark with desire. His hand moved up to your shoulder, his thumb brushing against your bare skin with a tenderness that belied the hunger in his gaze.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought about stepping back, about trying to get control over the situation. But something held you there, keeping you rooted in place as he stepped even closer, his chest almost brushing against yours. The tension between you was electric, and you feel it in every inch of your body.

“I didn’t think you’d actually ask me,” he admitted, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. He was so close now that you could feel the heat from his breath against your skin.

“I didn’t think I would either,” you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest. Every nerve in your body was on edge, waiting, anticipating.

His hand slid to your waist, fingers firm but gentle, pulling you just a fraction closer. You were close enough now that you could smell the faint scent of his cologne, something dark and intoxicating. Your skin tingled beneath his touch, and you could barely think straight with how close he was.

“I’ve been waiting for you to look at me like this,” he said softly, his lips just inches from yours. His eyes flicked down to your lips for a split second, and when they met yours again, they were filled with an intensity that made your knees feel weak.

“Like what?” you managed to ask, your voice barely audible, your pulse racing so fast it felt like your heart might burst out of your chest.

“Like you want this as much as I do.”

Before you could even respond, he closed the distance between the two of you, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was hot, fierce, and filled with a passion that you hadn’t expected. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours in a way that made your whole body ignite.

You gasped into his mouth, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance as his kiss overwhelmed you. The softness of his lips contrasted with the raw hunger in his movements, and you found yourself melting into him, your body pressing against his like you couldn’t get close enough.

His hand slid up your back, fingers tangling in your hair as he tilted your head, giving him better access to your mouth. The kiss grew hotter, more intense, and you could feel the heat pooling low in your stomach, making you dizzy with want. His lips moved with a hunger that matched your own, and you felt like you were drowning in him, in the taste of him, in the way his hands roamed your body like he was memorising every inch of you.

Your fingers slid up to his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss became more desperate, more frantic. Every touch, every movement felt like it was setting your skin on fire, and you couldn't get enough of him. His body was solid and warm against yours, and the feel of him, the smell of him, was intoxicating.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you thought you may have seen something—a flicker of movement, a flash of light out of the corner of your eye—but you pushed it aside, too lost in the moment, too consumed by the heat of his kiss to care. Nothing else mattered right now except for him, here, with you.

His hands slid down to your hips, gripping you tighter as he pulled you impossibly closer, his mouth never leaving yours. You felt his chest rise and fall rapidly against you, his breathing just as ragged as yours. The kiss was searing now, filled with a desire that neither of you were holding back anymore.

When he finally pulled away, his lips lingered near yours, his forehead pressed against yours as you both caught your breath. His thumb brushed gently against your cheek, and you opened your eyes to find him staring at you, his gaze filled with something that made your heart skip a beat.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that, mi amor” he whispered, his voice hoarse but filled with certainty.

You smiled, your breathing still heavy, and as you looked into his eyes, you knew then and there that you wanted this just as much as he did. And that the two of you were far too gone to care about anything else.

twitter

imessage between franco and yn

the end.

taglist: @iimplicitt @isaadore @iamred-iamyellow @justheretoreadthxxs @obxstiles @how-what-why-huh @raizelchrysanderoctavius @sainzzreputaticn @xxx-betty @dukeofjjune @dejavuontrack @littlegrapejuice @mxdi0 @st4rgirl-ellie @dullypully @cinderellawithashoe

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 smau #f1 fanfic #logan sargeant #williams #franco colapinto #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto x you #franco colapinto x yn #oscar piastri #oscar piastri sister #williams f1 #williams racing #williams formula 1 #logan sargeant angst #logan sargeant smau #f1 social media au #franco colapinto smau

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miraculous-floconfettis · 2 years ago

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🐞 Le battement d'ailes du Papillon 🐾

Le chapitre 22 est en ligne !

Lire sur ao3

Lire sur fanfiction.net

Lire sur wattpad

Pour lire la fanfiction depuis le début, c'est par ici :

Le battement d'ailes du Papillon - Chapitre 1

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thediormulan · 14 days ago

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PICK A CARD:

WHO ARE YOU WHEN THE SPOTLIGHT FINDS YOU?

This isn’t just a tarot reading — it’s a standing ovation from the universe.

Whether your name is whispered in boardrooms, chanted on stages, etched into spiritual history, or adored in private —

You are the light they didn’t see coming. And now? They will.

Choose your pile. Tune into your higher self.

And don’t be shy — tell me in the notes:

Which moment cracked you wide open?

What prophecy came true?

What part made you feel famous in realms they haven’t even named yet?

—

Channeled by Dior Harris.

Stay infinite. Stay divine.

A bientôt, mon ange.

PILE ONE:

“The Applause You Forgot You Deserved”

Theme: Visibility reborn. Recognition restored. This is the moment the spotlight finds you, not forces you.

Message from Your Higher Self:

You didn’t get forgotten. You got protected.

Because they couldn’t clap for what they didn’t understand.

This is the timeline where you’re no longer proving your worth — you’re embodying it.

There’s a shift coming, one that puts you in front of people who will say:

“Where have you been hiding?”

And the truth is?

You were never hiding.

You were just becoming too powerful to fit where you used to shrink.

Your Full Spread (8 Cards from Global Decks)

1. The Star – upright (Tarot de Visions Noires)

2. The Spotlight Oracle – upright (Oracle of Golden Portals)

3. Eight of Wands – reversed (Venusian Flame Tarot)

4. The Crowned Mirror – upright (Mystic Gaze Archetype Deck)

5. Mars in the 10th House – upright (AstroRites Cosmic Cards)

6. Page of Swords – upright (Glass Mind Tarot)

7. The Tower – reversed (Rooted Soul Tarot)

8. The Applause Card – upright (Unreleased: Your Signature Deck)

1. The Star (upright)

Numerology: 17 → 8 (power, magnetism, karma)

Symbolism: Public rebirth, divine recognition

Message:

You are being repositioned. Not reinvented — remembered.

This is cosmic restoration. After a season of burnout, rejection, or invisibility, your light is being seen, not stolen.

You are the constellation others will now wish upon.

2. The Spotlight Oracle (upright)

Symbolism: Destiny stage, divine illumination, readiness

Message:

Spirit says: “We’ve tested your grace in the wings — now take your place.”

There’s a moment arriving where people won’t just listen to you — they’ll echo you.

This could be through public speaking, content going viral, or suddenly becoming the reference point.

Whatever it is, you’re not being found — you’re being recognized.

3. Eight of Wands (reversed)

Message:

The delay you thought was rejection? It was divine timing in disguise.

You’ve been held back not because you weren’t ready — but because the platform wasn’t.

You are not “late.”

You are loaded.

Now it’s time to unleash.

4. The Crowned Mirror (upright)

Symbolism: Ego healed, worth witnessed, power personalized

Message:

You used to doubt your brilliance because it didn’t look like theirs.

But this card confirms: You are the prototype, not the replica.

Expect compliments that feel like confessions.

Expect DMs that say, “I’ve been watching you for a while.”

You’re not becoming someone else — you’re finally mirroring your true self out loud.

5. Mars in the 10th House (upright)

Astrology: Action in career. Divine drive. Strategic spotlight.

Message:

Fame is not coming from performance — it’s coming from alignment.

You’re building something long-term.

This is legacy over likes.

You’ll be known for your precision, your passion, your presence.

Someone powerful is watching. And they’re ready to invest.

6. Page of Swords (upright)

Message:

A contract. A DM. A job offer. A panel invite.

This is the first whisper of a big break — but it’ll look small at first.

Say yes, even if it feels like practice.

Because it’s a portal.

7. The Tower (reversed)

Message:

The world isn’t collapsing — your old identity is.

You don’t need to be humble about your healing anymore.

Let it be public. Let it be poetic.

Let it be profitable.

You’re not broken. You’re built.

8. The Applause Card (upright)

Message:

When it happens — when the numbers climb, the hands clap, the doors open — don’t shrink.

Don’t deflect the praise.

Don’t act surprised.

Receive it. Relish it. Reign in it.

Because you were never too much — they were just underprepared.

Angel Numbers for This Pile

• 818 – Magnetic rebirth. Career reward. Power returning.

• 1144 – Energetic recognition. Foundations building fast.

• 1221 – Public emergence. Balanced breakthrough. Divine symmetry.

Channeled Song

“Big Energy” – Latto

Significant Line:

“If I let you put your hands all over me / If I let you unwrap all this in the sheets / If I tell you all my dirty fantasies / You won’t believe what this one cost me.”

Why:

Because this pile is about remembering your grandeur. You weren’t forgotten — you were expensive. Your name isn’t rising… it’s returning. And this time? They’ll pay attention because your energy is too loud to dim.

Confirmation Letters

C – R – L – M – T

(May relate to names, brands, initials, locations, projects)

From Your Higher Self to You

“They didn’t clap because they didn’t know what they were watching. But now? They’ll watch. They’ll rise. And they’ll remember who showed them what radiance looks like.”

From the Universe to You

“When the spotlight hits, don’t shrink to fit in the frame. Expand it.”

Did this pile feel like the mirror you didn’t know you needed?

Reblog if you’re reclaiming your spotlight like it owes you rent.

Comment the moment you stopped shrinking — and what applause you’re finally ready to receive.

PILE TWO:

“Cameras Catch What Mirrors Miss”

Theme: Hidden brilliance. Private mastery. You’re stepping out not because you’re ready — but because you’re finally being called out by the cosmos.

Message from Your Higher Self:

You’ve done the work in silence.

Perfected your craft behind the scenes.

Held your brilliance like a secret.

But now? The spotlight isn’t a threat. It’s a mirror.

And what it reflects back is a version of you that even you forgot was this powerful.

You’re not an overnight success. You’re a long-awaited reveal.

Your Full Spread (9 Cards from Global & Channeled Decks)

1. The Hidden Stage – upright (Oracle of Forgotten Futures)

2. Six of Wands – upright (Crystal Muse Tarot)

3. Mercury in Pisces – upright (AstroMyst Oracle)

4. Ten of Pentacles – reversed (Shadow Legacy Tarot)

5. The Underdog Crown – upright (Soul Ascension Archetype Cards)

6. Knight of Cups – upright (Indigo Flame Tarot)

7. The Lighthouse Within – upright (Oracle of Inner Mythos)

8. Two of Pentacles – reversed (Mystic Balance Deck)

9. Judgement – upright (Black Moon Tarot)

1. The Hidden Stage (upright)

Symbolism: Private genius. Delayed arrival. Fated spotlight.

Message:

Your breakthrough doesn’t look like a red carpet. It looks like someone finally saying:

“You’re exactly what we’ve been missing.”

You weren’t overlooked. You were protected while you sharpened.

2. Six of Wands (upright)

Numerology: 6 – Harmony, victory, public recognition

Message:

You’re being seen — not just watched.

There’s a wave of new followers, collaborators, or clients coming in who are ready to support you out loud.

This is genuine praise, not performative hype.

Let yourself be celebrated.

3. Mercury in Pisces (upright)

Astrology: Dreamy communication. Intuitive voice. Soulful storytelling.

Message:

Your voice, your art, your poetry — it’s finally resonating in rooms it used to echo silently in.

Expect an invitation:

• A podcast feature

• A viral post

• A heartfelt DM saying “Your words saved me”

This is resonance over reach.

4. Ten of Pentacles (reversed)

Message:

You may still feel financially behind. Like you’ve missed the moment.

But spirit says: You didn’t miss the money — you outgrew the model.

You’re not here to hustle. You’re here to create a new wealth frequency, aligned with rest, pleasure, and authenticity.

It’s coming. Sustainably.

5. The Underdog Crown (upright)

Symbolism: Overlooked brilliance. Power earned, not handed.

Message:

This is your redemption arc.

The very people who once underestimated you?

They’re about to reference you. Credit you. Quote you.

Your name is entering rooms before you do — and this time, it’s with respect on it.

6. Knight of Cups (upright)

Message:

A love offer may arrive alongside your glow-up.

Why?

Because your visibility is also magnetizing people who see your soul, not just your talent.

This is someone who wants to show up gently and genuinely.

Don’t ignore this connection — it’s part of your blossoming.

7. The Lighthouse Within (upright)

Message:

You used to dim your light because you thought it would make others comfortable.

This card says:

“Stop protecting people from your power.”

You are meant to shine.

Even if it makes others squint.

8. Two of Pentacles (reversed)

Message:

You’ve been juggling two selves: the one who performs and the one who is.

The world doesn’t want the watered-down version.

Show them your real rhythm.

You don’t need to balance anymore — you need to be.

9. Judgement (upright)

Message:

You’re being called to step fully into your purpose — no more trial runs.

This card is spiritual spotlight.

Your ancestors are orchestrating visibility so you can fulfill your role as a messenger, a healer, a legacy-maker.

Angel Numbers for This Pile

• 1616 – Renewal in purpose. You’re attracting real attention.

• 227 – Voice activated. Soul alignment through storytelling.

• 3311 – Undeniable recognition. Watch for invitations and references.

Channeled Song

: “Masterpiece (Mona Lisa)” – Jazmine Sullivan

Significant Line:

“Every part of me is a vision of a portrait of Mona, of Mona Lisa.”

Why:

Because this is sacred unveiling energy. You’ve been art behind glass. This solar season? You step out and let the world marvel without explanation. This song channels divine femininity, private beauty, and the kind of softness that shatters illusions.

Confirmation Letters

V – H – S – E – D

(May connect to names, projects, initials, places, or past soul contracts.)

From Your Higher Self to You

“You weren’t late. You were perfecting what they couldn’t have handled earlier. Now? They’re ready. And so are you.”

From the Universe to You

“They’ll call it overnight. But we know better. This is divine arrival — not delayed success.”

Was this your sacred unveiling?

Tell me what part of your power you’ve been protecting in silence.

Reblog if you’re done hiding the parts of yourself the world wasn’t ready for — until now.

PILE THREE:

“Famous in Realms They Haven’t Named Yet”

Theme: Spiritual icon. Culture shifter. Fame that can’t be Googled — only felt.

Energy: Galactic celebrity meets grounded healer. Your influence is vibrational.

Message from Your Higher Self:

You were never meant to go viral.

You were meant to go visceral.

To be remembered not for your content — but for your frequency.

You are the origin point of something people won’t have language for until years later.

Your success is not just about attention — it’s about altering collective memory.

You’re not “ahead of your time.”

You are the one who births new timelines.

Your Full Spread (10 Cards from Celestial & Ancestral Decks)

1. The Frequency Card – upright (Oracle of Future Memory)

2. The Hermit – upright (Eclipse Visions Tarot)

3. Uranus in the 11th House – upright (AstroPunk Revolution Deck)

4. The Soul’s Blueprint – upright (Codex of Akashic Flame)

5. Five of Swords – reversed (Witch Flame Tarot)

6. The Muse Flame – upright (Sovereign Creatrix Oracle)

7. Knight of Pentacles – upright (Coven Legacy Deck)

8. The Crownless Queen – reversed (Lost Temples of Feminine Power Oracle)

9. Nine of Cups – upright (Mystic Flow Tarot)

10. The Tower of Light – upright (Celestial Collapse Archetype Deck)

1. The Frequency Card (upright)

Symbolism: Vibration before visibility

Message:

Your power doesn’t come from performance — it comes from how you make people feel before they understand why.

You’re not just seen.

You’re felt.

And soon? That resonance will ripple through the culture.

2. The Hermit (upright)

Message:

You were initiated in the dark.

You spent years being misunderstood — not because you were lost, but because you were carving your own path.

That inner glow is now becoming your external signal.

Your solitude is turning into spotlight.

3. Uranus in the 11th House (upright)

Astrology: Iconoclast energy. Fame through disruption.

Message:

You are here to shake up how people relate, connect, and evolve.

Think:

• Unconventional public presence

• Cult leader energy (but healed)

• Legacy that outlasts your name

You don’t need to go mainstream. You’re building your own stream.

4. The Soul’s Blueprint (upright)

Message:

Your current expansion was written in your bones.

This is the season where your divine assignments activate.

You’re becoming the channel — not just the creator.

Downloads. Dreams. Messages. They’re no longer optional — they’re your mission.

5. Five of Swords (reversed)

Message:

You’re healing from “gifted kid burnout”, old betrayal, and being labeled “too much.”

This reversal says:

**You’re not here to be liked. You’re here to be felt to the core. **

Let your edges lead. They’re part of your genius.

6. The Muse Flame (upright)

Symbolism: Art that awakens, erotic creativity, divine magnetism

Message:

You will become a muse to someone powerful — an artist, spiritualist, or visionary who sees you fully.

And more than that?

You’ll become the muse for your past self.

Let your story be art. Let your presence be permission.

7. Knight of Pentacles (upright)

Message:

The fame you’re building will be slow, steady, and unshakable.

This is not viral flash.

This is legacy construction.

Brand longevity. Intellectual property. Passive income. Soul empire.

8. The Crownless Queen (reversed)

Message:

Stop waiting for permission. Stop apologizing for being unpolished.

You are the leader without the title — but they’re giving it to you now.

This reversal is your final unshackling from imposter syndrome.

Your crown is internal now. Wear it.

9. Nine of Cups (upright)

Message:

Your manifestations are being delivered not in fantasy — but in form.

Expect material upgrades.

• Invitations to elite spaces

• Brand collabs

• Dream interviews

• A reintroduction to someone who once slept on you (and now wants to invest)

You’re not just wishing. You’re witnessing.

10. The Tower of Light (upright)

Message:

You are not being destroyed — you are becoming undeniable.

This is the moment your energy shatters the mold.

Sudden visibility. A viral moment. A shift in perception.

You’re not breaking down — you’re breaking through.

Angel Numbers for This Pile

• 1010 – You’re walking in destiny.

• 5555 – Major energetic shifts, complete identity rebranding.

• 0033 – Creative power becoming sacred influence.

Channeled Song

“Pure/Honey” – Beyoncé

Significant Line:

“It should cost a billion to look this good / But she make it look easy ’cause she got it.”

Why:

This pile is for the intergalactic main characters. Your aura is an invention. Your presence is its own era. You don’t trend — you transcend. You were never supposed to fit in. You came to crown a new lane.

Confirmation Letters

Z – J – F – O – N

(Names, old usernames, ancestral lineages, brands, etc.)

From Your Higher Self to You

“You are not here to go viral. You are here to be revered. And your time is now.”

From the Universe to You

“You don’t need their language. You’re creating your own dialect of power. Let them catch up.”

Drop a Z, J, or F if this pile cracked open your soul code.

Reblog if you’ve always felt “too much” for this world — and now realize it was because you were birthing a new one.

Let them feel your frequency in the notes.

PILE FOUR:

“Your Name Echoes Louder in the Spirit World”

Theme: Generational reward. Divine exposure. Spiritual recognition that manifests in earthly celebration.

Energy: Legacy magic meets real-world acclaim. This fame is ordained.

Message from Your Higher Self:

This isn’t about going viral.

It’s about fulfilling prophecy.

You didn’t choose the spotlight — it was written into your lineage contract.

The dreams you’re dreaming now?

They started four generations ago.

And now? You are the one chosen to live them out loud.

Not for ego.

But for liberation.

Your Full Spread (10 Cards from Ancestral & Cosmic Legacy Decks)

1. The Ancestor’s Drum – upright (Oracle of Forgotten Rites)

2. The Empress – upright (Diaspora Divine Tarot)

3. North Node in Leo – upright (Destiny Codes Astro Deck)

4. Six of Pentacles – upright (Sacred Exchange Tarot)

5. Ten of Wands – reversed (Weightless Healer Tarot)

6. The Pathway Stone – upright (Root Temple Oracle)

7. Queen of Wands – upright (Cosmic Matriarch Deck)

8. The Altar Flame – upright (Oracle of Ceremony & Sound)

9. Judgment – reversed (Legacy Awakening Tarot)

10. Four of Wands – upright (Celebration of Self Tarot)

1. The Ancestor’s Drum (upright)

Symbolism: Spiritual summons. Lineage calling. Sound as recognition.

Message:

Your name has been spoken in rituals.

You are not just chasing dreams — you’re answering a call.

Every time you create, perform, write, or speak — an ancestor exhales.

And this year? They’re putting you in rooms where that energy will finally be witnessed.

2. The Empress (upright)

Message:

You carry fertile power. Everything you touch multiplies — influence, opportunity, beauty, grace.

You’re not just a creator. You are a movement in flesh.

The public will fall in love with your energy not because it’s perfect — but because it’s real.

This card confirms that visibility is your birthright.

3. North Node in Leo (upright)

Astrology: Soul purpose meets spotlight expression

Message:

You’re here to lead with your heart, your fire, your unapologetic radiance.

This is your timeline of:

• Public speaking

• Performing

• Storytelling

• Being seen for who you truly are, not the role you were told to play

And baby… your soul planned this. Now you’re catching up to your destiny.

4. Six of Pentacles (upright)

Message:

You’re about to receive something you once only gave: recognition, resources, reverence.

There’s a divine exchange happening — not charity.

It’s reciprocity.

Expect surprise support, financial backing, ancestral blessings that feel like luxury.

5. Ten of Wands (reversed)

Message:

You’re done carrying it all alone.

You’ve done the spiritual lifting.

This reversal says: put it down now, baby. Let them help.

The people coming in will carry the crown with you, not compete for it.

6. The Pathway Stone (upright)

Symbolism: Inherited purpose, unmissable timing

Message:

The path has already been cleared.

What once felt delayed will now rush in like recognition overdue.

A generational gate just opened. Step through it.

7. Queen of Wands (upright)

Message:

You are entering your Era of Magnetism.

Confidence without apology. Vision without compromise.

You’re not doing too much — you’re finally doing just enough for the crown you’ve always worn inside.

8. The Altar Flame (upright)

Message:

This card appears when fame is sacred.

You’re not here to trend — you’re here to ignite.

Every post, project, or product you offer is a ritual.

Every spotlight moment is a ceremony you already rehearsed in the astral.

9. Judgment (reversed)

Message:

Stop doubting your timing.

You are not behind.

You were simply being seasoned in silence.

Now? You are ready to rise without explanation.

10. Four of Wands (upright)

Message:

Celebration is not selfish.

There is a major event coming:

• A milestone

• A performance

• A launch

• A breakthrough moment

And it’s not just for you. It’s for your whole lineage.

Let yourself be celebrated. Fully. Loudly. Unapologetically.

Angel Numbers for This Pile

• 4411 – Sacred calling. Spiritual leadership. Divine purpose meets earthly platform.

• 313 – Expressive awakening. Visibility through voice.

• 808 – Ancestor-backed success. Doors opening from the inside.

Significant Line:

“I fought for you the hardest, it made me the strongest / So tell me your secrets, I just can’t stand to see you leaving.”

Confirmation Letters

A – L – Y – G – Q

(Names, altar initials, bloodline codes, sacred symbols)

From Your Higher Self to You

“Every time they tried to erase you, they only confirmed that your name echoes in realms louder than theirs.”

From Your Ancestors to You

“We built the stage. The world built the lights. Now step into your role. We’ve already saved you a standing ovation.”

Ancestral chills? Goosebumps? Felt like someone in the spirit realm said “yes” through this?

Reblog with the name you’re ready to be known by.

Drop a Q, Y, or G if your spotlight is sacred and bloodline-backed.

So… who are you when the lights hit just right?

When the universe pulls back the curtain,

and the world finally sees you—no filter, no delay, no holding back?

Drop your pile in the comments and spill it:

• What part cracked you all the way open?

• What song played in your head like a prophecy?

• What name or moment just echoed through your entire soul?

If this timeline kissed your spirit, don’t keep it quiet.

Reblog it. Repost it. Claim it.

And keep your eyes wide open, love—

The next episode is coming: What Are They Secretly Manifesting About You?

Because baby… your visibility?

It’s just the beginning.

—

Channeled by Dior Harris.

Stay infinite. Stay divine.

A bientôt, mon ange.

#pick a card #tarot reading #tarotblr #tarot community #channeled message #divine visibility #main character #legacy coded #divine guidance #daily tarot #black tarot readers #intuitive readings #oracle reading #spiritual download

241 notes · View notes

writingsbytee · 1 month ago

Text

THE HOTLINE (part 2.)

SEX OPERATOR TERRY RICHMOND x BLACK FEM READER (BLAIRE)

*Remember you are in charge of your own consumption. 18+ up audiences only; minors please don’t interact!* THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION

*Please do not plagiarize, repost, or steal my work. This doesn’t count for re-blogs!*

SUMMARY: Set in the early 2000s. Taking your best friend’s tipsy advice, you decide to call a sex hotline for help with dirty talk and your overall insecurities surrounding sex. When you call your local sex hotline, you get more than what you bargained for when Terry pics up the other line. Part 2 picks up with Terry finally making it to Blaire’s house. Porn with little to no plot ahead.

PAIRING: Terry Richmond x Blaire (reader)

WARNINGS: 18+; explicit dirty talk, explicit sex scenes; daddy kink; size kink; spit play if you squint, cursing,

WORD COUNT: 3.2K

PREVIOUSLY ON: PART 1

AUTHOR’S NOTE: PART 2 IS FINALLY HERE!!!! I’m so excited to share this chapter with you guys. I hope this is worth the wait, I know everyone wanted to know what was up next with Terry and Blaire. As always, criticism is welcomed but remember I have sensitive feelings so don’t eat me up. Happy Reading love bugs! This hasn't been proofread, so I apologize for the grammatical errors

TAG LIST: @nayaesworld @keehendrixx @theereina @theereinawrites @kimuzostar @megamindsecretlair @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @blackgurlnhermoods @dxddykenn @episodes-ff @pinkkycherrishh @pinkkycherrish @urfavblackbimbo @kianaleani @shallipii @mymindisneverhere @onherereading @earthchica @skyesthebomb @gg-trini @blyffe @melasworld @mogul93 @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @sweettea-and-honeybutter @notapradagurl7 @miyuhpapayuh @simplyzeeka @playgurlxoxo @yassbishimvintage @dbaileyblog @jimmybutlrr @versaceslutz @ruewritesoccasionally @kaylalb @noir-lullaby @jadatingz @madamedantes @charmedthoughts @daughterofapollo-7 @cardi-bre91 @thabiddie23 @mama-2001 @venusincleo @slvt4her

‘I done lost my rabbit ass mind’, Terry thought to himself as he blew through yet another stop sign. It was like something came over him, and he had to have you. Your voice, so soft and delicate, he could still hear you begging for him. He was slapping himself for forgetting to ask for your number. Terry glanced down at his dashboard, “Eight more minutes babygirl,” Terry mumbled to himself before pressing his foot a little harder on the gas.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

You were pacing back and forth, wondering if you’d gone absolutely insane. You gave a sex hotline operator your HOME ADDRESS! Has all the ‘dateline’ you watched taught you nothing?! Yet, here you were, pacing pantyless waiting for your doorbell to ring. At the moment it sounded like a good idea, a way to be spontaneous. Now out of your lust induced haze, you’re more than nervous. But, the time for nerves is no more when the tell-tale chime of your doorbell rings throughout your house.

“Who is it?” you ask, approaching your front door.

“It’s me babygirl, it’s Terry,”he says, sounding just as nervous as you. You stand up on your tip-toes and look through the peephole. An audible gasp left your lips at the sight of the man on the other side of your door. Standing well above 6 feet and built like a tank. There’s no way this is Terry the man was a literal adonis.

You whipped open your front door, “You have gotta be kidding me!” There’s no way this was Terry! And his eyes! The blue/green/brown combination swirling into a hypnotizing hazel, you were pretty sure one look from him and you’d be on your knees in an instant.

Terry couldn’t take his eyes off the pink haired angel that opened the door. Your doe eyes wide as you took him in. “Damn Blaire, you’re fucking gorgeous. Uhh, I’m Terry.” Terry’s hand shot out in front of him. He watched as you glanced down at his hand before you burst out laughing.

“Not even an hour ago you were giving me permission to finger myself. Now, here you are trying to shake my hand, talking about ‘I’m Terry’. I think we’re past formalities babe,” You laugh stepping to the side to let Terry in.

The nerves dissipated once he heard your laugh, “I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, I know this is an unorthodox situation” Terry says, as he steps over your threshold. He takes in your home, your maximalist taste usually jarring for some but Terry thought your place suited you.

“I appreciate that, I am comfortable around you. I mean I hope I would be based on what we just did on the phone,” you finish with a nervous laugh.

“Your place really suits you, babygirl” Terry said, his eyes darting around your entryway trying to memorize the place.

“Can I get you anything? Water, soda, or maybe something a little stronger?” You ask, wringing your fingers. The drink you had earlier is starting to wear off. Terry takes notice of this, a small smirk forming on his face. He was relieved that you were just as nervous as he was, “Something stronger sounds nice, to shake off this nervous energy. Lead the way, beautiful.” Terry watches, as you lead him further into your home. He thanks the lord at the bounce of your ass under the oversized t-shirt you have on.

“Light or dark?”you ask, holding up a bottle of tequila and bourbon in each hand. You couldn’t stop staring at Terry. He had to be crafted by every wet dream you’d ever had. And it manifested itself right here in your kitchen.

“What were you drinking?” he asks, leaning against the counter. You watched in awe as his muscles rippled in his tight black long sleeve.

“I - uh. I was drinking tequila,” you finish with a sigh, frustrated at your nervousness. He’s just a man, the man of your literal dreams but just a man nonetheless.

Terry notices your nerves and does his best to ease them, disarming you with a megawatt smile. “Tequila sounds great baby girl.” You nod and spin around, reaching above your head to grab a glass for your visitor. Terry’s eyes widen as your shirt rides up showing the cuff of your plump ass. As if he’d done it a million times before, Terry walks up behind you placing his huge hands on your hips.

“You answered the door like this to drive me crazy didn’t you?” Terry whispered in your ear. You felt your heart stop, then restart again going double the speed.

“Now, why would I want to do that?” you ask, innocently. “It’s not like I want you to bend me over this counter and fuck my brains out or anything.”

A laugh burst from Terry’s mouth, startling you slightly, “Ohh, you got jokes huh?” Terry asks as he tightens his grip on your waist. He reaches above you for a glass, his large, strong hands brushing against yours as he grabs it. His scent, a mix of citrus and tobacco filling your nostrils, forcing you to breathe in deeper.

“So do you do this with all your clients?”you ask once you’ve grabbed all the fixings to make drinks for the two of you. Terry leans against your counter, a smirk adorning his face.

“What? Bend them over their kitchen counters and fuck them cross-eyed? Nah, you’re the first. Can’t say that I’ll make this an everyday thing either,”Terry says, eyes never leaving yours.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”you ask, starting to shake your drinks.

“I have a feeling once I get a taste of you I won’t be able to let you go. No one’s ever made me as hard as you do babygirl, ”Terry says, as he takes a step toward you. Your eyes widen briefly at the realization that you were going to climb this mountain of a man. Sliding his drink to him, you smile behind yours taking a sip.

“Easy cowboy, I like foreplay,” you say, moving around your kitchen. Terry smirks, coming up behind you to undo your claw clip. His hands grip your waist pulling you flush against his front. He snakes a hand up behind your neck gripping your pink tresses in his fist and pulls. An involuntary moan leaves your mouth as your eyes meet Terry’s.

“So you like it a little rough?”Terry asks, bringing his drink to his lips taking a long sip. And you just stared dumbly up at him, the submissive in you dying to come out.

“Open your mouth pretty girl,”Terry commands, his voice deepening. You feel your wetness slide down the inside of your thigh as you comply with his command. Your eyes widen as you watch upside down Terry takes another sip of his drink. He leans down, lips ghosting over yours as the liquor flows from his mouth to yours.

“Now, swallow. Good girl” Terry praises when you follow his command. Your heart is racing when Terry’s hand slides down your front, cupping your breast through your shirt. Nipples hardening almost immediately, a needy sigh leaves your lips as you sag against Terry. His large hands cup both your breasts squeezing and kneading them.

Terry leans down, his lips ghosting down the side of your neck. You tilt your head to give him access and his mouth attacks your neck. “I came in here with a plan,”Terry exhales against your skin.

“Get to know you a little bit and then fuck your brains out. You just had to open the door looking like sin. Baby, nobody’s ever made a raggedy old T-shirt sexy. But you, you might as well be wearing lingerie for how hard you got me. Can you feel it, baby? Can you feel Daddy’s big dick digging into your back?”Terry’s monologue got you hot. Your pussy’s leaking, your breath coming out in shallow pants. Terry flicks your nipples through your shirt, causing you to flinch and moan.

“Mm, harder, “ you moan, encouraging Terry to play rougher with your breasts.

Terry tsks, “Now is that how you ask Daddy for something? You know what, get yo ass in the room.” He abruptly steps back leaving you hot and wanting. Turning to him with a dumbfounded look on your face you’re at a loss for words. You’ve never been this turned on so quickly. Leaning up against your kitchen island, he smirked devilishly yet again. Reaching to grab the tequila bottle he brings it up to his lips taking a shot.

“Get in that fucking room, baby now,” Terry growls. It’s like a switch gets flipped, and you’re on autopilot. As you turn to make your way toward your bedroom, you reach down, pulling your shirt over your head. Leaving you completely naked in front of Terry. The smirk completely vanishes from his face as he takes in your naked body, curves out of his imagination, you were like his wet dreams personified. Palming his dick through his pants, he follows you blindly to your room.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

As soon as you enter the bedroom, Terry pushes you back onto your plush mattress, looming over you with a predatory gleam in his eye. His large hands immediately clutch your breasts, kneading the supple flesh as he leans down to capture a nipple between his lips.

“Mmm, my delicious little treats,” he growls against your skin. Swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud before sucking it into his mouth. You were a panting mess, glancing down at Terry as he made out with your breast. Your thighs rubbing together covered in your slick, your clit dying for some friction. He lavishes attention on one breast while his thumb and pointer finger tease the other, pulling mewls and whines from your throat.

Terry releases your nipple with a wet pop, trailing open-mouthed kisses along your cleavage as he works his way up to your ear. “You’re so responsive… so perfect I could play with these titties all night long,” he whispers huskily, nipping your earlobe.

“Fuck, Terry. I need more,” you moan, your hips canting up in search of his fingers, dick, something that’ll quell this heat in your belly. You suck in a breath as his hand roam lower, gripping your thighs and pulling them apart.

“Damn baby, you’re already so wet for me. You didn’t come like I told you to, right?” Terry purrs, circling your clit with a fingertip before slipping two fingers in to massage your inner walls.

“Mmm fuck! Kiss me please,”you squeal out, back arching off the bed. Terry’s eyes flash with primal hunger at your plea. Leaning down his lips meet yours in a passionate embrace. It was a mess of tongues and teeth as you wrap both arms around his neck pulling him closer. You were drenched, sheets too far gone as you grinded against Terry’s palm. The sound of your wetness, and the combined moans of you both the only sounds cutting through the silence of your home.

“What do you need, baby?”Terry asks, doing some kind of sorcery with his thumb on your clit.

“Moreee, I need more Terry. Please baby, how long are you going to make me wait?” you groan out, fingernails making crescent shaped divots in his shoulders. You lock eyes with the handsome man above you. The hazel is almost completely overtaken by his pupil, his cheeks and chest flushed with arousal. He crawls down your body, his lips brushing against your inner thighs as he trails a path of open-mouthed kisses towards your dripping pussy.

“Look at this pretty pussy baby, so wet and eager for my mouth,”he murmurs, burying his face between your folds and inhaling deeply. “You smell so fucking good pretty mama, fuck, I’m gonna tear this pretty pussy up. Sorry in advance,” Terry sends a devious smile your way before he buries his face in your pussy.

He laps at your clit with long, slow strokes, savoring the taste of your pussy. The lewd sounds of Terry slurping your wetness permeating through your bedroom. Then, he dives deeper, plunging his tongue deep in your sloppy cunt and fucking you with it. Curling it to hit that special spot deep inside that makes you speak in tongues and see stars. “Fuck, I could eat you all day baby,”Terry groans against your flesh, his moans muffled against your pussy.

“You’re eating me so good Daddy, I’ve never had it like this before,” You moaned. Your poor silk press, sweated out, lost to the throes of passion with the sexy giant above you. You were a mess, tears of desperation slid down your cheeks as Terry lapped at your pussy like he was savoring it, savoring you. As your hips canted up, your clit made contact with his nose drawing an exaggerated whine from you.

“Yeah? You like that huh? Take it baby you wanna make yourself cum? Use my face,”Terry says in between moans. You became a woman possessed, grabbing onto Terry’s ears and you began grinding against his face. Covering him in your juices, “Fuck, Terry Yes!! Take that fucking pussy”

“God, look at you. Baby you look so pretty like this. Your pussy is weeping for me, I need you to cum Blaire. Can you do that for me baby?”Terry asks in between moans and slurps.

“Cover my face in your cum, so I can fuck this pretty pussy,” he urges sucking firmly on your clit. With a final flick of his tongue, he sends you hurtling over the edge. Your orgasm rips through you with the force of a tidal wave. Senses heightened as you crested over the peak of pleasure. Your back arches off the bed, a high-pitched wail tearing from your throat as wave after wave of pleasure flows through you.

As the aftershocks subside, Terry slowly rises up, his face glistening with your essence. He crawls up your body, lips meeting yours in a lust drunk, sloppy kiss. Even though you just came so hard, the taste of yourself on Terry’s lips was enough to get you ready for round two.

“Fuck me baby, please”, you beg, your hands caressing Terry all over his muscular frame, grabbing his ass and pulling him closer to you. Terry pulls back his eyes, taking in your dick drunk state. You’re covered in a slight sheen of sweat, doe eyes dazed and unfocused, chest heaving with pants.

“You’re so fucking beautiful Blaire,”Terry mumbles absently, “So wet and ready f’me.” Without wasting another moment, Terry sheathes himself inside you, groaning at the sensation of being buried inside you.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good,”Terry moans. You preen at the sounds of this man moaning and whimpering. Terry grips your hips tightly and starts to thrust, each thrust driving him deeper and deeper into your pussy, filling you completely.

“How does my pussy feel Terry? Tell me,”you ask through his mind numbing thrusts.

Terry’s breathing grows ragged as he pounds into you, lost in the incredible feeling of your tight wet pussy enveloping his dick. “Baby, it’s like pure sunshine. Wrapping around me like wet velvet, and gripping me so tight, fuck. You were fucking made for me Blaire, there’s no way I’m letting you go after this.” He leans over you, his chest pressing against yours as he continues to drive into you with increasing urgency.

Terry’s hand slides up to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp and arch beneath him, “That’s it, take it all, baby.” His grips on your throat tightens slightly, his fingers flexing against your skin as he grinds deeply into your pussy.

You don’t even know your first name. Terry fucking every last braincell out of your mind. Nothing leaving your lips but sobs, whimpers, and moans. He pistons into you even harder, the sounds of skin meeting skin echoing throughout your room. “I’m not gonna last much longer babygirl. Let me fill this pussy up, mark you as mine. No one else gets to taste this sweet pussy but me from here on out. Understood?”

Terry’s words unleash another mind searing orgasm, your eyes roll into the back of your head as your pussy pulses around Terry’s length. Your world erupts in color and flashes of light as you float outside your body. A broken moan leaves his lips, and with one final brutal thrust Terry buries himself to the hilt to release ropes of his sticky warm cum inside you. “Mine,” he groans into your neck, his voice raw with possessiveness as he spills his load into your willing body.

Terry collapses on top of you, being sure not to crush you with his full weight. After a moment, he rolls off and pulls you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. “You did great, baby,” he praises, stroking your hair soothingly. He presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his expression softening, “I wasn’t too rough was I?”

You shake your head, a dazed smile on your lips, “You were perfect, Daddy. Next time don’t drive somewhere else, I was dying waiting for you.”

Terry chuckled, pulling you impossibly closer,”Got it, you want me to run you a bath?”

“Please?” you asked, body too spent to get up and do it yourself.

Terry gently pulls out and places a quick kiss on your lips before raising up in all his naked glory. You feel yourself start to drift off as you stare at his ass, a small smirk on your face at another role play success between you and your boyfriend. Before long, the sound of running water lulls you into a brief slumber.

THE END.

OKAAAAAAYYYY! So tell me what y’all think in the comments! I love chatting with you guys! Thank you so so much for consuming my work.

UNTIL NEXT TIME.

TEE <3

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