#Tattered Shorts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tonycries · 6 months ago

Text

Sl*t Me Out!

Synopsis. Sometimes, it’s so good that you can’t help but run away from it. Sometimes, he just can’t stop.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected, really needy boys, creampíe, exhíbitionism (Nanami’s), bréeding, rough séx, cúmplay, pússyslappíng (Geto’s), breaking the bed, true form Sukuna, dp, o deníal (Choso’s), overstím, finger suckíng, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.8k

A/N. *Smooches your forehead* Have a good day.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Break (you)

“You’re hah- lucky I caught you in bed, doll.” Toji pants into your open mouth. Lazily pulling aside your sopping wet pajama pants to greedily eye the mess of slick. The way your puffy folds were bulging and struggling to take him, “You’ve got no idea.”

You’re gasping as he reels back to spit, once. Twice. The steady stream of saliva hitting your sloppy hole straight on, feeling anything but lucky with how mean his fat tip was hitting your cervix. Over and over. “L-lucky?”

And oh, Toji could feel your gummy walls clenching around him like nothing before, that flimsy little outfit of yours sure to have him snapping sooner rather than later.

“Mhmm…” he hums, nosing at your neck. Finger curling tightly around your shorts - as if to tear. To break. “Sooo fuckin’-” The sharp rip of fabric echoing in your hazy brain, just in time with the loud slam! of Toji’s hand down on the creaking headboard. “-lucky.”

Crack!

“Shit.”

And then you’re pressed against the cool wall before you can even register what’s happening. Shivers running down your spine - all the way down to where Toji was still buried in your dripping cunt.

Ruthless. Fucking you so filthy. Big hands cupping your ass, holding you up so high where he was standing, your ankles locked around his toned waist as if on instinct. And your pants oh, tattered and drenched - thrown all the way somewhere near the broken bed.

“Toji!” you squeal, blinking away the big fat tears in your eyes to look over his broad shoulders. Easy, with the way he was shoving you further and further up the wall with each harsh thrust. “The- the bed. You broke it.”

“What about it?” He lifts his head up to meet your glassy eyes, hips still relentless, “M’jus’ fucking you right, doll.”

Whining, “You’re so-”

And before you can give him a piece of your mind, he’s loosening his grip on your ass. Letting gravity slide you deeper and deeper down his rock-hard cock. Inch by fucking inch. All the way until your swollen folds were hitting his heavy balls.

Keening at the sheer stretch, the addictive feeling of the curve of his dick massaging all the right spots. Like he was pushing into your stomach, your lungs, everywhere in a way that had you keening. Hips stuttering and pushing so bruisingly back, back, back-

“Oh? What’s this?” It’s that dangerous little tone of Toji’s voice that has you suddenly registering your nails clawing down his pecs, leaving angry red marks. Your feet flat against the wall like you were trying so pathetically to escape. And one look in Toji’s eyes told you that was the last thing you’d be doing. “Funny. Real funny, doll.”

Ah, but amused was the last thing he sounded.

That tiny scar at the corner of his mouth curling at your breathless pleas as he steps away from the wall. Leaving you completely at his mercy.

“D-dressing like that and-” he chuckles, holding you up so easily like you’re weightless. The muscles in his arms rippling, abs burning as he bounces you so sluttily on his cock. “-acting like you can ngh- run away. Hahah, better keep this pretty cunt still, doll.” Sure to leave lewd marks all over you, his twitching balls on your cunt, fingers on your ass. “Cause if I said m’gonna fuck you right- hah- m’gonna fuck you right.”

“Please- Toji–” you squeal, like a broken record. Your legs dangling in the air, cunt sucking him all in so sloppily. “Please please please please-”

“How cute. Yeah, beg f’me more.”

Not even bothering to think about running away now - you know you couldn’t. Instead clutching at his soft hair - his shoulders - his biceps - anything and everything to try and keep some semblance of sanity. “-please- Ngh- Please let me cum.”

And then Toji’s biting down on your beck with a strangled groan. Hard. Right above your racing pulse, like he wanted to draw blood. Or worse. Tightening, losing every scrap of sanity each time your gummy walls milked him so-

“Forget the bed.” he manages to grit out, ragged. Each word punctuated by such a heavy, mean thrust. “Cause you’re gonna fuck- feel real unlucky next to it.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - “Don’t hang up.”

It was the first thing that came out of your husband’s mouth.

As soon as he walked downstairs to you wandering the kitchen in the dead of the night, on the phone with your absolute asshat of a boss calling you to talk about your upcoming project. For the third night in a row. For what reason - you didn’t know. And Nanami didn’t care.

Because not too long later, you find yourself bent over the counter. Your boss’s droning rambles in one ear, Nanami breathing hotly against the other. Flimsy shorts pulled just enough to the side so that Nanami’s stuffing your snug cunt so sinfully full.

Bunching up your - his - oversized button-up to fuck back your sloppy his bruisingly to meet his. Pulling you like some slut onto his swollen cock.

“Don’t hang up, my love.” he’s running a long index down your arched spine. Already knowing the way you’d shiver loud enough that that bastard on the other end of the line would hear, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”

You flinch - both from the way he was spitting out profanities into your ear like sweet nothings, and from the way he bends his knees. Angling your hips to stretch out all the right spots, weeping tip alternating between bullying your cervix, your g-spot, your cervix, your-

“Hellooooo, did you hear what I said about that client’s request?”

Ah, right.

“Y-yeah- totally-” you’re gasping, jaw sagging open as Nanami’s hips become more rigorous. Having you such a mess with the way he was getting bigger - stretching your gummy walls more sinfully - with each thrust. “T-tell them we’ll um- carry it out-”

And oh how it ticked Nanami off to see his poor girl working overtime, no matter the fact that he was the one that told you to stay on call. That furrow between his brows growing with each passing second.

“Mhm, the documents will be-” The sentence dies in your throat as Nanami reaches down to play with your ravaged clit, drawing messy, frenzied little patterns- no-

Your eyes widen, the phone almost slipping out of your hand - and it does, only later do you realize that Nanami is the gentleman that slips it into his hand. Holding up your phone for you while he fucks you on the other line like an animal.

Because shit Nanami Kento wasn’t just drawing any old pattern on your pretty clit. He was drawing a quick, methodical K-E-N-T-O-K-E-N-T-

“Shit- fuck fuck fuck-” he grunt, low and gravelly. “Squeezin’ around me so tight. So good.” Hips stuttering at the pure heaven he was feeling, ”Does my girl like this? Like being listened to?” Harder on your clit, “Ya love it, huh?”

“K-Ken…”

“Are you okay, you sound…sick.” your boss’s voice is grating against your ears.

“Y-yes I’m-” It’s too much. Nanami’s pelvis hitting your ass, spearing you so rough against his cock. So sloppily fucking away whatever’s left of his sanity - fingers just as erratic. “Fine.” You could just scream, but instead, you settle for hiking a knee up on the counter, pulling away, trying desperately to ease the relentless abuse of his hips. “Totally fine.”

And for all your years being loved by Nanami, you’d never have expected his strained, “Hah, you sure about that?” Only briefly stopping his little K-E-N-T-O-K- to loop a strong arm underneath your knee - baring your glistening pussy for him to admire from behind. “Because it looks like you’re running away. N’ I won’t be happy if you’re trying to escape your dear husband, my love.”

“N-no…”

“Is someone else there? Who are you talking to?”

Caging you. Perhaps even punishing you for taking so long on this call. And you’re not even standing at this point, being held up so easily by him. So easy for him to crane his neck over and greedily prey at the way your pretty pussy was swallowing him up. In and out in and out in and-

“Answer him, darling.” Nanami murmurs for you, hips slowing down just enough that the slapping of his toned pelvis wouldn’t be completely heard. “Be a good lil’ wife n’ answer f’me.”

“Jus’ a…dog-” You glare at his deep, baritone huff of laughter. Face heated where he was pressing your phone screen against you, “A needy one.”

“Ah, well. I know how dogs are.” God, how you wish this could end soon - would do anything for it to end soon. “So I trust that you’ll be there sharp for the meeting with the client tomorrow?”

“Y-yeah I’ll-” your eyes are screwing shut. Throwing yourself fully and utterly helplessly to the harsh tempo of Nanami’s cock. Like he was claiming you from the inside out - all the way from your quivering cunt to your hazy response, “-come.”

And thank fuck it was Nanami holding up the phone, because it’s all you can do to not fucking throw it across the kitchen as you cum. So hard and violent, almost. “Shit- Ken- m’cumming- oh- oh my god.”

Breaking up whatever composure you’d built up for so long as you milk his cock dry, clenching so tight that it was almost difficult to fuck up into you. Nothing but Nanami on your mind now - just Nanami. As expected.

“Hello? Are you still there??”

“Sorry, but my wife won’t be working overtime. For you, at least.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Noise complaint

Geto knew that no one else was home at this time - just you and him, splayed out on your queen-sized bed. He knew that maybe he should tell you this as he splits you apart on his massive cock, eyeing the way you’re grappling at your kiss-bitten lips, trying so desperately to not let your slutty moans through.

But why would he?

“S-Sugu-” you manage to whisper, barely even audible over the obscene sounds of your gummy walls milking the fucking soul out of him. The squelches so sloppy. So loud. Mattress creaking at the sheer force, “They’ll- ngh- hear..”

“What was that?” Geto leers down at you, lazily thumbing opening your swollen folds further, bulging and clenching around his cock. “Can’t hear you over this talkative pussy, doll. You gotta ha- speak up.”

And it’s all you can do to crack open the trembling wall of your fingers, blinking away the tears in your eyes to look up at your boyfriend pleadingly.

“We can’t mm- fuck- w-wake the girls up.” So utterly difficult to get the sentence out when it seemed like he was fully fucking it out of your brain. Angry tip kissing all your sweet spots, hitting you after every word falling from your lips, “Hafta- ngh- be quiet.”

And fuck - the look in his eyes. Long, inky hair falling over his broad shoulders, curtaining such a dark glint in his greedy gaze.

Flitting between your desperate, fucked-out expression and down, down, down at the way your dripping cunt was swallowing him so good. Letting him disappear so easily into your heavenly cunt - so mean, that Geto doesn’t want to slow down. Not even a little bit.

“Well…” he purrs, ringed fingers cool on your throbbing clit. Coating them in your sweet sweet juices before moving to your stomach, your sensitive nipples - all the way up to your glossy, swollen lips, “Let me help you then, gorgeous.”

But something in that deep tone told you he wanted to do anything but.

Not wasting a second more before shoving two fingers inside, pressing right at the back of your hot tongue in a way that has your gagging, tears stinging your eyes. A loud moan stuck in your throat and-

Smack!

It was sharp - fleeting, even - but your entire body is jolting at the feeling of Geto’s thick fingerpads smacking your poor cunt. Right above your ravaged clit.

“Ngh- S-Sugu!”

“S-Sugu!” he mocks your moans, voice higher than usual. “Thought you wanted hngh- to be quiet, gorgeous?” he grins, chuckling softly at the way you’re half-lucidly pushing at his rippling biceps - nails leaving neat little marks as you’re torn between pushing him away and wanting more more more- “How are you gonna do that if you’re like this, huh?.”

You keen as Geto chokes you on his fingers deeper, having you slobbering and drooling all over his rings, saliva dripping down the corner of your mouth. Mixing with the tears rolling down your cheek, “Pl-ease- mmpf- Sugu.”

And God, he almost cracks right then and there at the way you’re squeezing his swollen cock so hard it was like you wanted to never let him go. Feeling him getting bigger inside you, hot tip pressing deeper into your plushy g-spot.

“Try not to scream, then.”

One arm drags you straight across the soaked sheets, bunching up at your hips as he pulls you impossibly deeper onto his aching cock. “And don’t you dare think of running.”

Caging you as his hips become so brutal on yours, heavy balls smacking you in time with the stars in your eyes - the muffled moans falling from your mouth despite all that. Sloppy. Merciless.

“Fuck! M’mpf so- close–” your eyes dart to the closed door, hoping - praying - that no one would walk in right now. Because if your daughters-

Smack!

“All eyes on me, gorgeous.” Distantly, you wonder whether Geto’s fingers would leave marks on your clit for tomorrow. “Such filthy filthy moans from a sweet mouth, huh?” he grunts, chest heaving with the force of his thrusts. “Right?” Pressing down on your tongue to have you nodding deliriously at him, “Heh, cute. Even cuter when you hah- try to hide your moans like-” Running quick, harsh circles on your clit. Faster. Harder. “-this.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming - just that your body’s arching off the bed, like it was trying so hard to be one with Geto’s.

Vision spotty, blood roaring in your ears, a sharp shout of “Fuck! Sugu m’cumming-” leaving you with reckless abandon.

And you couldn’t even care at this point - didn’t have the capacity to as Geto fucks you through your high, hips relentless. Playing with your pretty clit. Swirling lewd little circles at the same time as his fingers in your mouth.

“I uh- forgot by the way.” You hear him murmur through your orgasmic haze, not a shred of apology in his words. “The girls are at a sleepover.” Hips just smacking into yours, soft lips kissing the corner of your mouth - even when it drops in disbelief. “So we have alllll night to try n’ get another noise complaint from the neighbors.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - The tease

“Oh, shit-” Choso throws his head back, dark strands of hair sticking to his forehead. “Jus’ a little long- longer. Fuck, jus’ a bit more.”

And if Choso was wrecked, then it was nothing compared how fucking dumb you were being fucked. Hips all stuttering and drooling sloppily on the mattress, barely able to let out anything but incoherent little babbles of, “Ngh- please- too much.” by the third time he’s denying you your orgasm.

“Jus’ some more- fuck- baby, a bit longer.”

You cry as his pace only gets more merciless, having your snug cunt suck him up all the way till you were kissing that creamy ring around his base. “Wanna….”

“What’s what?” he’s leaning in closer, a mocking smirk playing on those kiss-bitten lips. And it’s not like Choso was expecting you to form a coherent sentence at this point - not with the way he was only bullying his cock into your gummy walls harder. More purposeful.

“Ngh- please—” you’re dragging out your moans, words slurring as evidence of how long this has been going on. “Wanna cum.”

So, honestly, to him the fact that you could still speak was like a personal insult.

But absolutely nothing compared to the way your hand was dipping down to your poor, forgotten clit. Because you wanted - needed - so badly to cum. To finally have your soft fingertips barely just kissing at the swollen, sensitive nub - before Choso’s smacking your hand away.

“Fuck- What do you oh- fuck should be illegal for you to squeeze me that way- what do you think you’re doing, baby?”

And the only response he gets is a broken sob, big fat tears rolling down your pouty cheeks. As if on auto-pilot, you’re scrambling onto your elbows, arms straining to push. To escape. To finally make yourself cum because Choso was being so mean-

“Hah? No no no no-” he tilts his head, teeth baring in a mean smile. Easily moving your limp arms like a ragdoll to pin them above your head. Lacing his fingers with yours as you let out little cries begging to cum - ones you probably don’t even realize are leaving you. “W-where do you’re ngh- taking this pretty pussy?”

“Oh- Wanna cum. So badly.” you bat your lashes up at him,

“But if we hngh- cum, this’ll end.” his voice, almost a whine. “Wanna feel you- feel this tight pussy forever. Please? Jus’ some more?”

“Please, Cho–”

“...”

“Ch-Cho?”

Oh, you were an evil, evil little minx. That nickname has his weeping, fat head kissing your cervix, your g-spot - everywhere faster. Harder. Stretching you out like such a slut on his painfully hard cock.

“Aww, my poor baby.” Choso loops two strong arms around your thighs, pulling you closer - locking you in place. Cooing, “My poor, poor baby. Using that nickname.” Kissing at your teary cheeks, stumbling and messy. Just a dragged-out touch of his pretty lips, runny eyeliner smudging against your skin. “That desperate, huh? You wan’ cum that hah- fucking bad, huh?”

It’s all you can do to give a stupid little nod. Jolting as his hot tongue licks a long, languid stripe at the corner of your mouth. The salty, sinful taste of your tears sending Choso’s eyes rolling to the back of his head, and him straight to heaven.

Gritting out a strangled, “Fine.”

And if you thought Choso was mean before then you weren’t ready for the way his speed picks up, hips hitting yours so bruisingly. Running only on you, the way your gummy walls were desperately trying to suck him back up with each thrust, and you-

“Oh- oh my god, Cho-” you jolt as he snakes down one hand to toy with your throbbing clit. Weeping and glossing all over him as Choso rolls it between two fingers. “Shit shit shit- m’so close.”

“Yeah?” his voice breaks a little at the end, as unsteady and sloppy as his cock now. Stretching out your plushy walls, “Gonna cum? This fuck- oh, baby. This pretty pussy is gonna cum f’me?”

And you can’t even think to answer his question - because you are. Cumming again and again all over Choso’s massive, unforgiving cock.

“Shit- oh, baby yeah. Look how much this pretty pussy is cumming.” Thighs shaking, fucking your hips up in shallow, lewd little grinds to meet the sloppy staccato of his - in time with the urgent ramblings falling from his lips, “This f’me? All f’me?”

That tone of his voice surprised - disbelieving, even like he couldn’t rip his eyes off from the way you were clenching around him in sensitivity.

Only when your climax bates, your eyes snap open. Finally registering the way his hand jerks away from your clit, hips so out of control. Getting faster - showing absolutely no sign of stopping. “Cho- what-”

“Shhh shhhh- baby. I ngh- said I’d make you cum. Not that I’d hah- stop, right?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Double trouble

To Ryomen Sukuna, it was simple - if his cute lil’ slut can take one, then you can take both. Or, well, he’ll just have to make it fit.

“Please please please-” you gasp, big fat tears streaming down your face, thighs twitching over where you were all splayed out so prettily on Sukuna’s large lap. “-s’too much. Too big.”

You could feel him grinning into the crook of your neck, sharp canines biting right over where your rapid pulse was.

His hot breath ghosting your ear, “Too big?” Eyes flitting down to your poor cunt, all gaping and drooling sloppily over his fat, angry head, “Then how come you take it all the time, brat?”

You let out a frustrated whine, “B-because that’s one and this is-” Gulping at the two massive cocks kissing your puffy folds, both so intimidatingly long and angry. Thick enough that you knew you wouldn’t be able to walk for weeks. “...two”

“So?”

Both of you watch in wonder as he holds you up slightly in midair by just the arms, slowly easing you down, down, down onto his cock. Like you were some ragdoll. And if you were in any better state of mind, you’d marvel at how languidly Sukuna was fucking up into you.

Letting your sweet sweet juices coat his rock-hard cocks, inching inside your sloppy hole deeper. And deeper. Getting you used to the dizzying stretch, the thump! thump! thump! of his prominent veins inside your tight pussy. Molding your gummy walls around one. Then the other. Then both at once.

And shit.

Shit, you didn’t know if you’d make it out alive.

“Oh- hngh- Kuna!” you sob, but you can’t rip your eyes away from the way your hips were stuttering down so sloppily into his. Short, sharp grinds that doesn’t even have to have Sukuna fucking into you, just watching in awe as you milk his cocks more. “You’re in so- deep- fuck- oh my god-”

“Jus’ ‘Kuna’ works fine.” he chuckles at his own joke, lacing two fingers on top of your head to stretch you out impossibly more on his dicks. Because fuck you were gorgeous like this - but so slow. “This all you can do?”

Your lips fall into a little pout that has him twitching wildly inside you - barely even halfway in, but feeling like he was pushing into your fucking lungs already.

“Heh, don’t be like that now.” he shakes his head in amusement as you scramble to grab ahold of his hair - his arms - the throne, anything to keep whatever is left of your sanity. “You don’ want this all to be for nothing, right?” Hips jerking like you wanted to run but of course, Sukuna couldn’t have that - not when he had you like this. “Here.”

Yeah, you definitely weren’t making it out alive.

Through your teary vision, you make out the hand that Sukuna is offering you - and before you can even think, you’re biting down. Hard. Sure to draw blood if this wasn’t the king of curses himself.

“Fuuuck, yeah. Atta girl. Suckin’ me up so well.” he groans, hips bucking up so meanly. “Let it all out. Heh, see if you can draw blood n’ let me ngh- take care of this tight- pussy.” Letting you take it out on his hand, teeth leaving such cute marks he’ll coo at later - but never admit to. “Said I’ll make it fit n’ I’ll make it-” Bouncing you up and down, legs dangling at his muscled thighs. Throbbing cocks probing deeper with each word he spits out. More calculated. More impatient. “-fit.”

And fuck was it a sight to see.

“Hah, what did I tell ya, brat?”

Sukuna can’t help but sit back to look at the heavenly view of you fucked dumb on his massive cocks - and fuck was it a sight to see.

To trail a finger down right to where his fat heads were so obviously bulging against your stomach. Buried inside your sinful pussy all the way until your swollen folds were kissing at his heavy balls. One weeping tip nudging at your cervix, the other curving just right against your sweet spot. Feeling your plushy walls still desperately trying to adjust, pulsing so maddeningly - or was that him?

Doesn’t matter.

Because Sukuna is gritting out a ragged, “Now the real fun begins.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Again and again

“Jus’ one more sweetheart- promise.”

Does it really count as being mean if he uses just a little bit of reverse cursed technique while absolutely ruining you in bed? Gojo certainly doesn’t think so. It’s just…how could he not?

And you definitely don’t have any other explanation as to why your boyfriend’s got you limp and folded so easily into a mating press, fucking his cum into you for the fourth time tonight. Hips still so unforgiving. Merciless.

“Merciless, hah?” And fuck, you barely even have the time to register the fact that you babbled that out loud. Because Gojo’s big arms are spreading your quaking legs so wide open for him, “Creative.” Long fingers deftly giving your clit a long, hard roll, “Real creative. That’s a ngh- new one. What else has your cute, fucked-out mind got f’me, sweetheart?”

Some tiny, sensible part of Gojo knows that he should maybe slow down - give you a chance to fucking answer. Maybe stop himself from dancing a soft hand down to your stomach - for the second time tonight.

Stop himself from smirking at the knowing wonder in your eyes as he presses down. Hard. pretty pink lips falling into a soft oh! as you coat him in his own cum.

Glossy and so, so sloppy.

Everywhere.

“Oh, you naughty girl.” he’s grinning, pooling the obscene puddle of cum seeping into the sheets on his fingertips. “You naughty, naughty-” Smearing it all over your bulging cunt, tracing white patterns over your puffy clit. “-girl. How are you still making this much of a mess everywhere after so long?”

“Ngh- because you’re- you’re so-” you sob, and he’s speeding his hips up. Weeping tip kissing all those sweet spots he’s mapped out so well.

“So what?”

“So mean, Toru!”

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” But he didn’t feel one bit sorry for your poor, overfilled cunt. Nodding so mockingly gently. M’so ‘mean’ fucking this cute cunt. Usin’ jus’ a bit of reverse cursed technique.”

Fuck, the way you’re biting down on his right collarbone, hard - was adorable. Sure to have drawn blood if it wasn’t for the technique keeping the two of you from breaking bones. And okay, Gojo guesses he deserved that.

“Ouch.” he’s clutching at his heart, acting so dramatically wounded - as if he wasn’t the one doing the bruising. Leaving marks on your ass, your tits, maybe even your poor cunt. “So feisty. M’heartbroken, y’know.” Voice dropping to such a low purr, looking up at you through those long lashes. “N’ the only way to fix it is by cumming f’me fuck- o-once more.”

And Gojo wonders whether you could feel it still filling you up inside - his cum. Whether you can feel the way it dribbles down the side of your thighs as you kick your feet, desperately trying to sit up.

Feet flattening on the mattress because it’s too much. And you’re too sensitive - too good, with the jolts of electricity coming down from Gojo’s fingertips. The power dancing over your skin.

But, shit - why’d you ever think you’d be a match for the strongest?

“S’gonna be too much-” you squeal as he’s pulling you closer into his arms, letting your head loll into his lips. Pushing your legs up further - till they were pressing so tight against your tits. Shifting his hips more purposefully - right at the angle to hit that sweet spot that had you crying out in ecstasy, “Dunno if I can, Toru.”

“Now now now, don’t you dare run away.” his half-hooded gaze is almost crazed now. “Because you can cum. And you will.”

“I-” you choke, feeling like Gojo was pushing all the way into your lungs. “I will-”

Each push of his angry, weeping tip having you see stars behind your eyes. Abs burning, white strands of hair falling over his eyes - glowing ever-so-slightly in a way that neither of you had the capacity to notice at the moment.

“You will.” he’s moaning, like a mantra. “You will you will you will- hngh- fuck! You will.”

Each word spilling from Gojo’s lips only having his achingly cock twitch wildly inside you. Massaging your plushy walls, stretching them out so. Milking the fucking soul out of him, until it was almost difficult to fuck you into the mattress. To have your cunt pulling him back like she didn’t want to part.

So, so desperate.

Exactly the way he knew you did when you were close - dangerously so. So he’s whispering into your open mouth, “Cum f’me, sweetheart.”

You don’t know who cums first - just that you’re seeing a flash of white, your heart thumping all the way in your ears, a rapid, urgent cadence at which he was spilling into your quivering cunt. Having gone over the edge again. Warm - so warm with each rope after rope of seed, painting your gummy walls white, your puffy folds slobbering all over him.

Only adding to the mess as he fucks his cum deeper. Again and again and again - fucking into you like he was out of control. And he probably was.

“Hey, so….y’know how six is my lucky number?”

A/N. First time writing true form Sukuna, how are we feeling, hm?

Plagiarism not authorized.

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fushiguho · 6 days ago

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✰ drunk sex with satoru is soooo sloppppyyy and wet and aghh! 😵‍💫

cw fem!reader, sex under the influence, sloppy sex, spit, unprotected, spanking, creampie, breeding kink go brrrr

empty wine glasses are strewn about the wooden coffee table, trace remnants of pinot noir swirling the bottom of the dishes. what was meant to be a wholesome night of tipsy jeopardy and anagrams turned into a sloppy, drunken fit of greedy hands and utter desperation.

the two of you are entangled in a fervid, knotted mess amidst the soft carpet of his living room. tattered garments of clothing droop haphazardly from your writhing bodies. your flimsy, silken sleep shorts are mindlessly tugged just below the plush skin of your thighs, bunching around your knees as satoru nudges your panties aside with a blind hand.

you kiss eachother silly, drunkenly moaning and pulling at one another like two feral cats in a barren alleyway. two long fingers are messily gliding between your swollen lips before brazenly spreading them apart. a throaty little whine leaves you, hips bucking against the hand that paws at you.

“uhuh f— fuuckk.” is all he can manage between little gasps of air, his breath warm and narcotically sweet. “off… take this off,” he murmurs impatiently, hooking his lithe fingers beneath the hem of your shirt, “god, let me seeeee, i wanna see you — wanna taste ‘em.”

as you allow him to yank your shirt over your head, the prettiest cry is dragging from your gaped mouth and his cock twitches. hurriedly, satoru’s warm tongue is lolling out, latching against one of your hardening nipples and sucking. he groans greedily as he laps against your skin, swapping between your breasts with fervid eagerness.

“so pretty,” he babbles drunkenly, mindlessly pushing the fat of your breasts together to lick along the expanse of your soft, perspiring skin, “such a good, pretty girl… god, i wanna swallow you whole.”

a breathy little giggle interrupts your fit of whimpers, head spinning as your fingers thread throughout his mussed ivory hair, dragging him closer. with a whimper, your head is deliriously craning back, pressing into the lavishly plush carpet. gossamers of treacly saliva connect his bottom lip to your skin as he pulls away, gasping. satoru trails his lips up your exposed throat, sloppily kissing his way to your parted mouth in a slick, slovenly mess.

“open that mouth for me,” he mutters against the corner of your lips, remnants of overpriced alcohol on his breath, “i wanna see your tongue, stick it out gooood for me.”

like the obedient girl he knows you are, you’re dropping your jaw and presenting your tongue to him. a gurgled sound leaves him, his body shuddering from your unrelenting obedience. between words of praise and heaving pants, he’s leaning down and drooling onto the plush center of your tongue. a deep, sensual groan belts from the pit of his sternum as he leans even closer to fully take your tongue into his own mouth, sucking on it with a satisfied hum of pleasure.

you possess half the brain to kiss him back properly as he envelops your lips yet again, messily kissing you into the floor of his high rise apartment with little recollection of how it even got to this point. satoru can hardly help the way he’s tugging at the waistband of his sweats, but he drunkenly forgets to undo the knotted bow so he whines impatiently as he struggles.

“fuuuck, help me!” desperately, he’s reaching for your hand as he whines, pulling it over his stiff cock so that you can somehow untie the tight little bow at the top of his sweatpants. “god, take them off before i fucking cum.”

eventually, you manage to get the hem of his sweats just below his twitching cock and with a low, droning groan of relief, satoru is woozily pulling you on top of him. he watches drunkenly as you pull your sodden panties aside before raising your hips above his drooling cock head.

that poor, weeping cunt drools down the length of his cock. warm strings of pretty arousal leak from your tightening hole, filthily marrying with the amalgamated precum that lewdly seeps from the swollen head of satoru’s cock. god, it’s a fucking mess — the both of you are practically spilling over with honeyed arousal and overbearing lust as you paw at one another.

abruptly, those large, greedy hands are pulling you down, down, down. satoru stuffs you to an unapologetic hilt in one fell swoop, savoring the obscene way your cunt tightens around him, wordlessly begging for more. he listens to your body’s aching cries of pleasure as he drags you off his cock, but it’s only to plop you right back down again with a shared mewl of rapture.

“oh my god, c’mereee.” it’s almost growl as he yanks you closer with a little more force than intended, his desperate hips beginning to rut beneath you. “kiss me s… so sloppy, i wanna taste that mouth, fuck.”

two big hands are reaching for the sides of your face, dragging you impossibly closer. you whine so prettily into his mouth as his tongue laps and glissades over yours, rivulets of drool spilling from the corners of his lips. wanton whimpers drip from his unabashed mouth, his pretty boy noises like kindle to a rampant flame.

“fuck, 'm so dizzy.” you mumble, a thin gossamer of candied saliva tethering your bottom lips together, marrying you as one. “your cock feels soooo good… soo p-perfect.”

satoru’s mouth gapes, those messy, ivory brows knitting together and screwing his face up in a way that makes your stomach sink. big hands are squeeezing the fat of your ass, lengthy fingers digging so deliciously into your warm skin that you let off short little gasp. a loud, earsplitting thwack! follows, resounding off the walls as his hand lands against your skin. the contact has your poor cunt clenching so hard around his cock that it’s evoking a long, guttural cry from his throat.

“hit me again…” it’s merely a breath lost between your shared pants, “fuck! hit me again, sato. do it a-again!”

a drunk little giggle leaves him, but he does it again, and again, and again — messily smacking the fat of your ass before soothingly kneading the raw skin with the palm of his hand. your head hurts trying to make sense of the prickling pain as it’s quickly being pacified by the same hand.

“c’mon, fuck me good.” he urges, shamelessly pulling you back and forth across his aching cock.

and maybe later you’ll blame the alcohol for the way you’re sloppily bouncing up and down the entire length of his cock, tongue hanging from the corner of your mouth like a bitch in heat, but none of that matters now. you can hardly help the hands that are running over your breasts, sluttily pulling your sensitive nipples between the pads of your fingers as your head dumbly slumps to the side.

satoru let’s off a throaty little groan, pushing your damp panties further into the crevice of your thigh, desperate to see more of that wet, sloppy pussy. greedily, he’s spreading your lips, a heavy thumb catching your swollen clit in a frenzied slew of unintelligible shapes and it’s pulling your jaw slack.

“mmh such a messy cunt… look at t-that.” he blathers, pupils dilating at the sight of his big thumb effortlessly gliding over your twitching clit, aimlessly slipping around the bundle of nerves. “did losing to me in jeopardy make you this wet, huhhh?”

you shake your head stupidly, grinding your pussy down onto him as you hold his cock deeeep. “you… those fucking sweatpants… the wine”

“fuck, the wine.” he affirms, nodding up to you in silent agreement. and it’s that same fucking wine that has him on the verge of unloading an obscene amount of cum inside of you with a rickety stutter of his hips. “gonna make me c— cuuum.” satoru chokes.

“cum inside of me.” it’s a timid whisper that tumbles past your lips faster than you can bring a hand over your mouth and gasp in your feigned incredulity.

that throbbing cock twitches. “f— fuuucck, stop d-don’t say that.” he dismisses half-heartedly, a nervous little laugh following his breathy words. “it’s just the wine, baby—hah, don’t say that… you don’t mean it.”

“please, baby? it’ll make me cum soo h-hard.” woozily, you’re dropping your head to pull his lips into a slow, filthy kiss — panting into the depths of his honeyed mouth as you whine so sluttily, begging for his seed. “wan’ you to get me pregnant.. ‘m so closeee. baby, please?”

the deep, gurgled sound that leaves his sore throat is purely a beacon of hope, he’s caving. pathetically. a hand is splaying across your throat before desperately dragging you closer. his fruitless protests are hopelessly lost, swallowed and forgotten in the endless of abyss of pleasure that is you.

“yeeeah? is that what you w-want? me to breed that perfect cunt?” it’s merely a growl, hotly mumbled against your lips, slick strands of saliva threading your mouths together before snapping with the growing distance. “will that make my pretty girl happy?”

you nod down to him, pretty brows furrowing in your crescendoing arousal as you rock your wobbly hips down against him. a heavy digit is steady on your clit, thumbing your poor cunt over and over and over, relentlessly tracing over the twitching bundle of nerves so many times that your back arches away from his touch.

“shiiiit, ‘m cumming… fuck fuck!” he hiccups, unsteady hips rutting against yours, fucking himself so unbelievably deep that he’s spilling out an obscene amount warm, viscous cum, marking your pulsing walls. “oh god, cum on it... cum around my cock and allll of that fucking cum like a good, sloppy girl.”

satoru gapes as you shudder and choke on your gasping breaths. he watches the narcotic jerk of your hips as you chase your orgasm, your head deliriously lolling back to dangle beyond your shoulders. god and you sound so fucking pretty, just whining and gasping and humming out beautiful sighs of ecstasy like a beaten record.

your stomach tightens, core aching with an undeniable need as you cum around his messy cock, the pad of his thumb steadily rubbing you through it, teasingly following the unpredictable buck of your hips. if he were of half the brain, he'd cum again, stuffing you with yet another filthy load of cum but, you’ve fucked each other dumb enough.

“n– never buying that shit again,” he murmurs breathily, chest heaving as he pulls you into a warm, sweaty embrace. “you talk too crazy.”

you shrug, an impish grin kissing your lips. “now what did we learn about buying wine off of suguru?”

"never fucking do it."

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crazycatgentleman · 1 year ago

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anyone else ever get dressed, get out the house, look down, and realize you dressed like adam sandler

#nikes with tall socks #faded sweat shorts #tattered thrifted shirt #just need a puffer jacket

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seeliemansi · 1 month ago

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Mr. Crawling hated Bath Time and Showers

Warnings: 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, hint of SMUT, ghost revenge. It's not that bad.

my first post was flagged. dunno if it was reported but seriously?

🧼

No thoughts but forcing Mr. Crawling to take a shower. He has been crawling around since you met him and you have noticed his dirty and tattered clothes. There wasn't a problem when you two were still in that old abandoned building. But in your apartment? Being unclean is a no go. Just like a dog who hates baths, Mr. Crawling hated the idea to the point that he refused to go out of your closet. He had been repeating the same words as you try to pry the doors open.

"You not love me?" "Why bath?" "Not love me that's why bath?" "I like you but you not like me."

You admit it was kind of adorable. It was the same when he panicked when asked if he wanted his hair to be cut short.

You are getting out of nowhere and so with a promise, you told him that he can ask you of anything if he takes a shower. Just like offering a dog a treat during training. It took a lot of reassurance, but in the end, he allowed himself to bathe. If it was that easy.

And just like a vengeful dog that shakes its fur, to spray the excess water on its owner - Mr Crawling did the same.

He flinches, and he jerks, splashing water all over your already small bathroom. And ultimately drenched you, when he strongly pulled you down with him after he freaked out when the hot water turned cold because he was taking too long. You have no choice but to take a shower as well or you'll get a cold.

You can't help the tick of annoyance when he sighs in content as you help dry his hair. His head is on your lap, and he seems refreshed and peaceful. If he wasn't so cute, you will probably get back at him. But he looks so clean, comfortable, and glowing with happiness.

Maybe next time.

Showers always make you feel drowsy. You blink slowly and feel relaxed as he looks up with a wide grin. You can't help but give him a peck on the lips and kiss on his forehead. Such a good boy.

You chuckle when you hear his infamous giggle. You were about to continue drying his hair when he quickly moved, grabbed your shoulders and forcefully pushed you down the couch.

"Done! Me treat!" He declared.

"What?"

He didn't even give you enough time to think when he suddenly held both of your legs and pulled you closer to him. You remind yourself to apologize to the neighbors if they complain about the noise.

He didn't even give you enough time to raise yourself using your elbow, when he raised both your legs up, put it on his shoulder, and giggled as he was face to face with your clothed core. You can feel his hot breath and you gasped when he sniffed you down there. His giggles reverberate as he teases you with an experimental lick.

"Shower here too. Wet."

Is all you remember him say as you felt a full blown shiver of want from your head to your toes. It will be a long night for sure.

He may be cute but Mr. Crawling can be extremely vengeful because you had a hard time walking the next day. He made sure that it wasn't only him who would crawl around. And weirdly enough, after that, he was the one who reminded you that he needed a shower.

#(⁠ʘ⁠ᴗ⁠ʘ⁠✿⁠) seelie writings #homicipher x mc #homicipher x you #homicipher game #homicipher #mr crawling #homicipher x reader #mr. crawling #mr crawling x reader #mr crawling x y/n #mr crawling x you #mr crawling x mc #mr. crawling x you #mr. crawling x reader

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lacy-oh-lacy · 2 months ago

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i genuinely need you to write something for rio vidal plzzzzzz i’ll take anything but your writing is perfect so id love for you to write something *cough* dominant jealous rio *cough*

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉'𝒔 𝒈𝒓𝒊𝒑

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

𝑨/𝑵: Omg thank you, Anon. You're too sweet 𖹭

𝑪𝑾: Fem!Reader, Dom!Rio, Jealous!Rio, Soft domming, knife play, biting, magical G!P, possessiveness

Contrary to all common sense, the quickest way to find yourself on Death’s radar was not through an act of death itself. Not by losing your life or taking another's…

No, it was through her girlfriend.

A stranger's lingering gaze or a friend's pda never escaped Rio’s attention, and a repeat offender, like oh say… that coworker of yours you were talking to at that very moment…

Well, they managed to make an enemy out of the force of nature that could usually pride herself on her indiscriminate apathy.

Rio lurked in the shadows outside your workplace, eyes darkening as that fool made you laugh.

She wasn't even two minutes late to pick you up, and already that snake was curling around you. Unbelievable.

You didn't think anything of it, Rio knew, but she could see in that man's eyes every disgusting thought he was having about you.

It made her sick, it made her burn.

Well, if the shades of purple littering your neck didn't clue him in to the fact that you were taken, she was beyond willing to do it herself.

Under the cover of darkness she shifted her attire with a thought, striding over in a new, clean-cut suit that made his own look like ratty hand-me-downs.

You perked up as soon as you noticed her and it made her heart leap. Your bright smile, your appreciative eyes taking in her new look…

He could never make you glow like that.

“Hey, Baby.”

Rio couldn't help a quick smile reserved only for you as she joined you under the streetlight, arm wrapping around your waist. “Hello, my love. Sorry I'm late, work was murder.”

She turned to face your companion, with a cold and withering stare. A look that could take years off a life.

“Who's your friend?”

You could never truly estimate the depths of Rio's jealousy but you knew that look well enough to know you had to get her out of there.

And you knew it well enough to not be surprised by the intensity she brought to the bedroom that night.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“I missed you today.”

Rio replied in her softest tone, someone less attuned to her might not have even heard the boundless resentment living within it, “You seemed like you were enjoying yourself.”

Leisurely, she traced her knife from your jaw, down your neck, applying a spine-tingling pressure just short of breaking skin.

“Yeah well, that new guy I work with is pretty fun.” You said breathily, not biting. Her blade caught on the collar of your shirt, lingering above your hammering heart, and Rio laughed.

Never before had such stubborn brattiness looked so good on someone, but you were just something else… teasing her even with a knife to your chest…

She cut through the fabric in one rough slash. “Careful, Lover. Wouldn't want to shorten such a fun man's life span, would you?”

“You wouldn't do that.” you challenged

“Try me. I'd do anything to keep you.”

The sincerity of the statement should have frightened you, but it was intoxicating. To be the object of such devotion from Death herself was a head-spinning high that no drug, spell or new lover could match.

“You'll always have me, Rio.”

There was a pain to the look she gave you in return, a wound behind her eyes, but she found a smile for you before she circled behind you.

“I’d better.” She breathed in your ear, pulling the tatters of what used to be your shirt from your body.

The tip of her knife traveled down your spine, barely grazing your skin on a trail to your skirt, which she skillfully cut open, baring you to her completely.

“My pretty girl…”

Her hand smoothed over your ass-cheek with near reverence before disappearing between your legs.

You gasped, skin aflush, but all too soon you realized she wasn't done playing with you yet.

“Please.” You whimpered as her fingers slid across your folds, just short of where you needed them.

“Say my name.”

“Rio, please, I need you so bad.”

She drew a lazy circle on your clit and your breath hitched, “Well how can I say no to that?”

A tingling warmth followed her hand on your back as she pushed you forward, forcing your chest onto your dresser and you into a bend.

You barely noticed the hardness of the surface against your breasts. You couldn't concentrate over the thought of being so exposed to her, and even that died with your last remaining brain cells as you felt the tip of her cock against your entrance.

She could've gone right in, you were wet enough for her to, but she slowly dragged up and down your slick folds, cock head catching on your clit every time and setting your nerves ablaze.

“Rio.” You whined.

“So impatient.” She laughed. “Don't worry, Baby, I'll take care of you.”

With that she pushed through your centre, slowly and gently sinking inside of you, savoring every blissful moan you let out.

She very nearly lost herself as you jerked against her but she resisted the rough thrust you were so clearly asking for. Your pathetic, little mewls, music to her ears.

She bottomed out inside of you, letting you adjust, letting you enjoy being filled. Then quicker than you could process she pulled out and slammed back in.

You cried out, but Rio wasn't slowing down this time, pounding you again and again with deep, unapologetic thrusts.

“You're mine. You hear that? Say it.”

“I'm yours, Rio.” You choked out, voice bouncing with her pistoning hips.

“Yeah, you’re mine. My good girl.”

She leant forward, her breasts flush against your back, as she sank her teeth into your shoulder, leaving behind a delightful sting.

Rio wasn't usually one for quickies but tonight she'd make an exception. There was a desperation inside of her stronger than mere lust. She had to see you cum.

She twisted her arm around your hip so she could work your clit, rubbing in a frenzy. “Tell me you want me.”

“Want you. Need you.”

“Then cum for me Baby, I know you can do it.”

Rio was nothing short of amazing. The concentrated skill on your clit and the near supernatural speed of her thrusts unraveled you like only she could.

Your mouth fell open and your walls clenched around her in a strangling hold as lust threatened to burn you alive.

“God! Rio!”

You came all over her and right on cue she emptied her cock inside of you, filling you to your very core with what felt like neverending ropes of cum, trapped inside of you by her refusal to pull out.

“I'm never gonna let anyone else do this to you, baby.” She breathed out, mouth returning to your shoulder to lick over the bite mark she left. “Never, for all eternity, I'm yours, and you’re mine.”

#rio vidal x reader #rio vidal smut #agatha all along #agatha all along x reader #marvel x reader #marvel smut #mcu x reader #marvel imagine #rio vidal #aubrey plaza

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caffeinewitchcraft · 2 months ago

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AITA for being proud of my job as a regional Nightmare?

My sister told me she’s making her own post and that if I was so sure I wasn’t TA then I should make my own so here I am.

I’m a regional Nightmare. I’m very proud of how hard I worked to get here. Not many terrors in their 20s get this high up and it’s because I do the work. I get up at 8pm and I’m out in the woods grinding out those quotas until dawn. Sometimes I sleep out there in my uniform just so I can be the first on scene for the multi-part jobs. I’m efficient, I’m punctual, and I’m committed. My goal is to be a Cyptid by the time I’m 30 and, to do that, I have to stay on at all times.

As a result, I work a lot. I’m often not home for days at a time. I have a very strict training regimen and my time for friends and family is virtually nonexistent. That’s why when I do get the time to hang out, I prefer to spend my time intentionally. What I mean by that is that I don’t want to sit on a couch when I could be lifting weights. I don’t want to chill in the pool when I could be volunteering for new scares. I especially don’t want to gossip over tea when I could be getting overtime.

Last Saturday, my sister invited a bunch of family over to her house. My job in the Virginia woods fell through, so I decided to go. Silly (her childhood nickname) said she had something important to tell the family so I thought it wouldn’t be a waste of my time.

Key word: thought.

When I got to Silly’s house, I was surprised to see so many cars out front. Our parents were there and our older brother. The house was packed. There were cousins, aunts, uncles and a ton of people I didn’t know.

At first the event was fine. Silly’s always been a good cook (see, I know you’re reading this, Silly, and see? I do compliment you when do something actually good) and everyone was really enjoying the flank steak (though I did have to save it before she cooked it medium well). But as the day wore on, I could tell people were getting bored. Silly and Mom were focused on cleaning up and said that dessert would have to wait until her fiance got home. Which was kind of rude to be late and I felt really bad for Silly. It seems like my soon to be brother-in-law (BIL for short) is never around when she needs him.

In an effort to help, I engaged some of the people I didn’t know in conversation because the party was getting a little dead and I didn’t want one of my sister’s parties to fail. I was trying hard not to think about the time I was wasting waiting for my future BIL so it also served as a distraction.

It turns out one of the guys was a fellow terror. He worked a corporate job and we talked for a while about the pros of being freelance like me. He asked me a lot of questions and I was happy to mentor another terror. Corporate can suck the art out of what we do. My clients only care if the quota for their mission is met and don’t enforce such strict timelines. They come to me for quality. Poor guy barely had time to mend his uniform between scares (his cloak was tattered and his hook hand was rusty) so I recommended my tailor and blacksmith.

The guy and I exchanged information. I gave him my business card and he looked for one of his. While he looked, I felt nature calling so I headed upstairs to use my sister’s bathroom (like hell I was going to use the same one as my Uncle Joe). From up there, I saw my future BIL pull into the driveway.

Being a regional Nightmare is a tough job. Like I said, I have to train a lot to keep my certification. So I thought it’d be a good idea to get a scare on my BIL both to punish him for being late and to make up for all the time I’d already wasted at the party.

So I waited for him to come upstairs to change and, when he did, I pulled out the works. I darkened the room and fell back into the shadows. Then, while he groped for the light switch, I stretched out my leg (I have an extra joint in them) and tried to nudge him. I honestly didn’t expect for him to trip and I DEFINITELY didn’t expect for him to fall backwards. I’ve been practicing this skill on my family since I was sixteen and got the leg extension mod and none of them ever fell like that.

My future BIL fell down the stairs. I panicked and raced over to look over the banister. He was fine! He wasn’t bleeding or anything and, when I saw that, I started to laugh.

Everyone freaked out though. They all said I was being immature and bullying my BIL. I told them it wasn’t bullying, it was my actual job. I said that I was just joking and didn’t know my BIL, a former “Cryptid”, would take it so hard.

My mom jumped in and backed me up, but my sister has always been the Queen of the castle. Silly and Dad kicked me out ( I mean, I let them, I’ve got enhanced strength and I didn’t want to hurt them). Dad called me a disgrace and to not come back home.

I asked him if he was really kicking me out just because I wanted to show off my skills a little? And he said yes. And Silly said I had it coming to me for a long time.

I don’t even know what went wrong.

So AITA for taking pride in my work?

---.

SillyCreeper says: Oh my god, you actually made this post? You’re an actual idiot. For anyone who believes this story, read mine before you vote. My brother left out a few details like how the party was my GENDER REVEAL PARTY and that he’s not a regional Nightmare, he’s a Slasher for hire.

OP replies: I am TRAINED to operate as a regional Nightmare. That makes me an independent regional Nightmare.

SillyCreeper replies: Regional Nightmares don’t steal failed missions from corporate Slashers

OP replies: Get your own post, Silly

SillyCreeper: Oh, I already did. Have fun being torn apart on yours, dumbass.

-----

Thanks for reading! If you'd like to read Silly's AITA post a week early, please consider becoming a patron (X)!

Aita for going no contact with my brother after he pulled a Scare on my husband?

I'm working on this anthology during November and I'm having a blast with this story in particular! The family drama keeps going on and on

#my writing #aita reddit parody #reddit parody #meta monsterverse

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ceilidho · 4 months ago

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hound dog

prompt: You pick up Ghost from a bar for a one night stand. Too bad Ghost isn't interested in a casual hook up. (nsfw, 6.7k) [based on this old post] [on ao3 here]

Rare is the day when a stupid girl doesn’t do stupid things.

This is just one of many such occurrences. Stepping into the dimly lit dive bar—the one miles from your place, reeking of tobacco and leather and motor oil, the noxious perfume of week old sweat and weed stinking up the joint, pardon the pun—with too much eyeliner and mascara on, and a skirt too short for you—and would you just stop fiddling with it? But you can’t because that would mean admitting that it barely fits over your ass, that putting on a skirt so short was a choice, an invite, a teasing little taunt to the men in the bar saying, what are you waiting for? I’m asking for it, aren’t I—

What’s that saying again?

Ah, yes. Choices made in anger cannot be undone.

It’s why you’re planted at the bat some six weeks after being dumped, two weeks after being ghosted for the third time in a row, a smile on your face despite your crumbling self-esteem. Pride hanging in tatters. Grimacing when you find the bartop sticky with congealed liquor, the residue sticking to your skin when you quickly lift your elbows off. But there’s a time for self-pity and a time for getting it the fuck togther. This just happens to be one of the latter times.

“What’m I gettin’ you?” the bartender in front of you asks, barely impressed with your get-up. Not even attempting to conceal his distaste when he eyes you up and down, lingering on the way your tits are practically spilling out of your top.

“Do you have any cocktails?” you ask. Wrong question. The eye roll isn’t even suppressed for your benefit when he makes it clear to you, in no uncertain terms, that it’s whatever he can pour straight from a bottle or the fancy bar for cityfolk down the road. He says it like that, the word practically sneered out. Cityfolk.

Nerves shaken, you sip at your red wine after he leaves you to your own devices, your glass poured straight from the box. It could function passably as lighter fluid if the circumstances called for it. Still, you swallow it with a positive attitude, emboldened by the knowledge that you’re here for one thing and one thing only:

to get fucked within an inch of your life by one of the greasy-haired, cut-wearing, cigarette-smoking men lining the bar.

Even the thought sends a thrill down your spine.

It’s an age old question, isn’t it? What’s a girl to do (when her love life’s falling apart / when her credit score just bottomed out because her ex-boyfriend ran up her credit cards behind her back / when her job’s steadily becoming unbearable but quitting would mean scrambling to find a job that’ll pay anywhere near to what this one’s paying her) to get a drink around here?

Evidently, the answer isn’t to use a dating app; you can say that confidently after waiting around in fancier bars than this for several no-show dates.

You’re feeling appropriately over the whole thing. Ready to call it quits. Uninstall all of the apps on your phone and hire a matchmaker or ask a friend to set you up with a coworker of theirs. But that’ll be later, down the line when you aren’t dealing with the issue at hand.

The issue being that—

you’re really fucking horny.

Embarrassingly so. Enough that you were willing to travel miles away from home to avoid accidentally hooking up with anyone you might run into later on while out getting groceries or on a morning run.

It’s just better to play things close to your chest. Keep your romantic life and your sexual exploits far apart (not that you’d know much about keeping things separate; you’ve never had much of a sex life to keep hidden) lest you get mired in a stickier situation than you’re comfortable being in.

Despite the rough start, the bar you chose seems promising. There’s a man at the other side of the bar that keeps drawing your eye. It’s the hulking size of him at first, then the grime clinging to the folds of his skin, worn in from years of hard labor. He looks like a man fresh off a fourteen-hour shift or a fortnight spent on an oil rig in the middle of the Baltic sea, freshly washed ashore, kelp and barnacles still fused to his skin, not yet pried off.

Rough is the only word you’d use to describe him. A face covered in nicks and old scars, his upper lip slightly puckered and scarred from cleft lip surgery. When he turns his head to say something to the bartender, you catch a glimpse of a cauliflower ear, the cartilage of his tragus and antihelix swollen and deformed.

He’s exactly what you’ve been looking for. If you’d given it more thought, you think you could’ve conjured up an image of the man across the bar all by yourself. It’s like someone plucked him straight out of your head. Big and brawny, broad shoulders that you can imagine dangling your ankles off, and well-muscled arms that you can imagine digging your nails into. It would take both of your hands and extra to wrap around his bicep. The thought makes you shiver.

You try to catch his attention subtly. Looking over at him from under your lashes, quick, smoldering glances meant to draw his attention to you, so that he approaches you first. You keep waiting for the moment when he’ll notice your stare and hold your gaze, a question being asked and answered between your eyes before reeling him in with a coy little smile.

But when a half hour goes by without a single glance your way, your hope begins to wane.

He doesn’t look up no matter how many times you glance over at him. It’s frustrating; you know he feels the weight of your stare. His disregard is purposeful, deliberate; like he knows your attention is fixed on him but he can’t be bothered to so much as return your stare. You wonder if that means he’s got a lady at home, a little bird cooped up in his house that he’s more eager to get back to after he’s had a drink to take off the edge than flirt with some trussed up floozy at the bar.

That makes you squirm, self-consciousness rearing its ugly head again. Maybe you made a mistake coming here.

It’s not as though you’re being completely ignored, it’s just that the caliber of men that have approached you so far haven’t really inspired much, carnally speaking. You’ve sent the few braver ones away, a half-hearted thanks but no thanks when they offer to buy you a drink. Most leave without a word, though a few mutter obscenities under their breath before shoving their hands in their pockets and stalking away. Bitch. Dumb cunt.

Calling it a night feels like a natural next step. With the attitude you keep getting from the bartender and the way the only man you’re remotely attracted to refuses to so much as glance your way, it doesn’t feel right to stay out any longer. Embarrassment heats you like a low grade fever, warm in your belly. Wine sloshes around in your stomach when you slip off the stool, hunger now another pressing concern.

You’ll ask him on your way back from the bathroom. If he turns you down after that, you’ll slink off into the night with your tail tucked between your legs. There’ll always be next weekend to try again. You promise yourself that because the alternative is acknowledging how defeated this entire experience has left you, no less disappointing than going on the same boring first date with a guy from Tinder.

In the bathroom, you dab your face with water and stare at your reflection in the dirty mirror. It looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in years; finger smudges and white strains streaked across the glass. You wonder how many strangers have fucked in this bathroom over the years. The thought makes you grimace even more when you notice that the floor is slightly sticky, the ground sounding tacky beneath your shoes.

When you come out, the man from across the bar is waiting by the door, so close that you flinch, eyes widening. The narrow hallway means that he’s barely three feet from you when you stand in the doorframe.

“We leavin’ or what?” he growls, voice as deep as you thought it might be, gruff and husky.

He’s just as imposing in front of you as he was from across the bar. Maybe more so. You’re forced to crane your neck to look up at him this close, lips parting on an inaudible exhale. There’s something about a brutish man that’s always taken your breath away; everything from the blunt chin to the pronounced brow. His face is flecked with pale, keloidal skin; rubbery nodules from old injuries.

Dumbstruck, you can only nod, following behind him when he turns away from you, headed towards the parking lot out back where his truck is parked.

You’re really doing this. You’re really doing this. That’s the only thought in your head when he unlocks his truck and pops the door open for you, waiting until you’re buckled in before slamming the door shut.

He’s quiet on the car ride back to his place, unconcerned with getting to know you or defusing the tension in the truck. You can’t say you blame him. There’s a reason you chose a bar so far from home as a hunting ground. If you wanted to get to know someone, you would’ve met someone at a coffee shop.

When you ask his name, he grunts it out like it’s an inconvenience. Simon. He doesn’t give you more than that, even when you awkwardly ask him what he does for work. Blatantly ignores your questions. The rebuff smarts for some reason, makes you frown and duck your chin to your chest, shoulders hunched.

His demeanor is so off-putting that halfway through the drive, you wonder if you misunderstood him somehow, if he means to drive you home instead of taking you back to his place (but that can’t be right, otherwise wouldn’t he have asked for your address?). It’s just hard to reconcile his churlish attitude towards you with his ostensible invitation to fuck.

Maybe he doesn’t intend to fuck you at all. Maybe you managed to pick up the one serial killer in a twenty mile radius and stupidly followed him back to his truck without telling anyone who you planned to go home with. Your blood curdles at the thought, hackles raised when you imagine him sizing you up from across the bar, all prettied up and doe-eyed, easy prey.

Your breathing picks up. “I, um…actually, c-could you…could you just drop me off at my place?”

Simon rolls his eyes so hard that it’s almost audible. “Not gonna kill ya, bird.”

That doesn’t go a long way towards reassuring you, but you don’t dig your heels in and demand he take you home either.

“Do you live nearby?” you ask, suddenly chatty. Why, oh why.

Simon looks over at you, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift. He drives a manual, you notice. A few too many seconds go by in silence. You wish somebody would just staple your mouth shut already.

“Yeah,” he says finally, turning back to watch the road, taking a left turn up ahead without using his signal. So it’s that kind of drive.

You keep your mouth shut for the rest of it lest he decide you’re too much of a hassle and turn back. You’re poised right on the edge of something new and exciting, and the thought of that slipping through your fingers makes you feel a bit crazy. So many men before have shown you that same snap dislike. Like you’re tolerable over text or as a dimensionless photo, but not as a flesh and blood person, the real mechanics of you all wrong. It’s an intolerable thought—that people can only like you when you smile and keep your mouth shut.

Still, you’ll do it now, for a price.

Part of you expects him to pull you into his lap when he pulls into his driveway and puts the truck in park. It’s what you’ve seen in movies. The rest of the night plays out in your head in piecemeal flashes; ravenous passion, hands tearing clothes off each other’s bodies, a shoe left on the porch in your hurry to get inside. Hungry, devouring; slick mouths parting for barely long enough to breathe.

Then Simon cuts the engine and gets out of the truck without so much as a glance your way, like you aren’t even there.

He still comes around to open the door for you. You frown at him through the window, affronted. Baffled at his continued nonchalance. Like even keeping your mouth shut isn’t enough to keep a man’s interest. Where you expected passion and fervor, you’re met with cool indifference.

Simon pops the door open. “Get out.”

The house itself is nothing special. A two-story cookie-cutter house built in the seventies; weathered, beige-coloured vinyl siding and a neatly trimmed lawn, with a few patches of overgrown grass and weeds. There’s a trailer parked in front of the closed garage, a few planks of wood strapped down in the bed. When you follow him up the walkway, you notice how quiet the neighborhood is, and for some reason that makes you even more jittery.

You stop in the doorway, frustration breaking your timidity like snapping an ampoule. “Do you even want to—” fuck me, goes unsaid. Too humiliating to even ask. But you ask anyway, the question itself implicit even in so few words.

Dark eyes stare down at you, impenetrable. You’re struck by the sense of something primordial slithering under his skin. His expression is hard, his face carved from granite; when his expression shifts, it’s like watching tectonic plates create mountains, plates pushed upward by mantle plumes.

He fits a big paw under your chin, fingers pressing into the fat of your cheeks hard enough to make your lips purse. Your heart skips a beat when he angles your head from side to side, looking you over like a pet he’s considering bringing home. You almost go cross-eyed when he bends down, his forehead nearly brushing yours, so close that you can smell the scent of cigarettes clinging to his clothes, see the grease smudged on his face and the folds around his eyes.

A grin flickers across his lips, gone as it came. “Yeah. I do.”

And doesn’t that tie your stomach in a knot? Your nerves in a pretty bow?

Inside, his house is just as unremarkable. You’d know in a single glance that a single man lived here; a functional, no-frills living space. Nothing more than a worn couch, a TV, and a few pieces of obvious hand-me-down furniture. It’s hard to glean anything from the minimal decoration around his place, but he doesn’t give you much of a chance to look around. That’s not the point of why you’re in his house.

“Eat anything yet, bird?” Simon asks from the kitchen, opening the fridge without purpose. It looks like more of a reflex than anything, the first thing he does the second he gets home for the night and the last thing he does before going to bed. From the size of him, it makes sense; his body is muscle on muscle, covered by a healthy layer of fat, just a surface layer over the bulk beneath.

You shake your head. “No.”

“Have a bite, then.”

“I’m not, uh, hungry though,” you deflect rather than saying the obvious, which is, I came to your house to have sex, not make sandwiches at the kitchen counter together.

He shuts the fridge door, pinning you with his stare. “Your call. Could’ve used the energy though.”

You swallow.

The first thing you do after he herds you into the bedroom is try to pull him into a kiss, cupping his cheeks and standing up on your tiptoes. Before your eyelids flutter shut, you catch a glimpse of a cocked brow. Then you press your lips to a slack mouth that doesn’t move no matter how much passion you infuse in your kiss and feel embarrassment flare up in your guts.

Bastard. You should’ve expected that he wouldn’t kiss you back.

“Sorry,” you mutter, breaking the facsimile of a kiss and dropping back down onto your heels.

You flinch when he grabs you by the back of the neck and reels you back in, forcing you back onto your tiptoes, “Don’t be,” grunted against your mouth before fusing your lips together. A pathetic keen climbs up your throat, eyelids slipping shut.

His greed leaks from him like tar, his kiss so messy and violent that you’re almost too jarred to do anything apart from hang on. Teeth clack against yours, a horrid sensation, the lust in your belly abating long enough for the real world to slink back in and you get flashes of it: hands winding around a thick neck, a scratchy cheek against your lip when he twists his head to angle your noses better, a tongue shoving into your mouth unceremoniously, no finesse at all. Straight to the main point.

A shudder wracks you from head to toe when you try to break the kiss only to find the hand on your neck firm, holding you in place. The subtle reminder that he can do whatever he wants with you, that you willingly went home with a man big and strong enough to pin you down and fuck you however rough he wants.

“Simon,” you whine, squirming against him, gasping a breath and his name again when he wrestles you back into the kiss. “No—Simon—”

“Stay fuckin’ still,” he snarls against your lips, and you freeze, knees going weak when his fingers dig into your jaw to hold you in place.

The endorphin rush nearly makes your vision white out. A sudden winter storm, the blood rushing to your cheeks and the tip of your nose, your breath coming out quick and choppy. Lungs barely filling up with each inhale.

“Get this off,” Simon growls, tugging on your skirt when you don’t move fast enough. He doesn’t wait for you to catch up, content to wrench your skirt off himself instead, your panties along with it.

It takes your breath away, how fast you go from clothed to partially nude. Trying to match his fervor is a losing game, so you just try to keep up. Your hands tug at his belt, desperately trying to undo it, and he chuckles when he notices; big hands paw at your ass while you shakily pop the buckle out of the first loop.

He takes over after that, popping the button on his jeans one-handed.

“Wanna handle the rest?” he prompts, an eyebrow jutting up, expectant. Lazy with his arrogance; oozing rugged masculinity. It’d infuriate you if it didn’t get you so hot.

Your fingers are numb by the time you pull his jeans down, kneeling at his feet and gazing up at him with wide eyed devotion as he kicks off his boots and shakes the pants off his legs, nothing under his jeans. His pale white thighs are dusted in fine blond hairs, mottled with burns and scars and old, faded cigarette marks, like someone used his legs as an ashtray. The thought makes your throat close up.

He shucks off his shirt while you stare at the shaft heavy with blood hanging between his legs, drooping with its own weight. Flushed red at the head and streaked with dark veins, leaking a steady drip of precum. The hair at the base of his dick is of a darker shade, gold like straw.

Your stomach swoops at the sight, dropping to the pits of you. You swallow. Maybe you’ve bit off a little more than you can chew. A lot more.

As if sensing your unease, a wide hand is suddenly firm on the back of your head, urging you closer. “Gonna give it a kiss?”

It’s not a question. You know that and you know that you’re way out of your league; that if you panic now you’ll flounder. So instead of fighting it, you lean forward and press a shy kiss to the weeping head of his dick.

You lick your lips instinctively when you draw back, lapping up the precum smeared across them. The taste makes you wrinkle your nose. It’s salty; bitter. Not altogether pleasant.

Simon wraps a hand around his dick and holds it to your lips. “Open your mouth, bird. Get me nice ‘n wet.”

A shudder rolls through you, but there’s little else you can do except part your lips and squeeze your eyes shut. It’s a struggle to fit more than just the head in your mouth, his dick too wide to take more than that. Your eyes water at the stretch, the musky taste of his cum overwhelming.

Any experience you’ve had before this pales in comparison. It’s like the first time all over again. His cock is heavy on your tongue, instantly making your eyes water. The grip he still has on the base of his cock tells you that he doesn’t expect you to swallow the whole length (an impossible task; you go cold with dread at even the thought), but Simon doesn’t hesitate to grip your head firmer when he feels you falter, forcing you to take as much as you can.

When you gag, he shushes you. “Keep at it—you’re fine.”

You wonder if he thinks by saying it, it makes it true. You’re very much not fine, struggling to breathe through your nose and suck him off without scraping his cock with your teeth.

Your exhale when he pulls you off his cock by your hair is full of both relief and trepidation. Your lips feel swollen and tender when you touch them with your fingers.

“Can we please have sex now?” you ask, dazed enough to be bold.

Simon cracks a smile at that, endeared somehow. “Gotta get up for that, bird.”

You have to brace your hands against his chest when you get to your feet, the blood that rushes to your head making you wobbly. Even on your feet, he’s so much taller than you, a behemoth. Men like him have always been your type, but Simon is really in a league of his own.

Glancing up at him from under your lashes, you bite your lip. You’ve seen that in movies before, starlettes bringing men to their knees with just a look. Coquette; demure. It’s harder to replicate than you thought, but you’ve never rehearsed this before. This is a one-time, live performance. The culmination of everything you’ve ever read or watched or studied.

You keep up the ruse of being sexy by crawling onto his bed on your hands and knees, dropping down onto your elbows once situated in the middle of the mattress. The debauchery of wiggling your ass back at the man who took you home from the bar would overwhelm you if you weren’t playing a part right now. Role playing. This isn’t who you usually are, but if it’s only for one night, you can force out the self-scrutiny and timidity.

Silence hangs in the air like a bubble, waiting to be burst. You fight the urge to look over your shoulder at him.

Then Simon exhales, breaking the silence. Goosebumps ripple down your arms.

The mattress dips under his weight when he settles behind you, hands immediately sinking into the flesh of your ass and pulling your cheeks apart. No preamble. You open your mouth to say something, but thick, coarse fingers are already dipping between your thighs and playing with your hole, sinking a finger in up to the first knuckle.

You breathe out shakily, shoulders tensing. The sheets reek of him, musky and ripe; you concentrate on that instead of the fingers penetrating you, getting you ready for his dick. Your walls squeeze tight around his fingers when he forces another one in.

When he finally feeds his cock into you, the stretch is nearly unbearable. The sharp stab of pain that accompanies it almost makes you flinch away, but Simon drags you back by your hips.

“You’re not going anywhere, bird,” he rumbles. “Relax. It’s going in.”

What can you say to something like that?

His whole frame presses you into the mattress, the breath forced from your lungs. Bigger now that he’s got you on your belly. Suddenly making two hundred pounds seem less abstract, more real. He bullies as much of his cock into you as he can, paying no mind to the way you squeal and kick your legs.

“Real tight cunt,” Simon grunts, humming with his pleasure when his hips punch forward and your pussy squelches around his length. So lewd.

His knees on either side of you keep you trapped in place, nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. All you can do is lie under him and let him rut between your thighs, gasping for breath with every thrust. The sweat is slick down your back, half yours and half his.

“Ya let other men fuck this cunt, bird?” he asks. It sounds hypothetical, like it’s said half to rile himself up, and though it prickles at your nerves, you don’t complain too much because he fucks you rougher after the words slip out of his mouth.

When you don’t answer him though, concentrating more on filling your lungs and not biting your tongue off, he grabs your face and twists your head until you’re looking over your shoulder at him, neck aching with the strain.

“Answer me,” he demands, sounding almost pissed off.

“N-no—”

“Good,” he grunts. Satisfied.

His words should piss you off. How dare he ask you about fucking other men as if he were your husband or boyfriend. You have half a mind to cuss him out, but then he pumps his hips forward and your face goes numb from pleasure. Electric impulses zip up and down your skin, sizzling your nerves.

Besides, maybe it’s hot that he’s acting like you belong to him. Like you’re his; his girl that he picked up from the bar after a long shift, eager to go home and lay her out on the bed so he could fuck his pretty girl into a tongue-tied stupor. It certainly does it for you, a thin filigree of pleasure winding its way down your spine.

It’s an intoxicating fantasy—being wanted by a man in a real, visceral way. It’s one you’ve never gotten close to before, never even grazed with the tips of your fingers, no matter how far you stretched out your arms. You don’t know what men see when they look at you, but it can’t be anything worth keeping.

He fucks you like he wants to pry you open and leave a piece of him inside. A big hand fits around your neck and tightens; a collar, a manacle.

Hard to feel anything but grateful though. It’s everything you wanted but never thought you’d get out of this experience. You expected to feel like a body on a butcher’s block, hacked limb from limb. Marble ribbing on the inside. Brought to a high only to be left out in the cold after.

You never expected apotheosis. You never expected the filth murmured into your ear, the lurid, coarse diatribe in surround sound, all perfect fuckin’ pussy, can’t wait to shove my tongue inside, gonna make you suck my cock while I eat that perfect cunt out—

All—

Perfect fuckin’ girl; you don’t give this to anyone else, do ya? Knew you were gaggin’ for it back in the bar, but wanted to wait ‘n see; turned the rest of ‘em down, didn’t ya? Not a fuckin’ slut. Jus’ for me—only hungry for my cock—

It’s too rough, too much. Overpowering. Musk and body heat and raw strength, his forearms planted on the mattress on either side of your head. The scent of him suffocating, smothering. Heady. In your pores, on the back of your tongue, in your belly. He’s everywhere.

If only you could put it into words. The fire in your belly growing so wild, so out of control, that it threatens to incinerate you. Thinking dangerous thoughts—that you could be his, that he wants you so bad he can’t stand the idea of anyone having you before him, that he’ll kill anyone that touched you before, rip them apart with his bare hands, cut out their hearts and slice it ‘em up real thin so he could feed you the strips with his hands—

“Fuck—” Simon pants in your ear, pulling his cock out of your cunt. You whine, clenching down on nothing, suddenly empty, until he turns you roughly over onto your back and grabs one of your flailing ankles, hooking it over a burly shoulder. “Cunt this good oughta be locked down. Should just chain your leg to the bed so I can wake up to this pussy every day. Would’ya like that, bird?”

Like it? You think wildly—

Keep me, keep me, keep me, pleasepleaseplease.

The leg not hooked over Simon’s shoulder gets pulled around his hip, spreading your legs wider to accommodate the width of him between them. The scour of his voice threatens to erode you, smash you to pieces. There won’t be anything left after he’s done with you.

He’s just so big. Built like an ox, broad and solid. When he braces his forearms on either side of you, his biceps bulge, skin pulling taut over the muscle. The dark hair of his pits is stark against pale flesh.

Blood roars in your ears and over you, he moves like a wave, filling you up again and again. You’re swimming in uncharted waters now; gazing out into an unfamiliar and dangerous sea. A swell this big might take you right under.

Too bad for you, the hazy adumbration of danger in his words is pitted against the maw in your soul, the deep, cavernous hole that yawns wider with each passing year.

For years now, you’ve had the same dream: overlooking a sea of evergreen peaks illuminated by a silky moonlight hue, winding a long, narrow road darkened on both sides by tightly clustered trees, your arms wrapped around your chest. Cold layered like a skin, sinking deep into your bones, cold wet like a damp hate; trees clustered around your wandering soul, spurned into wandering like a little undead ghost with teeth clattering in Morse code, saying: so many wrongs done, it is almost incomprehensible.

Is it too much to ask to be wanted?

You need it like air.

The issue is that—

more than horny, you’re really, really fucking lonely.

For years now, you’ve had the same dream: a dream of being a lighthouse keeper, skin saltwater slick, seafoam on the backs of your knuckles, slathering over frozen fingers clutching at the gallery railing. Beckoning something to you.

What it is, you do not know.

“Look at tha’,” Simon says wonderingly, grabbing your face and yanking it towards him, forcing you to meet his eyes again. “Just needed to get turned out on a fat cock, didn’t ya?”

“Yeah,” you gasp. “So good, Simon, ohmygod—”

“Only this needy for me, right?” The glint in his eye is terrifying.

“Only you, only you—”

“That’s right,” he growls, bearing all of his weight down on you, forehead to forehead. His sweat-slick chest slides against yours, cock buried so deep that you can taste him at the back of your throat. Dark eyes stare down at you with an intensity that steals the breath from you, glossy like he’s rapidly losing the ability to be consciously present, but ever attentive to the pleasure rippling across your face.

When his cock grinds into the soft plug of your womb, his eyes narrow when yours bulge, and he batters that spot until you seize up and spasm around him. His buzz cut gives you nothing to hold onto, so you dig your nails into the bulky planes of his back instead.

“Fuck—hold on, Christ, fuck; here it comes,” he spits, the veins in his neck protruding when he grits his teeth.

Your blood goes red hot when he rams deep into you, each thrust deliberate. Hips losing their rhythm. You don’t notice the first spurt of cum, too preoccupied with the smell and weight of him blanketing you, infiltrating every crevice of your body, but the second is hot. Scorching. You ignore the screaming alarm at the back of your head, barely coherent enough to parse out its meaning. All you can focus on is the warmth spreading inside you and your own walls pulsing around his cock, milking his release out of him.

Time blurs. You lose some of it.

You don’t come back until Simon rolls over onto his back, taking you with him. His cock is still buried inside of you, his cum running out in rivulets, pooling at the base of his dick lodged at your entrance. You’re going to be messy when he finally pulls out.

Despite the ache already setting in, you feel reborn. Renewed. The old, dead skin flayed off. You can’t imagine how you’ll feel when you’ve got your energy back, when even tracing your eyes across the other side of his room doesn’t take tremendous effort. The traces of him littered around the room make you curious. A half empty glass. Steel-toed boots sticking out of a half-opened closet. A damp towel crumpled into a ball on the floor.

You squeeze your eyes shut. There’s no use trying to fill the gaps in. Whoever Simon is won’t matter in the light of day. You repeat this to yourself until it sticks.

When you try to get up, planting both hands on his chest, he pulls you back down, forcing your head onto the pillow of his chest. “Simon, the sheets are wet—”

“I’ll deal with it later,” Simon says, eyes already shut, on the verge of falling asleep. “Now shut up. You’re ruining the fucking afterglow.”

You wake up the next morning covered in bruises and bite marks and dried cum between your thighs and on your belly, so sore that even twitching your finger hurts.

It takes awhile for everything to come back to you. When it finally does, consciousness snaps back into you, discomfort giving way to quiet self-satisfaction. You managed to do it. Your first one-night stand. A real milestone. The tacky sheets beneath you are proof enough of your accomplishment.

The sadness slithers in when you realize that it’s over. One and done. In a half hour or so, the man plastered against your back and breathing heavily on the crown of your head will wake up, groggy and bleary eyed, and side-eye you until you put back on your clothes from the night before and slink out, tail tucked between your legs. A few hours delayed from when you were planning to throw in the towel at the bar, but still. In the end, it always comes around.

A gruff voice at your side tells you to quiet, bird—s'too early for your bitchin’ before manhandling you onto your stomach and shoving his raw cock into your cunt and it’s only now that it dawns on you that you were too horny last night to remember to ask him to use protection.

The thought is wiped from your head when he bucks his hips forward, impaling you on his swollen length. You lose track of time after that.

Breakfast is an informal affair. Cereal from a box and a bit too much milk, and a cup of instant coffee. You wince when you sit down across from Simon at the kitchen table, your inner thighs still tender and pussy sore from the battering it just took. If it strokes his ego to see how gingerly you sit down, he doesn’t show it.

It’s weird sitting across the table from him after last night. Hard to just leave it unaddressed, the truth simmering in the air. The red marks across his back make you wince, cheeks heating. Thin crescent marks and scored nails. It’s hard to reconcile yourself with the girl from last night.

He eats in silence for the most part though, ravenous after the night before. Doesn’t comment on the state of his shoulders or the way you shift on your chair. Not even bothering to make eye contact with you. Your appetite takes a bit of a hit watching him shovel food into his mouth, hardly even pausing long enough to breathe, but you’ve seen plenty of hungry men eat before.

Still though, silence has always had a way of getting under your skin. You’re not comfortable around it, prone to chattering. So you can’t help the way your mouth opens and the words come out involuntarily.

“Do you do this a lot?”

“I don’t shit where I eat,” Simon grunts dismissively.

The expression makes you grimace. “So do you usually pick up girls elsewhere or—”

The look he gives you could melt the flesh off your bones. You realize your misstep, interrogating the man you just fucked about his other hookups. Best not to ask questions. It’s not like you’ll see him again after this.

These last few moments are bittersweet. There won’t be many opportunities like this in the future, mainly because you don’t think you’re cut out for one-night stands. Last night proved that. As good as it was—and for as many times as you came, another time in the wee hours of the morning when Simon rolled over on top of you and shoved your legs apart to eat you out (a midnight snack)—in the light of day, you feel world weary. Like something monumental happened and passed you by.

You almost want to thank him for making it special, but the anxiety around finally pissing him off is more than you can bear. You want to leave on a good note. It’s better this way. You’ll never have confirmation about whether he’d eventually grow tired of you like everyone else. Never know if he’d one day manage to lose interest in the real you, not the made up sex kitten from the bar.

It’s better this way.

You tell yourself that when you push your chair out and stand up, hands fisting in the oversized shirt Simon made you wear before leaving the bedroom. “I should get going.”

He stops eating, staring up at you. His eyes are inscrutable, and the longer he stares, the less you understand his look.

You shift from foot to foot. “Thanks for… I had a good time.”

Simon doesn’t say anything, but when he drops his spoon into the bowl, the metal clang makes you flinch.

His silence leaves you off balance, like you’ve overstepped somehow. All motion stills under his scrutiny.

“Got somewhere ya need to be?” he asks, a vague, almost menacing undercurrent in his voice. It’s said like a warning. There shouldn’t be anywhere else you need to be.

“I…—don’t you want me to leave?”

He looks distinctly unimpressed. “You gonna walk home like that?” His words make you tug at his shirt, pulling it down to cover your thighs.

Your whole life has been made up of misunderstandings. Missed opportunities. Men who you thought loved you vanishing into thin air. You’re a poem often lost in translation. A long game of hide and seek; people run towards you then feign right, leaving you in the dust.

Whatever this is, you don’t recognize it.

You swallow on a dry throat. “…No?”

Simon searches your expression for something before he nods, satisfied. “Then sit the fuck back down. Finish your damn breakfast.”

You sit back down (wincing when you do) because the alternative is admitting that you don’t know what’s next. That you’re out of step again, but this time without that sinking feeling in your belly. A wild fluttering instead. That thought again that maybe you’ve bit off more than you can chew.

What’s that saying again?

Ah, yes. Choices made in anger cannot be undone.

#ceil writing #cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you

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