#even with that printed dress I want her

[lemonyfrog]

I…I kinda want her…

The coral shoes and jellyfish purse…

I’m a sucker for sea themed stuff 😩

She releases on Entertainment Earth on June 6th! I might get her…maybe.

[sysig]

I’m turning you all into marketable plushies, you watch (Patreon)

Bonus eyes because embroidery brain:

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐔𝐏 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔 !! ❞

❝ WHEN YOUR EX HUSBAND FINDS OUT YOU'RE DATING AGAIN, HOW DO YOU END UP FUCKING HIM IN YOUR BED ?? ❞

✧ pairing: ex-husband!satoru gojo x f!reader

✧ summary: satoru gojo is the man everyone wants, except you -- well you married him and you wanted him, but when he pushed you away after you had your daughter, you had no choice but to divorce him. so what happens when he comes to pick up your daughter for his weekend, and he finds you ready for a date? and how is it you always end up under him?

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, so much smut, exes to lovers, modern au! (no curses), gojo is a CEO of a company, gojo has a daughter with you, divorced, some angst, switch! gojo, nipple play, oral (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), handjob (m! receiving), semi public sex (near entryway), semi exhibitionism, sex (p in v), creampie, swearing,

✧ wc: 8,271

“You were supposed to be here at 6:00 PM,” 

Satoru Gojo stood in your doorway, as opposed to splashed on the covers of magazines and countless front page articles — you would think it would be business magazines, but you would only be partially correct — he made the covers of business, fashion, health, entertainment, and even a few women’s magazines. 

And what every single one had made apparent in their colorful print was that Satoru Gojo was anyone’s ideal man — the CEO of the wildly successful Six Eyes Corp, a philanthropist in his free time spent mentoring children and teenagers through establishing proper programs, and he was flawlessly beautiful — ocean blue eyes you could drown in, porcelain skin seemingly without a blemish or scar, and pretty lips that were a weapon when curled in a smirk. 

Just as they were now. 

“Well,” he smirks, leaning against your door frame, “I’m sure it’s 6:00 PM somewhere,” 

“Well, I’m not concerned with somewhere else since you daughter exists here, not elsewhere,” your words lacked their usual bite, only tinged with annoyance rather than cutting anger, “but good thing I told you to be here an hour and half earlier than I needed you,” 

Needed him as just as you did before you had divorced — just as you asked him to be. But he only grew more distant by the day — and soon he was already out the door when you had served him with divorce papers. 

And now, you can almost forget how it used to be — your eyes catch sight of the picture on your mantle of the two of you with your daughter, Satoru’s lips pressed to your cheeks as yours were pressed to your little angel — almost. 

He gapes at you as you walk inside, as he follows behind you, the click of the door closing overshadowed by the sound of his voice. 

“How could you lie to me, sweetheart? Thought we had a bond of trust,” you don’t have to look back at him to know he has a pout on his lips that would quickly melt into a grin if you conceded. 

“Bond of trust ended when you showed up two hours late to pick up our daughter,” and he grumbles, cheeks tinged with pink. 

“That was one time! I’m never that late. And it’s only on a Fridays when I have—“ 

“Meetings all day,” you finish with a sigh, “I know, Gojo, I know it’s not on purpose — but I know you’re always late on Fridays so I found a solution,” your lips curl, “anyway, our girl is napping still, so give her a bit before you wake her, but you can stay here until she does,” you’re shrugging off your bathrobe, littered with flecks of makeup, only to have a gorgeous black dress underneath. 

One that he very much hadn’t seen before — and he would know, he’s explored every centimeter very intimately of each one of your dresses, but this is new. His eyes skim down the exposed skin of your thighs — very new, but very familiar. 

He’s running fingers through his hair, not bothering to hide how his gaze rakes over his body, “Special occasion? Don’t tell me your birthday suddenly moved months, or I forgot our anniversary,” 

You scoff, as you pick out earrings from your jewelry box,  “Does an anniversary count when you’re divorced?” you can’t hide the hint of bitterness in your voice, and he’s stepping closer as you look in your vanity to put your earrings on, only to meet his gaze in the mirror, deep blue sucking you in as it always does. 

“But you’ll always be mine,” and you roll your eyes, expecting a cheeky grin, but find genuine longing in his expression, before it's hidden away behind a frown, “but you still haven’t told me where you’re going, sweetheart,” 

A sigh stuck in your throat, ignoring the use of your usual pet name that he had lost the rights when the ink dried on your divorce, as your teeth graze your bottom lip, “I have a date tonight,” 

He tilts his head, “A date?” and you can already hear it in his voice — ice creeping over usually still waters, “who’s the lucky guy? And do I get to meet him?” 

“And have you scare him off?” And he only grins in reply, hands slipping into his pockets. 

“If he’s intimidated by me, isn’t that more on him than me, sweetheart?” His footsteps only grow closer, as you turn to look at him, his hand on the wood of your vanity, nearly caging you in on side, “after all, he may be your date, but I’ll always be your husband, and the father of our daughter,” 

You didn’t know whether you wanted to kiss him or slap him — slapping him was self explanatory, but the want to kiss him was a lingering feeling, one that you couldn’t shed — no matter how much time passed. But that was the thing about Satoru Gojo — it was easy to fall in love with him, but even harder to fall out. 

And a part of you could never admit to yourself that you never did. 

No matter how hard you try.

“You haven’t been my husband for a year and half now, Gojo — a year legally now,” 

And he’s changing tactics, “You still haven’t answered my question, who are you going on a date with?” And you already can feel the beginning of a headache throbbing in your forehead, and you know why no one could say no to Satoru Gojo — because you’re sure he’s never understood it. 

“Why do you need to know?” And he's tilting his head, a small scoff parting his lips. 

“I need to know who you're potentially bringing home, don’t I?” and he’s far too close, and you don’t know why you’re not pulling away — his breath warming your skin, as he drags a finger down your cheek, “The man who might step foot in our home, might meet our daughter,” and his thumb brushes over your lips, “might kiss my wife—“ 

“Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he corrects you. 

You rub at your temples — yup, you definitely have a headache now. You brush past him, heading to the living room to pick up some of the mess, hoping your ex would somehow fall and hit his head on the doorframe and forget this conversation.

“And this dress?” Ah, no such luck, “did you buy it for the date?” 

“Do you keep a catalog of my wardrobe?” you scowl as you pick up the strewn about toys and things to collect into your daughter’s toy bin, and he’s bending down too to pick up your daughter’s things in his hundred thousand yen suit. 

“So you didn’t deny it,” and you sigh again, but grit your teeth all the same, his sharp words finely grating on your nerves. 

“This isn’t a business negotiation, you don’t win just because you use my words against me,” you stand up after picking up the last of the things, “yes it’s a new dress, and yes I bought it for the date since this is my first date in years, happy?” 

“Thrilled,” he says flatly, and you know it’s not the end of the discussion, “remember our first date?” 

And how could you forget? But you decide to humor him, if only for a break from the interrogation. 

“Which one? Because one was a date, and the other—“ 

He raises an eyebrow, “It was a date too, I asked you out—“ 

“You asked me to hang out—“ 

“And we kissed—“ 

“Only because I told you how I felt first—“ and he smirks again and you know you’ve dug yourself into a hole, cheeks burning at his stupidly smug face, “shut up,” 

“And what did you say again?” He slips the things you have in your hands into the toy box, his fingers brushing yours, and his touch is the same as you remember, even the barest brush was enough for your traitorous soul to yearn for more. 

“You know what I said,” his lips curl, the same smile he had given you all those years ago that made you fall for him in the first place, but his raise of his brow tells you he’s not going to let it go until you say it, “I told you that I liked you for a long time, and I was tired of waiting for you to make the first move. Because maybe by then it would be too late,” and his fingers brush against your cheek, featherlight — just as the bunches of butterflies that bloom in your stomach. 

“And you say that wasn’t a date,” and you scoff, biting back the small smile on your lips, “will any other first date compare to that?” 

“Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he corrects, and you know his brow is furrowed without having to look at him, “do you have to call me by my last name—“ 

“I do, because Satoru was my husband, and Gojo is my ex—“ 

“I’m still your husband—“ and you give a bitter chuckle. 

“In what world? We’re divorced, it’s over,“ 

“It doesn’t have to be,” 

“But it does. This isn’t me confessing to you on a movie night curled up on my twin bed. This is my ex-husband asking me to give him another chance far too late,” you slip past him, but he follows behind anyway, as you stand near the entryway to your home,  “it’s time to move on,” and you’re stepping from your bedroom and only reach the doorway when he speaks. 

“How can I move on when I never wanted to?” You still yourself in your tracks, fingers curling into a fist. 

Not this right now. Not now. “Gojo—“ you sigh. 

You’re so tired. You were hoping you wouldn’t have to have this conversation. You never had expected to have this conversation, not when you wanted to only marry one man your entire life was the one to break your heart. 

“It's almost two years too late for this conversation,” you willed your voice not to break — not when your heart was long broken by him, and you wouldn’t allow him to do it again, “you should have had it with me before I filed. When I asked you to spend your time with us, when I asked you to take time off, when I asked you to be present in our lives—“ 

“Sweetheart-“ and you snap. 

“Don’t call me that,” your quiet words hang in the silence, the wedding bells he heard in his head were nothing more than the sounds of bells drowning out the mourners screams, “don’t call me that when you don’t get to anymore,” 

“I’ll always be yours, sweetheart, a few papers don’t change that,” and he’s stepping towards you, but you’re rooted to your spot, and you want to say it’s stubbornness, but you know what it really is —weakness, because Satoru Gojo was your one and only weakness. And even now, walls raised and erected against him came tumbling down with one touch. 

Because he knew exactly where to touch and what to say. 

“Do you think any other man could please you the way I can? I know every place, every sound, every inch of you — inside and out,” he’s nearly against your back now, “are you going to let a stranger do that? Let them learn how to please you, but knowing your husband knows how to do it better,” 

“Ex-husband,” and he’s leaning down to press a kiss to your bare shoulder, “we shouldn’t—“ 

“And yet you’re letting me,” his nose brushes against the soft skin of your neck, warm breath sending a shiver down to the tips of your toes, and his words sending a wave of need right to your core, “because you know it’s true,” his hands tentatively brush against your hips and when you don’t resist, he squeezes, drawing a gasp from you, lips curled in a smirk, “more sensitive than usual, Princess? Been too long?” 

“I swear to god—“ he’s cutting you off with a bruising kiss, a rubber band snapping back against your skin, and now it’s taut against you, ensnaring you in its grasp. And yet, his kiss is so sweet, affection dripping from the slide of lips to the caress of his fingers against your cheek, and it reminds you of just why you don’t want to let go. 

“You don’t have to swear yourself to me, but I’d appreciate it, Princess,” and his mouth reminds you of the reason you (and that you don’t). 

“Gojo—“ and he’s placing more kisses along your jaw now. 

“Shouldn’t you at least call me Satoru now that we’ve kissed?” 

“You’re impossible—“ 

“And yet I’m here,” his teeth nibbles at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, tongue flicking over the blooming love bite, “almost forgot how sweet you taste,” he’s humming, as he kisses along your shoulder before he toys with the strap of your dress, “almost,” his large palms slide down your body, skimming your bare thighs as he’s pressing you against the walls, “but your skin isn’t what I want to taste,” 

You gasp, “we can’t—“ but why were you letting him? Irritation overrode by lust, and he knew the spots to make you bend to him, his hands squeezing your hips, “fuck you,” you wonder if his touch are phantoms engraved against your skin and muscles, forced to repeat the same patterns again and again — and a hand slides back up to cup your cheek. 

“That’s what I’m trying to do, sweetheart,” his lips find yours again, his tongue dragging against the seam of your lips, before slipping inside. His hand is lifting your thigh around his waist, as his lips part from your own, eyes raking over your pretty, bitten red lips, “do you know how much I missed you?” 

“No, I don’t,” and his smile slips from his lips, as he cups your chin, “Satoru—“ 

“Even all the days I was gone, there wasn’t a second I didn’t think of you,” you waver a moment at the sadness rippling through his gaze, “I know I wasn’t there—“ his lips press a kiss to your forehead. 

“Why weren’t you?” 

And that’s when there’s a knock at the door that makes your heads snap over to stare at the door a good four or five feet from you, the shadow of feet visible through the crack at the bottom of the door, and you were sure it was your date. 

“Fuck,” you whsiper under your breath, “you have to go—“ your palms pressed flat against his chest, but Satoru doesn’t budge, “please, I have to get the—“ 

And his hand is slipping up and under your dress, hiking the material higher, “do you really want to go on your date like this, sweetheart?” His fingers graze your soaked panties, a gasp pulled from your lips, lithe fingers rubbing and pinching your clit through the thin fabric, “gonna go see him when you’re this wet?”

“Please—“ and his fingers snap the elastic of your underwear against your skin, drawing a squeal from your mouth, “fuck—“ 

“Any louder, Princess, and he might hear us,” he’s leaning down to press his forehead to yours, forcing your gaze to meet yours, “but maybe I should let him, let him know who’s the only one who can make you feel this good,” his words only make your cunt flutter, as if your body was in agreement, even if your mind was still in denial, “you’re much more honest down here, Princess, but you always were,”

Another knock as your attention is being tugged only for him to yank it back as his finger slips inside you. You’re burying your face in the crook of his neck to stifle your moans — his fingers were so much longer than yours, reaching places you could only have dreamed of — when you had dreamed of him. 

His finger squelches as he fucks you open, walls squeezing around him as your molten insides cling to his touch desperately. Small whines and pants are muffled against your hand as you clamp it over, your phone vibrating uselessly with your date’s messages inside your purse. 

“Please, Satoru let me—“ and he’s ripping your underwear, as he’s forcing your dress higher, “I have to tell him—“ 

“Tell him what?” His eyes are nearly glowing in the dim light of the fluorescents leaking in from the living room, “tell him you’d go on your date with him but you’re too busy being finger fucked by your husband?” And he’s sinking another finger into you, making your head loll back against the wall, “tell him that you’d let him fuck you in our bed, but you’re too busy letting me?” 

“Sa-toru—“ you’re biting back your whines, glancing at the door, but he’s forcing your gaze back to him, his thumb pressed against your chin, “just let me—“ 

And he’s turning you in front of the mirror near the entryway, forcing you to look at yourself — your lips kiss bitten and ruined, your dress hiked up and mussed, and underwear tugged down to your ankles. 

“Do you want him to see you like this?” His breath is hot in your ear, a soft murmur that makes your knees nearly buckle, “want him to see you how much of a mess I’ve made you?” His fingers sink into you again, a third finger with the other two. The lewd squelch of your cunt rings in your ears, your eyes catching sight of your own moans and pants in the mirror, your walls squeezing around them, “I’m the only one who gets to see you like this, sweetheart, and now you can watch too,” he’s guiding your gaze back to watch yourself, watching him knuckle deep in your sweet cunt, “gonna make you watch your tight pussy break my fingers,” he spreads his fingers inside you, letting you watch your slice drip down his fingers and wrist and splatter on the floor.

And your head falls back against his shoulder — he’s thrusting into you faster, your walls working deeper and deeper into you — fingers curling against your molten insides, until he’s finding that one spot that has your lips falling open, “I’m so—” your voice is a broken whisper, and he’s pressing a kiss to your jaw, “Please—“ 

“Cum f’me baby,” his thumb rubs at your clit, and you do, walls clamping down as you cum, his fingers relentless as they fuck you through your orgasm, a wordless moan of his name on your lips. He’s holding you up as he does, your body buckling under the pleasure, blood roaring in your ears that slowly ebbs away, as his fingers slow, and you’re shuddering under his touch, “good girl,” and your walls flutter as he pulls out as if they want him to stay, and he’s tilting your gaze, “watch,” your eyes open reluctantly, a small moan on your lips as you watch him carefully each one of his fingers clean, pink tongue darting out to lick at the trails of your juices that had dripped down his palm and wrist, “still the sweetest thing I’ve had, princess,” 

And there’s another knock, as he clicks his tongue, “Doesn’t give up does he?” and he’s pressing a kiss to your neck, “must have really done a number on him and he’s willing to wait this long for you, huh?” he hums, nuzzling the hollow of your throat, “but I can relate. So, should I let him down for you?” 

Your eyes fly open, meeting his cheeky gaze with a glare, “Don’t you fucking dare,” 

“What? You still want to go out with him? Be my guest, but,” and he’s pulling at your ruined underwear until they rip under his touch, “can’t wear these, can you?” you gape at him as he pockets the ruined panties with a shit eating grin, “for later,” and you’re scoffing, and you hear a call of your name through the door. 

And you take a better look at yourself — completely disheveled and marked up along your neck from his kisses and nips, your skin shiny with a sheen of sweat, and your lips obviously bruised and bitten from his treatment. 

“Fuck,” you can’t go out like this — it looks as if you’d spent the morning before getting ravished, panic sets in as you hear his voice through the door. 

“Want me to send him on his way?” Satoru’s hands curl around your waist, “our angel’s still fast asleep, and that means we can spend some time together—“ 

“Fuck off,” you hiss, walking over to the door, “Atsuya, I’m sorry I can’t go out today. I’m not feeling well,” 

“Eh? Are you okay? Do you need anything?” And Satoru steps forward to speak but you cover his mouth with his hand. 

“No, I’m fine, but I have the flu and I’m still contagious, so I don’t want to get you—“ Satoru drags his tongue between your fingers — this fucker, “sick,” 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and take care of you?” Satoru’s hands are dragging over your sides, squeezing your far too sensitive hips. 

“Hear that?” Satoru’s whispering to you between the gaps of your fingers, “He wants to take care of you. Should you let him? Maybe he could fuck you better in the home we bought together and in the bed we shared,” 

“No, I’m fine, really, I-I—“ and Satoru’s sucking at your finger, tongue curling around the digit, and you grit your teeth, “I’m going to rest. I’ll text you later, I’m sorry—“ and you don’t get to hear the rest of what he says, as Satoru’s pulling your hand away, and finding your lips in another kiss. 

You hate how good this man is at kissing, his lips and touch must have the ability to leech sense from your brain, and leave lust in its place. 

“What’s wrong with you?” you mumble against his lips, as his lips burn a trail of kisses down your jaw, a smirk against your skin. 

“Nothing’s wrong with me, except that I love you,” he’s pouting again, “you think that guy could please you the way I could?” 

“No, but maybe he would actually be there,” you bite back and his kisses pause, smirk slipping into a frown. 

“I know I’ve made mistakes—“ 

You give a bitter chuckle, “Mistakes? You left us,” 

He opens and closes his mouth, “you’re right I did, and I’m sorry,” his words are slow, but so is the anger building inside you, “but I’m asking for a second chance, begging for one more chance—“ 

You finally turn to face him, and you can only hope the tears welling in your eyes weren’t noticeable, “You don’t get to beg, when I already did,” your voice finally breaks, as your clenched fist shakes, “where were you? After our daughter was born, you were gone. You kept saying you would make time for us, you would be there for us, but you just busier and busier, and the only time I’d see you were the nights you made it home to crawl into bed,” 

“I—“ 

“No, I’m tired, I’m tired of waiting and being upset, I’m so done—“ and he’s pulling you into his arms, and the familiarity of his grasp is nearly enough for your defenses to crumble, but you can’t, “Satoru” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know I did wrong. I know I don’t deserve you or our baby, not after all I did,” he’s murmuring, “but it was never because of you or her,” 

Tears spill from your eyes, streaming down your cheeks, “I used to cry, thinking that not only that I wasn’t enough, but your daughter wasn’t enough either—“ 

“You weren’t the ones that wasn’t enough,” he cuts you off, “I am,” the last words come out a whisper, as he runs fingers through his hair, “I’m the one who wasn’t good enough,” 

You stare at him, “What do you mean?” 

He’s scrubbing a hand down his face, “I don’t know how to be a husband, much less a father. I didn’t think I even wanted to be either, until I met you,” his voice softens, “and then I wanted it all if it was with you,” 

“Satoru—“ and he’s shaking his head. 

“I thought I could handle it — but when I saw you two — the two most important people in my life — how much you were counting on me, how much you needed me to not fail — I threw myself into work,” he’s swallowing, “I thought if I could support you both, things would get better. But it only made things worse because I pushed myself away,” 

“Why?”

“Because I thought I’d mess it up — I don’t know how to be a father. I didn’t even know I wanted to be a husband until we got married,” and you swallow, “I thought I never would after watching my dad neglect and abuse me and my mom,” you knit your brow together, “and there were so many nights when you were sleeping, I got so frustrated with our angel. She wouldn’t sleep, she screamed for hours, and I just felt like I had failed her. And I would just fail you too,” he scrubbed a hand down his face, “so—“  

“So you ran away,” you finish, voice caught in your throat. 

He gives a curt nod, “And when you filed, I knew it was coming, but I thought you both would be better off. I thought even if I was miserable, it would be worth it to see you two happy—“ 

“Satoru, do you think I would be happy without my husband?” Your sigh stuck in your throat as your fingers find his cheek, featherlight, but he crumbles and melts against it, as if he was a statue made to wait for your touch, “you’re nothing like your father. I see you with Satomi, I see how much you love her — you dote on her, you know what she likes — she gets a cut and you’re panicking,” you chuckle as he huffs, a cute blush settling over his cheeks, “and you were a good husband, when you talked to me and didn’t run away,” 

“I know,” and the question unspoken hangs in the air, “can I be again? Your husband,” and your instinct is to pull him into your arms, where you wanted him to be, where you always wanted to be, but your instinct is tangled in fear, barbed wire dragging you down and digging into your skin. 

“I want you to be,” his eyes light up, hope flicking across his gaze like a comet tail, until it burns out with your next words, “but I’m scared,” you swallow, arms crossed, hoping if you physically hold yourself maybe you could hold yourself together, “I don’t want to get hurt again,” 

“I won’t, I promise,” he’s cupping your cheek again, and you find yourself leaning into his touch, “every night I only thought of you and Satomi — there’s no one else that matters,” he’s drawing closer again, it makes you want nothing more than his touch again — it had been too long — too long without him. 

And your lips find his again, it’s a chaste kiss at first, a breath shared a centimeter apart, as his eyes find yours, brow furrowed, “We have a lot to talk about,” you murmur, as your lips graze his again, and he’s chasing your lips, “but it’s going to take time,” God, you want to kiss his knowing pout away, as you drag a thumb down his lips, “a lot of making up to me and our angel,” He’s nodding obediently, a complete puppy under your touch, as he shivers as your fingers run through his hair before tugging, “are you ready for that?” 

“Yes, baby,” he’s biting his lip, fingers twitching wanting to touch you. 

Your lips curl, “Good boy.” 

“All that big talk and now look at you, Toru,” Satoru’s white knuckled fingers fisted at the sheets of your shared bed, as your own fingers teased the head of his leaking cock through his boxers, “such a mess for me,” 

You kneel at the foot of your bed, settled between his thighs, and though you were on your knees, you were the one who held the power. Fingers tracing the trigger right within your grasp, his cock twitching against your hand. 

“Please, sweetheart, fuck,” he’s hissing when your lips lean down to press a kiss to his clothes weeping slit, the wet heat of your mouth seeps through, making him twitch against your touch — a spark of need that burns against his skin and boils his blood underneath with need, “please, don’t tease me,” 

“Well that’s not fair,” you hum, as your fingers toy with the elastic of his boxers, snapping the elastic against your skin, sending a shiver up his body along with an ache that reaches his bones — and he wondered how he had let your grip on him grow this deep — and how he had ever let it go when it felt this good, “when you’re being teased I’m supposed to relent, even though you made me cum downstairs in my entryway?” 

And he’s swallowing thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing just as anticipatory as the rest of his body, a bow string drawn tight just waiting for you to release it. But you wished to toy with the arrow more. 

“I have half a mind to make you clean my cum off the floor with your tongue,” you click your own tongue as a taunt, but that only makes him squirm, “but maybe I’ll spare you since you’re being so good for me,” you’re dragging your fingers down his boxers, freeing his cock— already far too hard, flushed and dripping with precum as it slaps against his stomach, the flared head nearly begging you to touch it, “tell me what you want,” his cock is far too gorgeous, you thought that from the first time you saw it  — long and curved, and the veins that ran along it were so pretty— just like the man himself. 

And a whimper escapes his lips, “sweetheart, please, touch me—“ 

“With what?” you thumb his tip lightly, smearing the cum down his shaft, “my fingers? Or my mouth,” and your lips lick the pre that clings to your thumb clean, dragging your thumb down the flat of your tongue. 

“Y-Your mouth,” and you’re smiling, your lips curling as his pretty gaze pleads with you, “please,” 

“Imagine your subordinates saw you like this, begging your ex-wife to blow you, nearly ready to blow your load already just from fingering me,” your fingers toy with his balls, while you leans down to trace the tip of his tongue up the bottom of his cock, “what do you think they’d say?” And your lips part to let his engorged tip enter, as his head falls back with a groan, the wet and warm mouth, as you start to bob your head up and down his length. 

“Fuuuuck, pretty,” and you’re pausing as you wait for a reply to your question, his own tongue tying itself in knots, “think I’m down bad for my wife,” he’s grunting, the words ‘my wife’ and his groans sending white hot arousal to your needy cunt, “think I’d let her fuck me anyway she wants and they would be right, sweets. I’d let you use me,” your tongue is wrapped around his length, as his dick sinks deeper into your mouth, nose brushing against his pubes, his hips held taut as he forces himself not to face fuck you. 

And his eyes flutter down to meet yours, only to find your eyes drowning in lust, molten with need that nearly burned him with want, lips sloppy and dripping with a mix of precum and your spit out of the corners of your mouth, and your fingers —buried deep in your cunt as you sucked him off. 

Fuck. 

With the nasty way you slurped at his length, the noise ringing in his ear as your fingers begin to squeeze and stroke his balls, he wasn’t going to last much longer. His hips bucked against your mouth, and he’s muttering apologies but you let him, moaning as his tip hits the back of your throat. 

“I’m close—where—“ and you’re sucking hard, tongue flicking against his slit and when he fucks your mouth once, twice — he’s gone. He’s cumming down your throat, hot spurts of cum painting your lips and mouth, his head falls back, fingers gripping the sheets as his eyes flutter open. And he watches you pull away from his cock, sticky strings of cum and saliva connecting you to his length still, “fuck, sweetheart,” his softening dick already twitching at the sight of you — your pretty tongue darting out to lick his cum from your lips. 

“You taste as good as I remember, Toru — always so sweet,” and you’re pulling your own fingers from inside your tight pussy, and he snaps. 

You’re on your back on the bed now, flopped down against the mattress as his hand closes around your wrist of the hand that was just inside you. Your words are lodged in your throat but come out a shiver when he brings your soaked fingers to his lips, he kisses each one before sucking and licking them clean. 

“Toru—“ and he pulls away from the last finger with a pop, eyes clouded with need, “I—“ 

“And you say I taste good?” he’s humming, as he leans over you, “wait until you taste yourself, Princess,” and his mouth is insistent on giving you an entire course of your taste on his tongue, mapping out a detailed cartography of very crook and crevice of your mouth, “aren’t you so much sweeter?” He’s pulling away from your bitten red lips, spit connecting your lips still, “and that taste is all mine, just like you, wifey,” 

The pet name sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through your veins, stoking the burning need already threatening to consume you both, “Toru—“ and he’s already stripping your dress away, pulled away up and over your head, thrown away like every thought of why this was a bad idea. Your nipples perk in the cool air of your bedroom and under his hot gaze, standing at attention as if they’re begging for his attention. And he’s more than happy to oblige. 

His fingers toy with the buds, rolling between your forefinger and thumb, until he’s bending down to take one in his mouth, and you’re arching into his touch, your fingers finding purchase on his shoulders. 

“Bet Atsuya would love to see you like this, huh?” He’s switching to the other side, teeth dragging against your nipple to draw a gasp from your lips, “Would love to see you such a mess like this, spread out and needy,” and he’s spreading you with warm palms, his half hard cock brushing against your thigh, “Were you gonna let him fuck you on this bed? Our bed?” 

He doesn’t allow you an answer as his fingers spread your dripping walls, “Gonna let him taste you like this?” His lips warm your fluttering pussy, nearly begging for his touch and to swallow you whole, “when I already said this pretty cunt was mine,” he clicks his tongue far too close, making you whine, “g’nna have to answer my question first, Princess,” 

“No, I wouldn’t,” and he presses a chaste kiss to your dripping pussy, making you whimper, your walls spasming around nothing, “Toru,” 

“Remember when we moved into this home?” his lips are teasing your inner thigh, teeth dragging against your hot skin, “we broke the bed in all night long,” he’s looking up through half lidded eyes, “think he could please you like that? Make you moan his name?” 

And you’re growing desperate as his lips draw close to your clit, tongue dragging against it, only to pull away to your thighs again, “no, no, only you, Toru, please—“ 

“Only I what?” oh you know he’s goading you, but your want is drawn taut like a stringed instrument, tweaking your strings when you’re dying for him to play you — “c’mon sweetheart,” 

“Only you make me feel this good — fuck, Toru, I swear to god—“ your head falls back into the pillow as his face buries itself in your cunt, his laugh vibrates against your walls, pleasure rising faster than smoke from a burning building. His fingers dig into your hips as he holds you in place now, settled between your legs. 

“You swear to me what?” and you swear his god complex gets worse and worse, and the way you moaned with his head between your legs wasn’t helping, “sorry, Princess, I have my mouth full,” and his tongue as silver as his words were, parting your folds with ease, as his lips slurped at your folds messily. 

Fuck, he was too good at it, and he knew it, smirk on his lips as the wet, nasty noises of his mouth wrapped around your cunt and your bordering pornographic moans filled the silence. Pleasure ribboned up your body, mixing with the sharpness of his fingers pressed against your plush thighs to keep you in place. 

“Gonna make me cum before I even fuck you, Princess,” and you hear the telltale squelch of his hand around his weeping dick — the shudder of your groan making him moan all the same, “taste so fucking good, never gonna go a night without tasting you again,” he murmurs far too reverently with his tongue dipping back into your folds for more of your juices, “you know how many times I fucked my fist to the thought of eating you out again? Never gonna spend a second without burying myself in this cunt,” 

“Toru, I’m close—“ and you are, greedy tongue flitting over your clit, his nose bumping against his folds, and the practiced ease of his touch — he knew just what to do to make you cum. And he did, his mouth closing around your clit, before sucking harshly. 

You cum on his face, swallowing your slick with the thrust of a desert weary man, his eagerness apparent on his soaked face, as you finally came down your high. He doesn’t waste a drop, only pulling away with a pop when your orgasm ebbs away, licking his lips clean of your juices. 

“Still dripping even after I licked you clean?” He clicks his tongue as he watches your slick soak the sheet, “gonna have to find another way, maybe you need something bigger,” he hums in fake contemplation, “what can we use?” 

“I have some sex toys that might do the trick,” and he scoffs, as he kisses up your body, before pressing his hard erection against your thigh. 

“Don’t think any toy you have compares to me,” and you’re gasping as he drags the head of his cock against your puffy clit, “nothing can fill you up like I can,” and he groans as he watches your releases mix, “just for that, g’nna make you beg for it,” 

“Toru,” you’re whining, but he’s only teasing your entrance with the head of his dick, your walls fluttering, already begging for him to sink into you, but he’s waiting for your mouth to do the same, “please, fuck me, I need you inside—“ 

He grins, “Well how can I deny my pretty wife when she asks so nicely?” And he’s splitting you open with his thick cock, balls deep with only a thrust of his hips. Your hands are grasping at him for purchase, needing to hold onto him as his cock stretches your walls out. It’s as if you remember him, walls sliding to accommodate him as they always did, but clinging to him desperately, a grunt parting his lips, as if they never wanted him to leave again. And you didn’t. 

“So fucking tight, Princess,” he’s groaning in your ear, a swallow roll of his hips drawing a chorus of moans from both of you, “don’t have to break my dick off to keep it — I’ll take you anytime you want,” and he’s pressing your thighs forward, slinging one over his shoulder, as he presses himself even deeper. 

A whine leaves the back of your throat, “too deep, Toru,” and his cock twitches inside you at that, “fuck,” and it takes everything in him not to blow his load there and then, 

“You love it when I fuck you like this, Princess, or do I have to remind you?” And he does, beginning to piston in and out, the lewd slaps of skin and moans filling the air of your bedroom, “be careful or our daughter might wake from the sounds of her mommy getting fucked,” he clicks his tongue, “maybe we should give her another sibling?” He’s watching the way your cunt eagerly welcomes his cock, sinking in and out with ease, “fuck another baby into you, hm? Would you like that princess?” 

“Toru, ngh,” your walls flutter at the thought of a kid, of his seed filling you up, “please—more—“ 

He gives a chuckle, “I’ll give you everything, sweetheart — fuck you so full that you’ll be dripping with my seed for days,” he’s grunting, legs trembling as his thrusts grow more sloppy as his orgasm begins to build, “fuck, you feel so good for me, “gonna give you another baby, make sure everyone knows you’re mine, my wife—“ 

“G’nna cum, Toru,” you’re falling back against the mattress, as he bends down to press a messy kiss to your lips, all tongue and teeth, before his fingers reach down to rub at your clit. Your eyes finding his, face flushed a pretty pink, eyes shrouded in a deep lust that was reserved only for you, and as he bucks into you even deeper, he brushes against that spongy spot that has the taut string snapping as you fall apart. 

“Cum on my cock, sweetheart,” he’s grunting, as he grazes teeth along your neck before biting. And you cum hard, toes curling as your mouth falls open with only moans of his name on your lips. The way your walls squeeze around him has him only rutting into you harder, deeper, messier — as he watches the ring of cum pool around the base of his cock, fucking you through your orgasm, “g’nna cum—“ and you’re pulling him into another kiss, legs wrapped around him as he falls over the edge with you. Hot cum spills in ropes inside your walls, his hips rolling as he does, if only to fuck his cum deeper inside you. 

“Toru, s’good, I—“ you’re incoherent nearly under him, soft kisses pressed along your jaw as you both come down from your highs, cock softening inside you only him to pull out, another groan of your name on his lips when he watches his cum drip from inside you, staining your thighs along with the sheets. 

And you whimper when he’s gathering his spilled cum on two fingers only to push it back inside, “can’t let you waste a drop, can we, sweetheart?” 

He’s finally pulling away, his other hand cupping your cheek, as he finds your lips in a lazy but far too sweet kiss, “Toru,” you mumble, “I never stopped loving you, because I don’t think I ever could,” 

His eyes grow glassy, his fingers finding the back of your neck, “I know nothing I’ll do will make up for what I did — to you and Satomi, but,” he presses his forehead to yours, “if you both let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you,” 

And tears burn at the corners of your eyes, “Just stay with us, and promise to never leave — that’s enough,” and your lips brush his, “you’re more than enough for us, Satoru,” and he kisses you again and again and again, nearly climbing on top of you again, when you both hear a tiny gasp from the door. 

Your heads both snap over to your baby daughter leaning against the door, badly hidden behind it, as she pokes her head in, “did mommy and daddy make up?” 

Your cheeks burn as you cover your face — you both had checked on Satomi before but she was fast asleep still, and now — you checked the time — 9:30 PM, you were sure she’d be up all night. 

“Yes baby, mommy and daddy had some stuff to talk about,” Satoru grabs your robe for you, handing it over as he pulls his discarded boxers on under the sheets, “come here,” and she squeals as she runs into her daddy’s arms, Satoru scoops her up before pressing kisses all over her face, her giggles and his grin nearly too much for you. 

“Now she’s gonna be up all night,” you murmur to Satoru, and he’s smiling. 

“I can tire her out,” he grins, and then he adds with a whisper, “and then I’ll tire you out,” and you flush, shoving him playfully, “come on, my love, let’s go play for a while and let mama rest,” and he’s sliding out of bed, carrying her out of the bedroom, and you watch him, lying on your side, with a smile on your lips.  

Maybe it wasn’t so bad having a husband — especially when it was Satoru Gojo. 

Satoru lets you and Satomi sleep in the next morning, making a smoothie for himself, as he starts to prepare breakfast. He did tire you both out last night, especially you — and you did some exhausting of your own, his fingers running over the hickies you left all over his neck and collarbone with a slight hum. He tied your apron on himself, only boxers and a sleeveless tee on. 

He started to crack eggs into a bowl with one hand. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes again — he meant what he said. He would make it up to you, or at least he would try — and he would spend the rest of his life treasuring you and his kid — and maybe another if you let him have his way, he thought, biting back a grin. 

You had turned him down last night when he asked, 

“Don’t you think it’s time we try for another one?” His arms are winding around you, half hard erection already pressing into you, as the two of you stood right outside your daughter’s doorway, watching the angel sleep, “we did do well with the first one,” 

“Toru, we just got back together, we’re not having another kid,” and he’s already pouting, you know without looking at him, “but that would be nice — for our daughter to have a sibling,” and god, it made him to take right there (which he did), but he couldn’t wait until all three of you were ready. Because he wouldn’t dare to miss a second of it — never again. 

And then a knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts, and his brow furrows. Who could it be this early?

He walks over, checking through the peephole, a grin growing on his lips, oh, perfect timing. Satoru opens the door, leaning against the doorframe, “Yes?” 

Atsuya Kusakabe frowns, jaw nearly dropping as he attempts not to gape at Satoru Gojo standing in his date’s doorway, nearly dropping the bag of medicine and soup he had packed up for you, “Uh, sorry, I was looking for—“ 

“My wife?” He raises a brow, and Kusakabe’s face blanches, as Satoru only smiles with a shrug, “sorry I should say ex-wife, we did get a divorce,” and Kusakabe’s mouth opens and closes, “but you know, she never stopped being mine,” 

Kusakabe clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, “where is—“ 

“She’s sleeping still,” Satoru’s lips curl, as he sighs, “she wasn’t feeling well yesterday, but I think I made her feel better last night,” and he’s rubbing the back of his neck, movement drawing his attention to your marks littering his body. 

A flush crawls up his neck and ears and he clears his throat, “I-I see,” he thrusts the bag into Satoru’s hands, “could you please give this to her and let her know—“ and he’s shaking his head, rubbing at his temples, “tell her whatever you want.” 

And he’s gone, door slamming behind him, click of the lock. He holds the bag behind him, only to walk forward to see you peeking from the bedroom, his button up shirt thrown over your head, as you rub your eyes,  “who was it?” 

He only smiles at you, dropping the bag in the trash, “No one important,” and he’s finding his way to your side, arms winding around your waist, “I made us breakfast,” 

“Oh really?” You hum, as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, pressing sweet kisses that only makes you sigh contently, “what’s the occasion?” 

“Oh, just the first day of the rest of our lives, nothing too big,” he hums, and you laugh, his favorite noise that only makes him fall deeper in love with you, if that was even possible, “have to treat you right don’t I, wifey?” 

“Yes, you do,” and your lips find his again, “my husband,” and the word sticks in his chest, a missing piece that fits right back into place, and fixes a hole that had been aching for far too long, “should we go wake up our daughter?” 

He presses a kiss to your forehead, “Together.” 

✧ a/n: so i didn't think i'd finish this week with being at my sister's and having a con this weekend but i found the time! i hope you enjoyed this one. this is my reality for gojo i'm living in :) fun fact, satomi and satoru both mean enlightenment! :)

✧ taglist: @jasminelee324 , @forest-hashira , @spider-fan72 ,, @rougebrainsludge , @theshylittleelfgirl , @ririchurl , @johannakhalafalla , @hanlay , @fawnlikelore , @vickkysthings , @dead-kats , @hantaslittlearsonist t , @being-me-is-not-a-sin , @augustwinesworld , @forest-fruits-jam , @kirashuu , @catsgomurp , @daddytojji , @notgoodforlife , @hyori2 , @shrimpy109 , @goddess-ofthe-godless , @i-spilt-ink-on-my-phone , @sunamatic , @rougebrainsludge , @redmangotango , , @psychxbby , @nakariabnrb , @mua-for-now @dazailover1900 , @alwaysfreakingout , @yamaguccitadashi , @equikaz , @gojosatorubrainrot

[bi-writes]

Could you do one of Simon forgetting to bring his lunch and so his wife brings it except she turns up in a cute sundress??

mail-order bride (18+)

"simon...simon riley?" you ask.

the officer raises a brow, looking down at your ID and then back at your face. he frowns a little, scratching the back of his neck.

"he's a lieutenant," you add, biting your lip. "uhm...and he works with...with john."

"john?"

you suck in a shaky breath, biting your lip nervously.

"captain john price?"

the officer just glares at you a little before picking up his radio.

"yes, ma'am. wait here."

he turns his back to you, walking a little ways away, and you hear him speak into the radio lowly.

"...got a civilian here asking for lieutenant riley..."

"...negative, sir..."

"...oh. affirmative, sir. right away."

the officer comes back, giving you your ID back. he looks sheepish now all of the sudden, and he smiles at you, which unnerves you almost.

"u-uh, so sorry ma'am. you can park near the main office, right that way," he points to a building far to the left, "i'll have someone come meet you there to take you inside. again, apologies...we're going to put you on a list, mrs. riley."

you frown a little, shrugging. you're not upset. it's a miltiary base, for christ's sake, and you've never been here; of course they would be apprehensive about letting you in. but the private looks terrified out of his mind, so you just smile a little and make your way towards the parking spot he pointed out.

when you get out of the car, you push the door closed with your hip, picking up the bag in the passenger seat. there's a woman standing by the door, smiling and waving at you. she looks very smart, in a nice pantsuit. you smooth your dress down, smiling back at her, and you swing your purse over your shoulder before making your way to her.

"hello, mrs. riley. the lieutenant's wife, i hear?" she asks. you nod and shake her hand.

"y-yes...he...he said he was just doing administrative stuff today, but he forgot some things so...i just wanted to do something nice--"

"right!" she nods her head towards the door. "i can escort you to his office. uhm...i believe he's debriefing with captain price this afternoon, but i'm sure he can make some time." she winks at you when she says that, and you bite back a shy smile.

she takes a seat at her desk, picking up the phone. she yaps for a few minutes, and you take a seat in an empty chair, smoothing your skirt out. your wearing one of simon's favorites, the cherry-printed mini dress he loves so much, but you realize maybe he might not be the only one. there's a myriad of privates and soldiers that walk past you, and you hear some whistles by some of the bolder ones. you suddenly feel very self conscious, tucking your legs underneath yourself. you're wearing white strapped wedges, your hair styled nicely with a bow to match the dress, but now you feel silly, stupid.

why would you go to a military base dressed like a fucking pin-up girl?

"wot are you doin' 'ere?" a rough voice demands.

mmm. that's why.

you look up from your chair, smiling wide when you see him. simon stands with his arms crossed over his tact vest, tilting his head to the side as he glares at you from under his skull mask. you've never seen him strapped before, though. he's got a gun tucked into his thigh holster.

"h-hi," you pick up the basket next to you, standing up, and when you come close, simon is rough, wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you near him with a short growl.

"oi," he snaps, but you just flutter your lashes at his harsh voice, smiling bigger. "can't fuckin' come 'ere lookin' so pretty."

you giggle, and even though you're wearing heels, you still find yourself standing on your toes as you try to get close to him.

"you forgot what i packed for you, simon. how could you forget?" you pout a little. he sighs deeply, smoothing his gloved hand down your back before nodding his head.

"c'mon. can't 'ave ya out here. fuckin' muppets starin' at my wife."

he turns and immediately starts walking. he's entirely too fast, and you skip in your wedges practically to try and keep up with him. when he notices, he slows his pace, and you grip the basket better in your hand before reaching for his with the other.

your hands intertwine, and you look around as you walk, reading the plaques on the wall, the shiny medals, waving at johnny when you see him holding a bag of crisps upside over his open mouth.

when simon shuts the door behind you in a dark office, you set the basket down on the desk, pushing back the kitchen towel fabric.

"okay, so i brought those muffins you like from that little shop. they had blueberry this morning, oh my gosh, simon, they also started putting out these little scones that--oh!" you gasp as he grabs you from the fat of your hips, a big flat palm over the base of your spine as he pushes you flat onto your stomach onto the desk. "simon!"

simon sucks on his teeth as he flips up your skirt, letting out a low whistle as he palms your ass, spreading the fat of it so he peek at the seam of the white lace you're wearing. you lay your palms against the desk and whimper, not used to simon being so rough, so upfront, so bold.

"can't just come here all dressed up, baby," simon grunts, shaking his head. "and not expect me to take wot i need...been surrounded by nothing but wankers all fuckin' day..."

you relax a little, giggling.

"simon," you sigh, your eyes closing as you push your hips back into his hands. "i missed you so much..."

"tha' why y'came down 'ere, luvvie?" he asks, smirking under the mask. "ya missed me? missed y'r husband? what'd ya miss, baby? tell me."

you arch your back a little, bowing it, and you laugh when he gives your ass a firm grab before picking you up and spinning you around, caging you against the desk. you smile up at him, dazed, a little dizzy, and he winks at you, eye-black dark and deadly around those killer brown eyes. he's so big, so hot, and you're suddenly very aware of how big simon looks in all his gear.

"i don't know," you say softly. "it's so cold in bed at night..."

simon snorts, "tha' right? 's cold? the lil' shits don't keep ya warm?"

"our girls like to sleep on your pillow, i think they miss you, too."

"fuckin' lil' bastards," simon chuckles, and you sigh, sliding your hands up his vest and tugging him just a little closer. your spread your knees to let him between them, and he reaches down and grips your thighs, hiking them up around his hips as he sits you onto the edge of the desk. "fuck, you're so fucking pretty..."

you tilt your head back for him.

"i miss eating with you. it's so quiet when you're not around."

"mmm. i bet, luv."

"and i miss you when i'm alone," you whisper. "i miss you when it's just me..."

simon narrow his eyes, "tell me, swee'eart."

you reach up and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down towards you. you kiss him over the mask, tasting sand and ash, licking over his lips through the cotton. it's lewd, disgusting, but he groans under the fabric.

"when, simon? when?" you ask, and he hums lowly.

"when? 'ow about right now?"

"no way, you're so gross, simon," you giggle. "our first time is not going to be on a desk in some dingy office where you work--"

you seize when he cups you between the thighs, big gloved hand palming your cunt through your lace panties. you arch your back and gasp, gripping his biceps tight as you lean into his touch.

"don't need t'make it our first time," simon tilts his head to the side. "can still make it real fuckin' nice, baby."

"oh, now you wanna touch me?" you suck in a shaky breath. "just because some of your men wanna look up my skirt?"

"oh, for tha', i'll make ya scream my bloody name, for oll of them ta hear," he growls, and you smile wide up at him.

"guess they need to learn i'm a lieutenant's wife," you giggle, and simon whistles low, tugging your panties to the side, and you whimper when you he prods at your entrance with two big gloved fingers.

"ahhhh..." simon hisses. "ya like tha' title, tha' it, baby? yeah...yeah you like tha'..."

"i like it," you whine, and when he meets your watery eyes, he plunges those big fingers deep, thumbing at your clit. your mouth falls open, your nails digging into his sleeves, and you suddenly wish you had asked him to take you to get your nails done so you could really claw it. "i like it..."

"could make these boys lick the fuckin' ground ya walk on," he mutters, and you whine when a particular rough thrust of his hand squelches between your thighs. "they'd do anythin' to please me, baby...even johnny would chew your bloody food for ya if i asked him to--"

you reach down and grip his wrist, your thighs shaking as you jolt. it feels so good, your entire body is on fire. his fingers are petting a nice little spot inside of you, stroking it as he pumps his hand nice and steady inside of you. his thumb is working you in gooey circles, flicking at your clit and putting taut the little string in your lower belly. your whole brain feels like it's fizzling, your blood rushing, and you stick out your tongue, licking over his masked jaw as you start to feel like you're gonna pass out from the wet slick, slick, slick sounding from your wet cunt.

"simon--simon--" you pant, and he groans, nodding his head.

"so pretty, baby," simon breathes. "so fuckin' tight, gonna 'ave to work ya open before i give ya my cock, lovey..."

"it's so big," you mumble, and simon coos, nodding his head.

"i know, baby, i know, 's big, real big...but you can take it, remember?" he laughs. "you can take it woteva i give you..."

you nod.

"i can take it--i can take it--!"

your vision blurs. there's tears coming down your face, sweat lining your forehead, your back, but you can't wipe the giggly, lazy smile off your face. simon cups the back of your head with his free hand, sitting you up, and when he pulls his fingers out from between your legs, his gloves are stuck to his hand practically, completely soaked through.

"y'r so pretty when y'cum," he murmurs, and you stick out your tongue for him. he gets the message, shoving his mask up just enough, and he bends to kiss you warm and wet.

"well then," you meet his eyes, all languid, all relaxed, a devious little grin on your sweet face. "why don't you give me another then?"

simon grins, all teeth.

"woteva ya want."

[gghostwriter]

Three's a Sideshow

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 2 || Part 3 Summary: Spencer misses an important date and ends up paying the consequences Trope:Angst w.c: 4.2k a/n: this is one of the many many requests of @lavonee (her exact request was: maybe spencer misses an important date/anniversary because of jj and reader is finally fed up being second place to her) trying my best to address all of them. Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The hazy dim light of each candle on the white linen covered table gave the restaurant an orange hue. Various aromas of meat, wine, and complimentary cheese wafted through the enclosed space. Sensual tones of the saxophone lightly played on the speakers perfectly weave through each muted conversations between loved ones—couples and families. The high-end restaurant basked in good food and great company. 

Everything was perfect.

Every costumer joyous and warm from the delicious wine. 

All except for one, alone by the corner booth, phone pressed to your ear and eyes scanning for the tall, lithe form of the date for the night.

Beep. Beep. Be—

You grimaced at the busy line tone that answered you, again. Hands gripping the draped linen, trying your best not to tap your newly manicured fingers on the table—trying to blend into the background, unsuccessfully. 

You stuck out like a sore thumb. All dressed up with no partner or food on the table, just a glass of once chilled wine—condensation all around it like tears of abandonment and longing. 

The same waitress who escorted you to the table—15 minutes ago, approached with a perfectly rehearsed smile.

“Ma’am, are we ready to order?”

You sighed. “Actually, my boyfriend isn’t here yet—”

She bit her lip, nodding, before quickly averting her eyes to the queued up line outside the premise.

Right. It was a Friday night and every adult in the vicinity wanted a night out to unwind and start their weekend on the right foot.

You tightly smiled, the embarrassment of tonight painting your cheeks a deep maroon, unnoticed through the flickering of the orange candlelight. “—you know what, I think I’d just have a slice of your chocolate cake to go. Yeah, I’m sorry about holding up the table.”

The waitress nodded, understanding washing on her face. “That’s alright. I’ll have your order packed and ready to go.”

“Thanks,” you murmured as you watched her leave. 

Tonight was suppose to be special. 

You dressed up in the same white with purple printed flower midi length dress, styled your hair effortlessly, and spritzed on your favorite perfume that smelled like a luscious garden after a rainy night.

Everything was just like how it was two weeks ago—including your boyfriend of three years, Spencer Reid, not showing up for the date.

You didn’t even know why you bothered. Why his promise of being here tonight made you feel giddy and trusting. Why his commitment on having do-over for the actual anniversary dinner that he missed two weeks ago made you think it was going to end differently and why you gave him another chance—

Another chance to let you down.

Another crack in your belief that you were important.

Another heartache to soothe.

Another let down. 

When you first entered the relationship, you understood the gravity of his work. How his career will always come first and how unpredictable it all may be.

That part—accepting those facts, were easy. You were always one to be tolerant and understanding ever since childhood, labeled as the easy kid—the independent, the self-sufficient. Mixed in with your highly demanding career as a doctor, you got it—the patience and consideration of a saint.

A martyr, your good friend once bluntly said. 

But what good was being a martyr when the person you’re killing yourself for didn’t notice?

It didn’t matter at first. Missed messages, missed calls, missed dates were just a work of rotten timing from both ends. Sometimes it was you having to run to the hospital for an emergency surgery and sometimes it was him having to catch a plane to a latest serial killer case.

The tandem of both independent and busy people in the relationship worked, love blossomed regardless.

What made it different was, there was three of you in the relationship.

The third party being an intense platonic, as he once defended, connection with Her.

You felt it for the first time during a get together with his found family. Your set of eyes trained to read in between the lines for the truth patients unwittingly hide from their doctor. It was a skill that you honed and never hated, up until that moment.

The stolen glances when the other wasn’t looking.

The emotion veiled between the eyes.

The unsaid words that seemed to spill from the silence.

Never mind that there were two presences in the vicinity that could have their life altered in any minute from the secrets long hidden in vaults. It was as if you and her husband were considered ornaments, pieces of a possible aftermath not worth saving. 

You knew of their past—Spencer admitting to having a crush on her during his early days with the team and asking her out on a baseball game date.

Everything was water under the bridge, your boyfriend assured you. But the thing was, water had a way of overflowing from confinement, turning deadly, and ravaging what once was an idyllic garden that bloomed from your affection. 

Now as you pay for the tab and collect your things, you felt the tides that destroyed the solace inside of you well up to your eyes—wanting the release you’re fighting to keep at bay.

A fight you’re bound to lose.

You whispered a thank you to the waitress, soft and quiet that you were unsure if she even heard it but that was the best you could do, the sobs closing your vocal chords and threatening to escape, making you a spectacle—leaving the restaurant alone, with a boxed cake on hand.

What a sad sight.

You fumbled with the phone again, hands shaking as you insert the key on the ignition.

Beep. Beep. Be—

Nothing. 

What even was the point of all of this, you wondered. All this emotion, love, that was once sweet and heavenly now all felt rotten, puss oozing from its pores and flies exalting for a feast. 

Slowly backing your black 4-door sedan out of the parking lot, you pondered if this was the end—did you have any more left to give? Or was this just a bump on the road for the your future selves to learn and heartily laugh about? 

———

The rattling of your keys as you dropped it on the ceramic plate across the main door disrupted the silent, empty apartment.

A small smile graced your face as you remembered spontaneously booking a ceramic wheel class with Spencer in tow. His initial worries about getting under the nails dirty and the bacteria that could be collected from any stranger that used the items before the both of you swept away with your giggles and assurances to double up on vitamins. 

There was a wide grin on his face then, accepting defeat from the sight of your enthusiasm and glee. 

It was one of your greatest memory with Spencer and when the glazed pottery came from the mail—yours, a wonky blue green plate and his, an uneven moss green bowl, you had him promise to take you again.

A promise that never came to fruition.

You sighed, eyes tracking the rented space you never quite moved in to. The walls painted this dark green color, reflecting the somber mood you frequently found yourself in and the shelves filled to the brim with books you never dream of reading.

in hindsight, maybe your subconscious was telling you something. Why you never agreed to Spencer’s casual asking of you to live with him. Why you were adamant of keeping your own apartment regardless of the nights you spent outside of it.

This place became your pseudo-home, comfortable but never quite permanent. 

The distant murmur of a car being parked on the street had you clambering up from your defeated, slouched position on the leather couch. In your gut, you knew who it was.

You spotted them exiting the SUV.

The two figures that make the relationship three—a sideshow for everyone to see.

Spencer and JJ. 

They talked for a bit, probably saying pleasantries of goodbyes, before she leaned in for a hug. One that he reciprocated, patting her back as he went. 

They looked like a couple and if you were in your right state of mind, you’d chalk the exchange up to nothing but you weren’t—you were wounded and unsure of your standing ever since you exited the restaurant.

Were you his first still?

Or were you just second place? 

They were questions you never wanted no, needed, to be addressed but it seemed like tonight was the night of reckoning.

As you watched Spencer enter the apartment, the smile on his face from spotting you slowly become a furrow between his brows, you fidgeted—pulling the coat tighter to your body, the one you never hung on the back of the door—ready to bolt.

“Love, I’m so sorry I missed our reservation—”

He went in for a kiss on your glossy lips. 

A simple act that you didn’t have the energy to accept, you turned your head to the side. His lips catching your cheek instead.

“It’s fine,” you sardonically replied. “It wasn’t like I was waiting for you for half an hour to show up. It’s fine, Spencer.” 

His brow twitched. 

“It sounds like it’s not fine. Why don’t you tell me what you really feel? We promised to openly communicate, didn’t we?”

You huffed, throwing your hands up in the air. “I said it’s fine, Spencer. Why don’t you give it a rest?”

“You look beautiful,” his calloused fingers gently caressing your hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t show. It’s just that JJ and the tea—”

Your last thread of reason snapped clean from hearing her name.

“It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it? Me coming after her?”

“Love.”

“Don’t touch me—don’t call me that,” you pushed his hands away, tucking the escaped tendrils behind your ears. 

His own, raking the wavy brown hair you loved, in frustration. You could tell, with how his hands opened and closed, that he was itching to touch you, comfort you. 

“Her? You mean, JJ? She’s a friend. Just a friend.” 

“And if this friend wasn’t married with kids, would you still be here with me now?”

Silence. 

There, you said it.

“What—yes, yes of course. Why would you ask that? Why would you doubt it? Doubt me?”

Your gut twisted inside of you. It was inconceivable for someone like Spencer to lie, wasn’t it? He was a good guy, one of the best. But all the hidden resentment in your heart—a pile you weren’t even aware of, no longer wanted to be silenced. It no longer wanted to be pushed to the side for optimism and denial. 

“I don’t know, Spencer. Maybe it’s the way you look at her—” voice raising up an octave. You’ve lost control, verbally dumping out everything. “Do you think I don’t see it? You look at her with this, this nostalgia and—and this emotion that I can’t compare to—never seen it when you look at me! Or maybe, maybe it’s because you drop everything for her? Including me?”

“Are you talking about when Henry got sick?” his hands finding a home on his hips. “I thought you understood—you of all, should have.”

Your laughter turned into a sob. “I do—I did, until you dropped me of unceremoniously back here, in this apartment, just so you could rush out to her home. Like I was some kind of secret, you didn’t want to bring around her. Like I was some sort of disease, you didn’t want her catching. Didn’t you think I would be of great help? A licensed medical doctor?”

“I wasn’t thinking straight—I thought you, you shouldn’t be exposed to the type of flu Henry contracted. You could have gotten sick too and could have passed it on to your other patients.”

“It’s my job to take care of the sick, don’t you think I take measures for my own health? Spencer, please, for once just be honest with me.”

He tilted his head. “Honest about what?”

“If it’s her you really want and if I’m just a passable substitute to settle down with.”

You could see his eyes blazing with such—disgust? Anger? You didn’t know what emotion it was before it was snuffed out, leaving his expression blank and almost sad. It was a look you were familiar with, his profiler look.

“I don’t need you profiling me and my insecurities, Spencer. I just want the truth. The God-honest truth.” 

“I love you. I can’t imagine a life without you—I won’t imagine it. Isn’t that enough?”

Your hands drop to your side.

“I don’t know. Is it?”

The distance created by the silence between you and Spencer was vast. You’ve never felt quite alone and isolated in the relationship until this moment. Was this it, then? The end to your once dreamed of happy ever after? 

“I’m sorry I missed the dinner. Why don’t you let me make it up to you? We can book the same restaurant for next week and—”

“You can’t just make up for a make up anniversary dinner, that’s not how it works in real life, Spencer. And besides, I don’t want to see the same pitying looks the workers there give me when they realize my date is again, and again, a no-show.”

He sighed, slowly invading your space. The arms that once felt like home to you, circling your waist, now felt foreign. You never imagined you’d get here but then again, who did? 

Your hands clasped his button down before loosening its grip. Taking in one more whiff of his cedar-wood and mint perfume, you pushed him away. Stepping backwards from his presence and all he had to offer.

“It’s late. We’re both tired—”

He nervously smiled. Intertwining his fingers with yours and started to walk backwards to the direction of the bedroom. “Yeah, we can talk about it in the morning once you feel better.”

You wiggled your hand free.

“Actually, I think I have to go.”

Spencer paused, panic coloring his face. “That’s—that’s not what I meant, love. Anything but that. Please, please I love you and I’m sorry.”

“Me too, Spence. Me too.” 

You slowly gathered your things, sans the chocolate cake left opened and untouched on the coffee table. 

“Happy anniversary, I need space to think this all through—to think us through.”

He stood still, blocking your way, trying to wrap his head around the direction this was going to. The inevitable downfall of him and you. It was a car crash no one could no longer escape from. 

“Please, let me fix this. I can do it, just—tell me how. Do you want me to limit my time spent with JJ? I-I can try, just please, don’t leave me.”

It wasn’t a promise, you noted. With how many broken promises there were between the span of your relationship, you wondered if that was a conscious choice of wording from him. It sounded hopeful, gleaming with oath even. But they were just words at the end of the day, packaged pretty for you to swallow.

“I need time, Spencer. I’m not breaking up with you, I just need space,” you placed a kiss on his cheek, wet from tears. “Can you give me that, love?”

He choked a sob. 

“Promise me you’ll be back. Promise me.”

You tightly smiled, making your way back to the door. The unanswered plea hanging in the air like a blade, waiting to slash down between you—waiting to sever the connection that was once shiny and new. 

Shakily removing the spare key of the apartment from your chain, you chanced one last look at his hunched form—sobs emitting from his sweet lips and acid rain spilling down his cherub cheeks, regretting that this might be your last memory of Spencer Reid.

You didn’t know if you’d be back. 

If the thought of being second place will ever go away.

But the sinking feeling in your gut tells you the truth—that this is it.

This is final.

This is the end. 

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[nonasuch]

Miss Universe National Costume 2024, Part 2!

Splitting this off into a new post so I'm not clogging up everyone's dash quite as much.

Miss Malta is some sort of environmental protection Sailor Scout. I think the giant bow would look better on the back of the skirt but otherwise this is solid.

It has just come to my attention that I skipped over Miss Albania and several other A/B countries, back at the beginning. I sincerely apologize! She went to all this trouble putting together a Fifth Element cruise ship passenger costume, and I nearly missed it.

Miss Armenia, in what even I have to admit would be a legit Princess Leia fit.

Miss Bahrain, adding some green to her Gold And Vaguely Historical look, along with what is either a comically large prop chalice or an upside-down lamp.

Miss Bangladesh appears to believe that adding two plush tigers from the toy store around the corner from the pageant venue will conceal the fact that she is just wearing a tiger-print evening dress. Miss Bangladesh is incorrect.

Miss Belgium. Girl. No.

Miss Belize let the seventh-grade art class do her whole costume, which was a bold choice.

Okay, I think that's everyone I missed! Back to alphabetical order. And I should have to rely less on shitty screenshots, now. Some countries were benefiting from the low resolution, tbh.

Kind of feel like Miss Maldives had a luggage mishap and she's just wearing the outfit she packed for a slightly dressy dinner.

Miss Martinique's costume would honestly have looked better in the shitty screencap version. The construction is... bad. It's bad.

Feel like we're in a little bit of slump here. Miss Mauritius did not stick enough butterfly appliqués to her gown to conceal that it is, in fact, just a regular evening gown.

Slump officially over! We are so back. Everyone say thank you, Miss Mexico.

I would like this better if it had just committed to the giant skirt and not felt the need to make it a Sexy Miniskirt look. Sorry, Miss Moldova.

Miss Mongolia wanted to stand out from all the other gold armor on stage, so she decided to a) wear cooler armor and b) bring a bow and arrow instead of a sword. Great work, Miss Mongolia.

Starting to feel like I'm picking on the smaller countries that probably don't have a huge pageant culture or the budget for really elaborate costumes, but on the other hand Miss Montenegro's costume is super low-effort AND the fabrics look cheap, so what am I supposed to do?

Okay, this looks like a pretty standard Miss Universe Sexy Bird, yes? Well, THIS is how Miss Myanmar entered the stage:

She had to fight her way out of that thing! God only knows what the visibility was like in there.

I think the hat is doing most of the heavy lifting to keep Miss Namibia's costume from being Just An Evening Dress, sadly.

Oh, yikes. It's more obvious in motion but Miss Nepal's bodice looks like it's made of craft foam and it fits real weird. The rest of it looks a little like she got together with Miss Cyprus and a pile of tablecloths for a sewing bee last night, I'm sorry to say.

Miss Netherlands has chosen a Tribute to Delft. I think if I were in charge of this costume I would do a much fuller skirt that falls from the waist, instead of the weird trumpet-skirt-with-hoop we've got here. And, obviously, I would make the windmill on the bodice actually spin.

It looks like she's having some issues keeping the wings and peplum in place, but I really like Miss New Zealand's costume from a design perspective. It at least slightly resembles the bird it's supposed to be (New Zealand fantail) and I think the feather pattern is meant to be in a Maori art style.

Miss Nicaragua is a Sexy Cathedral, which I think might be a Miss Universe first and is definitely a big old step closer to drag.

Okay, pausing here to get the next batch ready.

[gurugirl]

Says Who? | demonrry

Summary: Y/n goes to an underground club and meets the devil and she'll never ever forget it.

A/N: Something filthy and fun for Halloween! Not really scary, mostly just a smutty thing!

Word Count: 3.1k

Warning: smut, filth, spitting, major MAJOR size kink, creampie, unprotected public sex, Harry's a demon (or maybe he's just a dick - you choose)

⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧

Y/n could feel the base vibrating through to her marrow. The whole club was alive, a sticky hot sea of sweaty, dancing bodies, strobing lights, god-awful costumes.

She was less concerned about her white angel wings getting dirtied than she was about her drink getting something tossed into it. Some of the people making eye contact with her were… she didn’t know, but perhaps she’d keep her distance.

Though, as she looked down into her plastic cup, she realized it was all but pink melted ice. If she wanted something to worry about (other than her delicate white wings) she’d need a refill.

She figured she put a little too much effort into her costume. Her angel wings were made of real feathers and lace, lined with ribbing to make them look real, and her gauzy smock dress left little to the imagination for what she wore under. Of course, she doused herself in a healthy amount of soft shimmer and glitter and attempted to do the perfect winged liner –it wasn’t perfect, but it was pretty damn near close.

She'd gone alone to the club. A maybe not-so-smart move in retrospect, but still. She was there and she wanted to do something she'd never done before. Something outside of her comfort zone. Maybe even a little dangerous for once in her life.

The bar was packed with bodies, all lined up for a drink. Y/n waved her arm in the air, hoping to get the attention of the lone bartender. The poor guy was running his ass off and she could see sweat stains under his arms. It was rather stifling in the building.

Suddenly a very warm hand was pressed into her back, hot palm burning through the thin fabric of her dress down to her skin, “You don’t need another drink, Y/n.”

Turning to her right she saw a man with an imposing stature standing over her, his massive mitt cradling his own cup as he looked down at her, green irises practically glowing.

“Says who? I’ve only had one anyway. And how do you know my name?”

The grin that stretched over his face caught her off guard. He was handsome. She let her eyes wander from his broad shoulders up his neck and to the top of his head. He had thick dark waves with small pointed horns sticking out of the top just so. They looked real. The devil. How fitting a costume for a man who looked like that.

“Your name is printed on your cup,” he pointed. Y/n had forgotten that everyone was given a cup upon entry, their name scrawled across the smooth plastic, and told not to lose it. It was one of those underground club events and the cup was like your ticket to get in once you'd passed the initial pay-to-enter area.

She laughed and smiled, “Oh, I forgot,” she looked down at his cup again, noticing large rings adorning his thick fingers, “Harry.”

“What’s an angel doing in a place like this anyway?”

Another laugh puffed from behind her lips before she used her tongue to wet her parched mouth, “It’s a club. I don’t know. Saw an ad and it sounded fun. Why? Should I be worried?” Y/n bit her lip for effect. She wasn’t worried. But she did like this man’s vibe. He was flirty without being overt, his warm hand still sprawled along her back, face dangerously close.

“You should be worried. This is not a safe place, Y/n,” an evil smile worked its way over his features. He was teasing. Or maybe he wasn't.

She shrugged and looked up at him through her lashes before releasing her bottom lip, “But you’re here,” she looked back over her shoulder at the wild crowd behind them, “You gonna keep me safe from all the bad guys?”

“Is the angel asking the devil to watch over her tonight?” His grin grew lopsided, a dimple digging into his skin. God, he was attractive.

“Maybe. But you won’t let me get another drink so I don’t know…”

His eyes scraped over her face and down to her angel outfit, auditing, before he pushed into her back, moving her toward him closer. She watched him sit his cup down on the syrup-smeared bartop before his hand found her jaw, fingers digging into the soft part under her mandible, “Oh you’re parched, are you? Open up for me, angel.”

She felt her body swell and seethe in heat from his bold ask. But what else was she there for that night but to have a little fun with a stranger? So she parted her lips, slowly opening wider as he dipped over her frame and tilted her neck back until she felt the warm glob of saliva land on the tip of her tongue. She let out a pathetic moan when he licked over her lips, his spit moistening the dry skin like he was making sure she knew whose spit was sliding down her throat.

“Did you swallow for me?” He asked cooly as he kept her jaw in his hand.

Knocking her head up and down she kept her eyes on his and then suddenly she was being pulled away from the bar. He had an arm tucked around her waist, keeping her next to his warm frame until they’d moved into the shadowy edges of the club and he prodded her into a small space between a column and a metal air duct before he was pushing his hips and mouth against hers.

He tasted like autumn outdoors, hay, spit, burning leaves… Running her fingers into his hair she felt his hand on her hip, bunching at the sheer fabric until he was reaching into the thin wispy lace of the top of her white panties, palm gliding down her belly button until the pads of his fingers were pressed in a place she would normally never let a stranger touch. Especially not in public.

But it was Halloween, and this was what she’d been looking for. Something a little dangerous, a little crazy. This was the kind of place where one could get away with such iniquities.

Soon, the only thirst that remained was to feel more of him. To feel his hands, his fingers… He smoothed his tongue against hers as his middle finger rubbed tightly over her exposed clit after he'd torn the delicate fabric of her underwear. She was throbbing against him. Wetting his digits slowly until it was slippery and he could easily slide one and then two inside of her cunt.

“Love when I make angels wet. You’re just a good girl but this is exactly what you were looking for, wasn't it?”

She moaned and yanked his hair, hoping he’d put his lips back against hers. She loved his mouth, loved how he kissed her all dirty and raw.

“Yes…” She blinked up at him and then gasped when he shoved a third fat finger inside of her hole. It made her wobble forward into him, her cheek pressed into his solid chest. He fucked her just like that, on his fingers as he kept whispering into her ear, “Gonna change your life tonight angel. Show you what it feels like to really get off.”

Her mouth was wide open as he slid his fingers so deep she was certain nothing had ever gone in like that before. Not even Donny’s hard prick felt like that (what a disappointment he had been).

“Can’t even stand up straight and that’s just my fingers in there little girl. What are you gonna do when it’s my cock splitting you in half, hm?”

She groaned as he continued pumping his fingers through her gummy insides and she gripped onto his biceps so she didn't simply wither to the floor.

Y/n didn’t want anyone to see what was happening but it felt so good and she was so close. Already. The heel of his palm was bumping, sliding into her clit with every thrust of his wrist and she swore he was fucking into her to the beat of the bassy electronic music.

Her head began to spin and her ears were ringing, muffling the noise of the crowd and the music when she felt the delicious release of her orgasm.

Harry pushed her back into the wall quickly when he felt her shaking and with his free hand he held her face, smushing her cheeks with his thumb at one side and his pointer finger on the other, “Look at me when you come. Your orgasm belongs to me. Fuck that’s so pretty…”

She was stunned. It felt so good. Her body was writhing and being pushed and pulled at the hulking man’s direction. He guided her through it, plunging his fingers inside of her and dragging them over her slick spongy spot at the front of her wall. It was like he’d found a hidden switch within her insides and turned it on for her.

“You gonna keep being a good girl for me? Let me claim you and fuck an orgasm out of you on my cock this time? Want that, angel?”

Y/n’s rationale had gone out the window the moment he spit into her mouth and licked over her lips at the bar. So she nodded as he pulled his fingers from her cunt and brought all three, slimy, coated in her arousal, up to her lips, “Open up that thirsty little mouth. Suck.”

She wrapped her lips around his fingers and he pushed them past her comfortable gag spot as he made haste with his other hand, undoing his pants before pulling out his dick.

Harry removed his hand from her mouth and pulled at her neck, "Take a look. Think it'll feel nice and snug inside that tiny little angel pussy?"

Y/n shifted her eyes down to the hot engorged dick the man had brushing against her, his tip wide and ruddy against her labia. She inhaled, looking up at the man and then back down at the size of him, "It's… I don't know… It's so…" She bucked into him, feeling unsteady, her thighs still shaking.

"At least twice as big as what you've played with before. I know. But you get used to it. Come to love it. The way it plugs in so deep, carves into your insides, and makes a nice wet home… No one ever forgets it."

She clutched his forearm with a shaky hand and used her other to reach down and touch him. He was hot. So much warmer than she expected. Peering around his broad shoulders she could see people grinding and doing ungodly things on the dancefloor already. There were no rules in that club, except to not lose the cup you were handed when you paid to enter, and she'd already lost that at the bar somewhere.

When she felt him grip tight the meat of her thigh and perch it over his hip he slid his cockhead to her dripping seam and began to dip in.

"Oohh…" she warbled out a moan and then looked up at his handsome face, "Mmm…"

"Open that pretty mouth, show me your tongue."

She did what he said, parting her lips as her pussy spread open little by little. The feel of him slowly pushing into her was sticky, gooey, sharp. But the warm spit that dripped onto her tongue was salacious, made her pussy throb and flutter around his girth.

"There we go. Get that pussy spread apart for me. Let me have you, angel."

She was already letting him have her. She was his… whatever he wanted, however he wanted it. Right in front of everyone… sloppy, wet, deranged, disgusting…

"Mm ahhh…" she panted, her brows pushed together as he rutted in and in, filling up every bit of empty space she had available. Split open, stuffed full, slippery hot debauchery.

Harry threw his head back for a moment, basking in the tight pussy wrapped around him. Sopping. It was his chance to feel a bit of heaven.

Reaching down for her other thigh, he pushed her up and lifted her, making her wrap her legs around his waist so he could work into her deeper, really give her a taste of what the devil could do.

She yelped and gurgled wetly, eyes bulging as he buried himself in, "Fuck…"

"Yeah? Didn't know angels liked to say such words." He swiveled his hips, a harsh plunge in again, and the squelch of her pussy against his length meant she was as wet as she could possibly be. "Oh you're soaked, angel. No wonder you're so thirsty. All your juices are down here," He rocked up into her and she cried out, "So you can take me properly."

While no one much cared about the angel with her wings pressed into the wall, her legs wrapped around the devil's waist as he stuffed her pussy with his big cock, it was obvious what was going on in that dark little corner every time the strobe flashed over the pair copulating. If the look on her pretty face didn't give it away, all fucked out, wet lips parted, eyes rolling back into her head… it was the way the devil was rocking his hips sharply against her, making her legs shake with every thrust.

He knew he was hollowing her out, poking in beyond what was comfortable for her… he knew she'd never forget the way he felt inside of her. It'd stick with her forever and she'd never be able to come again without thinking about the devil.

She'd masturbate thinking about that night at the club and she'd release with the image of him inside of her. And any poor man who stuck his rinky dinky human dick into her pussy would never get her off –she'd be thinking of Harry, the demon with the biggest cock she'd ever had. That would be the only way she'd ever be able to come. A curse, but also a blessing because now she'd always be able to get off to the memory of him no matter who was fucking her. Everyone else would pale in comparison… but that's what he loved so much about fucking sweet human girls. They never forgot his big cock and he owned them in a way. At least he owned their orgasms.

Slushy, gloopy, splatting… his long dick dragged and kissed against her sweetest spot and she felt the tingle and the ache of it as she bounced with every drive of his hips.

"Give me that come, angel. Right on my cock."

She inhaled sharply as he laved his tongue over her lips, slicking his saliva over her mouth and spitting onto her tongue again, "Mine. It's all mine, isn't it? Cunt will never feel it like this again but she'll remember who owns her won't she?"

Y/n was simply done for… her body was putty, molten liquid, dripping, bowing to his whim. His cock would be forever imprinted within her womb as she felt him slide through her channel, thick and throbbing - it was as if she could feel his bulbous cockhead pushing into her tummy, bulging at the front. Microscopic tears around her gaping, wet, stretched muscle she'd need to tend to later. All worth it to be fucked like that.

Her eyes were bleary as she looked at him when she began to come. He was right and she knew it. Her body would never forget it. She was ruined for him already as her vocal cords hitched up an octave and she made his favorite noise. Every dip of his broad crown through her gushing walls smeared his leaking slit against her cervix.

Harry watched the angel fall apart around his cock, face crumpled, body reveling in her release, toes curled in her shoes, but when she moaned his name and gazed into his eyes with droopy lids he couldn't hold back the way she was milking around him. He slammed into her, one brutal thrust, cock burrowing in as he splattered and pumped into her. His warm spend, a mucusy mural for her tight little wet walls. Like his signature left behind so anyone else who entered would know he'd been there. That everything inside of her cunt belonged to him because he'd already claimed it…

She'd think about all that later. That she'd had unprotected sex with a stranger at a club. That he'd filled her with his sperm and spit into her mouth. She'd get tested and watch for her period and then get tested again. And when she turned out clean and not pregnant part of her would be disappointed that she didn't have some excuse to search for the man to let him know what he'd done so she could do it all over again with him. Get her brains fucked out and her little pussy stretched in a way that shouldn't have been as good as it was.

But she wouldn't regret that part. Her only rue that night would be that she hadn't gotten his last name or maybe a number. It was probably better to not know who he was, though. Because if she did she'd obsess. She'd fiend. She'd pine. She'd stalk. She'd make a fool of herself to just have another taste. And a guy like him would probably already be onto the next.

It was better to not know who he was because he wasn't really nice. When he was finished with her, when his come was fucked into her and he made her watch how he shoved it all back in with his huge cock, gripped her neck, and made her look at the way it dripped from her puffy, used pussy and how he took his dick and pressed it back into her stinging hole and told her to not to clean herself up –he left. He dropped her down to her feet, tucked his big cock back into his pants, patted her hot little cheek, and walked off without even turning back to look or check on her.

She watched him disappear into the crowd with her torn panties at her hips and his come dripping down the inside of her legs, chest heaving, heart thrashing in her chest… Her back and her legs and her pussy ached but she'd have him again if he just came back. So, it was better to not know.

It was better to not know because maybe he actually was the devil.

⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧

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[enderlovez]

Soft as a Feather

Spencer Reid x Female BAU Reader WORD COUNT: 869

Summary: You and Spencer have decided to keep your relationship private, but when he comes into work with a mysterious lipstick mark on his neck, everybody's asking questions he doesn't know how to answer... at least, that's until you come in and leave a strangely familiar kiss mark on his cheek.

Content Warning: kissing (does that even need a warning)

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

It's always the most wonderful feeling, waking up next to Spencer. Especially on mornings like this one—when he's still sleeping peacefully, the early-morning sunlight peeking through the curtains and somehow making him look even more like an angel than usual.

You cannot physically stop yourself from reaching out to him, brushing a lock of hair out of his face with your finger and tucking it behind his ear, smiling softly to yourself.

"What're you doing?" he asks groggily, eyes still closed, but a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, leaning forward and leaving a tiny peck on the tip of his nose, "I didn't mean to wake you, sweetheart."

"Didn't wake me," he tries to argue, but the sleep in his voice suggests otherwise.

You're a profiler, he should know by now that it's practically impossible to lie to you, especially since you know him like the back of your hand—better than the back of your hand, maybe.

"Whatever you say, Spence."

Unwilling to break the peaceful quiet you're both submerged in, you watch him a moment longer, before finally forcing your eyes away.

Spencer opens his eyes, watching as you push the blankets off yourself and get to your feet. "What're you doing now?"

"We do have a job to get to, Spencer," you remind him with a little chuckle.

He groans and rolls onto his back, stretching out his limbs. "Can't we just call in sick and stay here all day?"

You shake your head and hand him a pile of clothes before beginning to dress yourself. "Remember that huge case we need to get started on today—the one Hotch called about last night?"

Spencer sighs heavily, but nods and crawls out of bed, pulling on the clothes you've chosen for him. You've already left by the time he's finished getting dressed, standing in the kitchen and hurriedly trying to pour coffee into two travel cups.

"We'll need to leave now if we wanna get to work on time," you mumble as you hand him one of the two travel cups—the one with the little blue flowers printed along the bottom.

You press your lips firmly to the skin beneath his jaw, then again to his lips before practically flying out the door.

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

"Has our pretty boy finally found himself a pretty girl?"

Spencer flinches at the sudden voice beside him, turning to look at the smug grin on Morgan's face.

It wasn't like you and Spencer really wanted to keep your relationship a secret from your friends, but it was so much easier without the teasing and word-twisting that would surely come from Derek.

"What's this about Spencer having a girlfriend?"

Garcia suddenly appears beside Morgan, tilting her head curiously before her already-wide eyes widen further, nearly bulging out of their sockets.

"I don't know where either of you are getting that idea, but it's unprofessional in the workplace," Spencer mutters, his mind briefly flicking back to you.

You haven't come in yet, usually waiting a few minutes after Spencer goes in to avoid any suspicion.

"What's unprofessional is the—"

Morgan is abruptly cut off by your arrival, bursting through the doors in a flurry of positivity.

You don't say anything as you drop your things off at your desk and casually stroll over to where everyone's huddled. "There's a party at Spencer's desk, and I wasn't invited. I'm crushed, you guys!"

You and Spencer were close before, almost to a strange degree, which might be part of the reason nobody thought any different when the two of you got together, so nobody questions it when you lean down and leave a slobbery kiss on his cheek.

Nobody questions it, until you pull away from him, leaving behind a reddish-brown lipstick print on his cheek.

One that matches the one on his jaw perfectly.

Garcia's jaw drops in shock, and Morgan looks overjoyed. For selfish reasons, of course, but overjoyed nonetheless.

"When were you going to tell me you two were dating?" Garcia demands, almost angrily as you wipe away the print with a tissue from your pocket.

Both you and Spencer immediately freeze. You look like you've seen a ghost, all the color drained from your face, and Spencer is quite the opposite, his face red and hot. So... like he's seen a living person?

That makes absolutely no sense.

"What are you t-talking about?" he manages, frantically looking between the two gawking agents. Even if it weren't for the lipstick, the slight stutter in his voice was enough to give him away.

Neither of them say a word, but Morgan gestures to his own jaw with a finger. There is a lipstick print there from this morning, one that neither of you had noticed, identical to the one you've just wiped off Spencer's cheek.

Well shit.

"Uhm... we were going to tell you," you try to reason, but they've already left, telling everyone within ears reach (and still further) about what they've just found out.

"We should probably go tell Hotch before they do," he suggests weakly, getting up from the chair.

Gently pulling him along by his arm, you nod. "I absolutely agree."

[ipushhimback]

we were drunk, it happens - pt. 2

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4

pairing: lando norris x verstappen!reader warnings: smut (marked with 3 red stars), oral (f receiving), p in v, no protection word count: 3k summary: Y/N attends a GP, saying if Lando wins he will be rewarded

Only a couple days later, Y/N got a message from Max.

The Monaco GP is next week. I know you are not really into F1, but I’d love for you to come, and I am sure Kelly and P would also be happy to have someone to spend their time with. What do you think? – Max

Y/N really hated Formula 1, but not because of the sport itself. She loved the fast cars, the races, how everyone wants to be the best. But her dad had ruined it all for her when they were kids.

She had always loved karting. Sometimes she was even allowed to drive Max’ kart, but when she told her dad that she also wanted to kart competitively, just like her brother, he had said she couldn’t. How could she even think of that as a girl. She would never have a chance in the sport.

Sometimes she thinks that her dad was right. She probably wouldn’t have come far as a woman, but she still would have loved to race.

Maybe it was for the better. Jos wasn’t known for being the best dad to Max. He had always pressured him. Punished him when he wasn’t good enough. And Y/N knew how it affected Max now. She didn’t know if she could have handled that as a kid.

So, from there on she had avoided Formula 1 as much as possible as it simply reminded her too much of her father.

But how could she say no to her brother. Moreover, it could be a great opportunity to spend some time with Lando. Even though they had agreed to no feelings. But honestly, Y/N didn’t know how long that would work. Or if it even could work. She had doubts.

I’m not sure. Is dad going to be there? - Y/N

No, I don’t think so. At least he didn’t say anything to me. But that doesn’t mean anything. - Max

Ok, then I guess I will come. Would you or Kelly pick me up? I don’t want to have to search for a parking lot. - Y/N

Of course. See you then. – Max

Somehow, Y/N was even looking forward to attending the Grand Prix. She didn’t know when the last time was that had happened. But now she just had to hope and pray that her dad wasn’t going to be there as well. Then she would for sure go home. She would just take a walk as it was only half an hour from her home.

She picked up her phone again and opened her chat with Lando. They exchanged their numbers before he left, so they could chat about when they could meet up again – but no feelings involved, of course.

Gonna be at the GP next week. You better win, Norris. - Y/N

She waited a bit, but Lando didn’t go online. He probably was at training, Y/N thought. But just as she wanted to out her phone on the coffee table in front of her, her phoned signaled an incoming message.

Really? How come I have never seen you at one before? But if I win, I wanna be rewarded… - Lando

Long story. But ofc you will. Why else would I tell you to win? – Y/N

K. Have to get back to training, bye. – Lando

Yeah, bye. - Y/N

Y/N couldn’t help but grin. Lando had interrupted her training. For her. To answer an unimportant message. She leaned back on the couch pillows, sighed and smiled to herself.

She sat back up. No feelings. He is probably an arrogant, rich person. She would just end up hurt if she fell for him.

She took a deep breath and got up from where she was sitting. The world champion’s sister made her way to the kitchen where she took a cup from the cupboard and made a huge coffee. The pill she took earlier did little for her headache, so she hoped that the caffeine was going to help.

Then she took her laptop and decided to watch some silly show to take her mind off Lando.

***

A week later, Y/N was ready to go to the GP. She was wearing a bright blue summer dress, her favorite. It had a lot of little white flowers printed on the fabric and it had a quite low neckline, which she hoped Lando would notice.

She actually thought about wearing something orange, in fact it had been one of her favorite colors to wear for quite a long time, but she couldn’t wear papaya-similar colors when she was there to support her brother – or when she was at least pretending to support her brother. Because even though she did not have feelings for Lando – no, really, none – she had been so horny the last couple of day, she just needed Lando to win this Grand Prix.

So now, Y/N sat in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water while scrolling through instagram and waiting for her brother and Kelly.

She watched her Labradoodle puppy trying to catch his own tail which made her laugh, so she got up to pet him.

Eventually she heard the doorbell ring. She quickly went to open the door, but instead of her brother or Kelly, it was P standing on the doorstep.

“P! Hey! What are you doing here? Are you going to drive me to the Grand Prix?”, Y/N was joking which made the five-year-old giggle.

“No, silly. I can’t drive. But Maxie said I could ring, and I have to tell you to hurry because we are late.”

“Ok, I just need to get my jacket from upstairs”, Y/N said.

“No!”, Penelope exclaimed. “You can’t. Maxie said we are late. Now come on.” P grabbed Y/N’s hand and pulled her outside and towards the Audi that was parked in front of her house.

The young woman new better than to argue with the little girl so she decided to just follow her. Who needed a jacket anyway. In the worst case she would just ask Max or Kelly for something warmer to wear.

An hour later Y/N was hanging around with Kelly and P around Max’ garage and she regretted that she didn’t come later. They have been standing around for what felt like hours and the race wasn’t even close to get started. The only thing that prevented her from going home again to sleep and coming back later, was P who was full of energy and Kelly who just couldn’t keep up with it anymore, being 9 months pregnant.

“Y/N, can we go to Lando? I wanna see him and tell him good luck. Can we go? Now?” P looked at Y/N with that cute little pout. “Please?”, she added after seeing the critical look on Y/N’s face.

“P… Lando is probably really busy, just like Max. Does it really have to be now?” If the Dutch woman was being honest with herself, she just really didn’t want to see Lando right now.

No. That was not correct. She wanted to see him. And that was the problem. She shouldn’t do that. No feelings. Just fun. That can’t be that hard, right?

Wrong. It can be hard. Not falling for a handsome guy with the curliest curls in the world, the cutest, widest smile existing on planed earth, the prettiest blue eyes that seemed to be green in different lightning and – stop.

“It really has to be now! If I don’t wish him luck, he won’t be good and he has to win!” P looked at her with these pleading look Y/N just can’t resist so there she was, walking with P to the McLaren garage.

“You know that Max would kill us if he saw us here?”, Y/N said jokingly. “By the way, don’t you want Max to win? Why Lando?”

“Maxie won too often. Now it is Lando’s turn. It is boring with Maxie. I like drama. And we don’t get drama when Maxie always wins. And Lando is great! He always plays with me and lets me do his hair. He has nice hair. It is curly.” P grinned happily while she explained to Y/N why Lando was so great.

A bit later they were standing in front of Lando’s garage and Y/N went to the first mechanic she spotted.

“Sorry, where is Lando? P wants to tell him good luck for the race. Is that possible?” Y/N just hoped that the mechanic would recognize P or her so she could go to Lando.

“I know her. Who are you? I am sure you understand that I can’t just let anyone to him.”

Y/N nodded. “I am Y/N Verstappen. You know, Max’ sister? Kelly didn’t come with us because, well she is pregnant and probably sleeping somewhere.”

The mechanic looked satisfied with the answer. “Ok. You just have to go straight there and then the third door on the left side. There should be his name on the door. Just knock. He will open if he isn’t preparing for the race at the moment.”

“Ok thank you. Have a nice day, bye!” Y/N looked at the five-year-old next to her who had a content look on her face.

Just a minute later they were standing in front of a wooden door, they could hear loud music from inside, so Y/N knocked again, even louder this time.

“God, how isn’t he deaf already”, she murmured more to herself than anyone else, but P commented it anyway.”

“Because he is Lando. He is not becoming deaf ever. He is great.” The older woman could barely hold the laugh that was threatening to spill over.

“Yes, he really is”, Y/N said with a laugh, shaking her head at P’s enthusiasm.

Finally, the door was opening, and Y/N was standing in front of this handsome guy Lando.

“P!”, he explained.

“Hi Lando! I want to wish you good luck. Y/N said you were busy, but I had to because you have to win, ok?”, the girl asked in just one breath while falling forward and demanding a hug from the driver.

Y/N could only laugh. Too adorable was the childhood crush Penelope obviously had on the older guy.

“That’s great! Thank you, P! So, you are going to cheer for me? Isn’t Max going to be sad?”, Lando asked.

“No, he will understand. You will win. I know because I wished you good luck.”

Lando just laughed, and Y/N couldn’t help but admire how cute he was with Penelope. And that laugh… she could listen to it for hours and- stop.

***

Lando did in fact win. And Y/N couldn’t be happier about it. During the Podium celebration – Lando came in first place, Max in second and Oscar in third – she just stood in front of it, being impatient.

But then finally, Lando came to her, already changed into a hoodie and simple jeans, his hair damp from the shower he probably had.

“So… what about my reward? Should we drive to your place again or mine?”, Lando asked with that damn smirk on his face.

“Mine. I need to feed my dog.” Lando shot you a surprised look.

“You have a dog? Why didn’t I see him already?” Y/N noticed how disappointed Lando looked.

“I just got him like a week ago. He is super cute, but right now he is at my neighbor’s, and I don’t want her to spend even more of her time taking care of my dog.”

Lando just hummed and led the younger woman to his car. She let out a whistle when she saw how nice it was.

“I assume you won’t let me drive that beauty?”, she asked the brunette.

“You want to?” Y/N nodded enthusiastically.

“Go for it”, Lando eventually said, throwing his key in her direction and she caught it easily.

She let out a high-pitched squeal when she sat in the driver’s seat and started the engine. Carefully, she pressed the accelerator, and the car shot forward.

“This is so crazy, oh my god… I will steal that beauty from you.”

It only was a short drive to Y/N’s home, so she had actually thought about driving differently so she could enjoy the feeling of the car even longer but honestly, she didn’t want to. She knew exactly what would happen when they arrived, and she didn’t want to wait any longer for it.

But it turned out she did not know what happened next. Lando kneeled down and cuddled with her dog who seemingly enjoyed that as he fell asleep right in Lando’s arms.

“Can you leave Milo alone? He’s not the reward I meant…”, Y/N said a bit disappointed because she knew her puppy was cute, but she didn’t imagine Lando just playing with her dog for the next hour.

***

Eventually Lando set down the sleepy puppy who immediately curled up on the couch and they went upstairs, not wanting Milo to watch them do whatever they were planning to do.

“So… now I will finally get my reward?”, Lando asked, this stupid smirk back on his face.

“Oh, shut up! You were the one who needed to cuddle with Milo”, Y/N said before stepping forward and pulling Lando to her by grabbing the strings of his hoodie.

She tilted her head up and just a moment later, Lando’s lips were on her’s. Y/N hummed and opened her lips slightly.

Lando moved towards her bed, not breaking the kiss, until Y/N flopped on the mattress. He pulled back just enough to have access to her dress so he could pull it over her head, leaving her in just her underwear. Y/N then tugged at Lando’s hoodie, and he ended up helping her by slipping it off, as well as his pants. Y/N stared at his chest.

She knew she had seen it all before, when they hooked up after the dinner, but the memory of the night wasn’t too present anymore, and honestly, Y/N didn’t know how she could ever look at Lando and not think how hot this guy looks.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Lando kisser her again, rougher this time. More demanding than anything else did he press his lips on her’s. Her back arched off the bed which Lando saw as his chance to get his hands behind her back to open her bra.

“So gorgeous”, he whispered on her lips and pulled back just for Y/N to feel his mouth closing around her nipples, making her gasp.

His lips trailed lower until he stopped above the waistband of her panties. His index fingers hooked into it, and he pulled them down until he could throw them to where he thought the rest of the clothes already is.

His went even lower until his lips hovered just above her. Y/N’s breath hitched as she looked down at Lando who was spreading her legs. He looked up at her, his eyes dark and his pupils dilated.

The first touch of his tongue felt… electric and it made her back arch. He teased her with fast licks and gentle pressure which made Y/N move into his direction.

“Patience. Trust me”, Lando said, and Y/N would throw a pillow at him if it hadn’t felt this good.

But it wasn’t long until Lando grew more and more impatient, and he didn’t want to continue teasing Y/N.

His tongue worked not only faster but also firmer and soon she was teetering right on the edge. Her hands came down to grab his hair, pushing him closer to her and she couldn’t stop the loud moan from slipping through her lips.

Lando hummed against her and the vibrations just pushed her even closer to the edge. His fingers joined his tongue as he curled them in her, pressing into that sweet spot.

When Lando realized that Y/N was about to come he worked even more precise, rougher. And just like that she tripped over the edge, and she felt the release wash over her. Lando didn’t stop thrusting his fingers in and out of her until she rode out her orgasm.

Y/N felt her legs tremble and she slowly opened her eyes again just to see Lando over her. His lips were glistening from her juices as he moved to press a kiss on her lips. She tasted herself on his lips, the taste blending with the champagne he drank earlier on the podium and just the taste of him.

She pulled back just enough to mumble, “Need you, Lando. Please.”

Lando didn’t say anything just moved to get rid of the boxers he still wore. Y/N couldn’t help but stare at him, her lips parting slightly.

“Like what you see?”, he teased her though it was apparent that he wanted it just as much as she did. His cock was hard and leaking and huge. Y/N really didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of that.

“How did that fit the last time?”, she blurted out and wanted to take it back immediately when Lando chuckled.

“Wanna find out?”, he said and even though he was just teasing, Y/N knew that if she just said no, Lando would stop immediately, no questions asked.

But she nodded, wanting to finally feel him in her. Lando positioned himself between her thighs, teasing her entrance with the tip of his cock.

Y/N breath hitched as he pushed into her with one hard thrust. Her hands flew to his shoulder, and she was sure that her nails would leave marks on his skin, as she adjusted to the stretch. Lando stilled just for a moment before pulling out nearly fully before slamming back into her.

Y/N moaned his name which just seemed to fuel the Brit, and he started thrusting into her even harder.

“God, you feel so god”, he moaned, his hands gripping her hips and Y/N was sure she would have bruises by tomorrow.

Only after a few thrusts Y/N was already close again, still sensitive from her previous orgasm.

“Lando, I-“, her voice broke but Lando hummed, knowing exactly what she wanted to say.

“I know. Come for me.”

Her orgasm hit her even harder this time, her body still high from before and Lando came just a moment later, with himself buried deep inside her.

For a moment, neither of them moved but then, Lando slowly pulled away, collapsing onto the bed just next to Y/N.

She stared at the ceiling, her chest still heaving as she was catching her breath.

“Happy with your reward?”, she asked Lando.

“Very. This was amazing.”

Y/N rolled to the side to face Lando, a grin tugging at her lips.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Norris,” she said with a sly grin.

A/N: Should I write a pt. 3? I kinda want to but idk if anyone wants to read it

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Come And See Me

Summary: “sexually reserved men are THE best. Well behaved, won’t steal a kiss, won’t touch you inappropriately but boy if you give them consent? FINISHED…”

Terry Richmond isn’t the type of man Summer is used to. He’s the strong, silent type. A lot of discipline and control. She’s used to men falling to their knees in an instant. Hardly any dirty talk. But it does feel good to get to know someone on a deeper level for a change. He promises he’d come see her, but Summer didn’t take his word for it. That was, until he walked into that strip club one evening to surprise her with…

“Flowers?”

Summer was in the middle of a routine that earned her bandz at an unimaginable level. She climbed that pole, showed off her acrobatic skills, flexed that body and popped that ass so good she had ‘em lost for words. Speechless.

Terry Richmond walked in with a bouquet of flowers, dressed in khakis, a Curaçao soccer shirt, and white Air Forces. His hair was styled in a tapered cut with a curly fro. In his large, veiny hand, Terry gripped her red roses tightly, walking through until he made it to a section he’d reserved directly in front of the stage. He wanted an up close and personal view of Summer. He didn’t plan to take his aurora gray eyes off of her.

His captivating eyes created a path of seduction across her glistening skin that glittered beneath the strobe lights. Drink in his other hand, he took small sips, licking his lips nice and slow. Terry held the faintest smirk on his lips, body composed, but his heart was racing. His print left little to the imagination. Low grunts fell on deaf ears. Summer hit a split and made her hefty cheeks bounce. That body on her deserved big dick. It was built for big dick. Terry couldn’t wait. It’s been too long. Suddenly, as if she could sense him, Summer glanced over her shoulder and that’s when she realized Terry had shown up.

For a second, she’d forgotten where she was. His presence stunned her. Summer turned her body on the floor of the stage, money sticking to her tacky skin. Their eyes locked on for a while. Oooh, she was speechless. Summer started grinding her crotch towards him, rolling her hips and biting her lip. Terry’s piercing gaze was fixated on her face the entire time. Not once did he look down. It was so intense, her clit pulsated.

Drankin’ and Smokin’ came on and Summer lifted her shapely body into a squat, slowly and teasingly removing her bikini top. At this point, she was putting on a show for Terry and Terry only. Her Marine. She’d had his name saved under Mr. Marine in her phone. The hot pink top fell to the stage, bountiful titties with pierced nipples saluted. Terry dropped his beautiful eyes down to stare at her round, fat titties.

We drink up and we smoke, but she always do the most

It kinda turns me on the way she lickin' on my stones

My chains on antifreeze, it look like I made a clone

Wanna see you get more sassy, if it bring out better emotions

She called me her God, the way I floated in her ocean…

Summer needed him. So bad. That fine ass man. Seeing him in person…seeing the man behind that deep baritone. She rushed off that stage in an instant as soon as the music faded out. Breathing uneven, she walked off in her seven-inch pleasers, looking back at Terry, mind replaying all their conversations late at night…

(one of their many phone conversations)

“Hey baby…I wish you could see what I have on right now…You so sexy, imagine how…Intense it would be…To hold me right now…Our song's playin’…”

Body wrapped in her faux fur, black blanket, head resting against her black satin pillows, Summer held her cellphone to her ear with one hand, the other caressing her tawny skin. Terry made a sound that vibrated her core.

“Summer rain…when I listen to that, you know I think about you, right? Mmm…I bet you look so good in my T-shirt.”

“You’re so far, and I’m all alone in my bed…”

Summer was wearing an old, baggy T-shirt; Terry’s Marine Corps T-shirt. The fabric of it against her body with his voice in her ear gave her butterflies.

I can still hear your baritone

In my ear telling me you'll take it slow

And I was in the mirror playing wrong

Like you were here, I couldn't turn me on

So I fell asleep with the music on

Woke up again hearing the same old song, playing…

Summer paced her bedroom, stopping in front of her window, gazing out into the rainy evening, pressed to the glass, and laughing at Terry and his corny jokes. Her brown eyes followed the path of the raindrops, the sudden recollection of her own essence dripping. All he did was make her laugh, spew facts about things she’d never heard of, and say over and over again how beautiful she is. He didn’t judge her. She felt safe with Terry and she hadn’t even met him in person yet. Thoughts of how gentle and kind and thoughtful he is makes her play in her pussy every night.

“Patience, baby…When I get to you, you’re all mine…”

She shut her lids and pictured him, standing at his towering height, bending over to kiss along her neck and wrap those big arms around her waist. Now, her body is shaking to the fantasies.

“Don’t take it easy on me, Terry. I need you here…”

Summer turned, pressing her back against the window, bringing the collar of his T-shirt to her nose and taking a whiff. Mmmm…it smelled just like his cologne. Vanilla and Sandalwood.

“You’ll be begging me to take it easy on you, baby…”

——

“Summer.”

Terry stood up and approached her. She was wearing a form-fitting black dress with her belongings. Her long, jet-black, silk pressed hair was pinned up with a claw clip. Summer gave Terry a bashful smile. She couldn’t contain the butterflies in her belly. Terry handed her the roses.

“Thank you,” Summer smelled them, “they’re beautiful…I can’t believe it’s really you…”

She knew Terry was tall, but DAMN. She had to crane her neck just to look up at him. And his eyes…Summer found herself getting lost in them.

“You’re so much more beautiful in person. That performance…damn…”

Summer tucked her chin, unable to contain her blushing. Terry startled Summer when he lifted her chin for her to look at him. Her breath hitched.

“Up here…”

“Okay…”

“You did amazing up there. I’m glad I got to see it in person…” Terry whispered with a low, resonant voice.

“Thank you, Terry. Me too.”

“Should we get outta here? I’m kinda anxious right now to have you all to myself…”

Summer chuckled softly, body vibrating with lust. Terry wouldn’t stop admiring her. It was so intense, Summer shyly smiled and dropped her head. What was it about this man that had her acting all giddy and nervous?

“C’mon,” Terry held his hand out for Summer to grasp.

Thighs clenching, Summer accepted Terry’s hand and when she placed her hand in his, Summer almost whimpered. His entire hand swallowed hers. Warm and strong. Fuck. Summer allowed Terry to guide her out of the strip club. When they’d finally made it to the door, Terry placed his hand on the small of her back, holding the door opened for her.

“Did you drive here?” Terry questioned.

“I did,” Summer pointed to her blue lexus, “This is me.”

“I’ll follow you out if that’s okay.”

“It’s more than okay!” Summer responded excitedly.

Terry laughed before opening her door for her when she unlocked it. He helped Summer inside and then he took her things to put them in the back seat. Terry stood at the opening of her driver’s side door, looking down at her with a smirk and soft eyes.

“I’ll be right behind you, baby girl.”

“Okay, Terry…”

She watched as he leaned into her car, her body tensing up. Terry grabbed her hand and pecked it gently to tease, then came that deep chuckle she loved so much. It took her a moment to gather herself. It was the faintest of kisses but the feel of his generous lips against flesh sent sparks throughout her body. The hairs on her arms stood up and her pussy did that pitter-patter thing.

“Drive safe.”

He shut her door and flashed her a quick smile before jogging over to his truck—an all black GMC Sierra 2500HD Denali. Summer started the ignition, licking her lips to . Cocoa butter. She pulled out of the parking lot and checked to see if Terry was following her. When the coast was clear, she drove off with shaky hands and a flutter in her belly.

——

Summer stayed in a nice cul-de-sac home with a two car garage. She’d made enough money as an exotic dancer to purchase a home and move out of her apartment. She hopped out of her car and Terry pulled in closer as soon as she shut the garage. He quickly exited his car and grabbed her duffel bag so she could open the door.

Terry was finally going to see her home. After talking for months and wondering if he would ever come to see her, she didn’t have to doubt him anymore. Summer opened the front door and turned on the lights. The home had a futuristic feel to it that Summer loved. Terry took off his shoes and socks so he wouldn’t ruin her good carpet. While Summer got settled, he did some exploring of the first level.

Biomorphic curves, gravity-defying elements, sleek materials and bold angles. It looked like something dreamed up by Hollywood. Even the staircase leading up to her room with its modern glass rails completed the design. Summer returned with her flowers, giving Terry a megawatt smile filled with dimples and glossy lips. He followed her into her kitchen and watched her place her roses in a vase.

“This is nice, baby,” Terry took in his scenery of sleek stainless steel and marble, “So, this where you cook up them smothered pork chops, collard greens, and red beans and rice, huh?”

Summer giggles, “You know it. This is my favorite place to be. Would you like some wine?”

“I’ll take some, thank you,” Terry placed his arms behind his back as he stood near the kitchen island.

Summer handed him a glass and Terry accepted it with a slight tilt of his head and a penetrating gaze. They toasted each other before taking a sip of the white wine. The silence was palpable. They were both so thrilled to be in each other’s presence that words were lost on their tongues. Terry broke the silence with a nervous chuckle. He gently placed his now empty glass on the kitchen island before walking with slow, purposeful strides to reach Summer on the other side.

Summer had a firm grip on her wine glass, brown eyes ascending his tall frame to reach his gorgeous face. The pictures of him told her that Terry is a rare sight. A man this handsome is hard to come by. To view him in person; skin-to-skin, breath-to-breath, eye-to-eye, Summer had never seen a man so beautiful. Terry reached out to remove the glass from her hand and he sat it down on the counter top.

“Miss. Summer. I’ve been waitin’ a long time for this moment…and I know that I’ve made promises to come see you…that haven’t been fulfilled…and I’m sure you’ve had your doubts…”

“I have, I’m not gonna sugar-coat it. But you’re here now,” Summer exhaled slowly, “I don’t have to fantasize about what it would be like to have you next to me in my bed anymore…”

When you're not here

(I sleep in your t-shirt)

I wish you were here

(To take off your t-shirt)

After we make love

(I sleep in your t-shirt)

Wake up in your t-shirt

I smell the scent of your cologne…

“I don’t have to wish anymore,” Summer blinked up at Terry as she reached out her hand to stroke his arm that’s two sizes bigger than hers and covered in veins, “Or wonder if we could be something…”

“Hey,” Terry drew in closer his voice lowering a register, “We are something, baby. I need to get that doubt out your head…may I?”

Terry opened his arms and Summer gave her consent with a nod of her head before his arms hugged her tight. Summer pressed her cheek centimeters below his chest. He’s so big and warm. Body beneath his T-shirt unyielding. Terry’s hands began to explore. One hand threaded into her hair, massaging her scalp through her silky, thick tresses, the other glided up and down her back soothingly. Summer couldn’t remember the last time she’d been hugged like this by a man if not ever.

“I wanna explain what held me up a while…I had some legal issues in Shelby Springs…my cousin got mixed up in some mess and I went to bail him out but…he died.”

“The cousin you told me about? Are you serious?”

Summer rested her chin against Terry’s chest as she looked up at him with saddened eyes. He looked back at her, so much emotion swirling in those blue-gray orbs with flecks of gold and brown, as if they are forever changing.

“Yeah,” Terry’s shoulders slumped, “It’s a lot…still gotta clear my name…lawyer up…I’m sorry I’m dumping all this shit on you right now—”

“Don’t be, Terry, don’t be,” Summer caressed Terry’s cheek, “That’s a lot. I’m so sorry…I can’t imagine…”

Summer squeezed Terry and he reciprocated. She felt her body being lifted from the floor and her arms wrapped around his neck.

“I’m so sorry about your cousin.” Summer said.

“Thank you, ‘ppreciate that…you’re so precious…”

Summer smiled fondly at Terry, “You’re such a good man, Terry Richmond.”

He loved that she said that. It made him smile handsomely down at her. She wanted to continue putting a smile on his face.

“You’re my safe space, Summer…”

She shut her eyes to avoid the onslaught of tears. It’s only been months that they’ve been talking. She’s his safe space?

“Terry…”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes—”

Terry hooked his hands beneath Summer’s ass and hiked her up so her thighs could circle his cut waistline. One hand cradled the back of her neck while the other secured her waist snugly against him.

Summer felt her heart race. The air was thick with the creamy, warm, and earthy scent of his cologne, and the distant sound of her heartbeat faded into the background. A mix of security and excitement reflected in their depths.

With a tentative smile, Terry brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, sending shivers down her spine. The hand against her waist gave a gentle squeeze that spoke volumes. Time seemed to slow as he leaned in, their breaths mingling.

When their lips finally met, it was soft and hesitant at first, testing the waters. But as the kiss deepened, the world around them faded away, leaving only the warmth of their connection and the thrill of a moment long awaited. Their tongues danced a slippery recital, lip’s cushiony, teeth grazing.

He’d ached to taste her. To taste a woman after so long. Summer’s daydreaming didn’t prepare her for the reality in front of her. Terry’s long legs began to guide them into Summer’s living room and towards her couch. He pulled away so that he could place her on her back. Summer’s dress had ridden up her shapely thighs revealing smooth, tawny skin. Terry knelt one leg between her thighs before lowering over her. Summer lifted to kiss him again, but Terry stopped her with a single finger to her lips.

“…It’s been way too long for me, baby girl. Seeing you dance tonight…doing your thing up there…it took a lot of work not to walk up on that stage and put this dick in you.”

Summer’s breath hitched.

“I’ve painted a picture in my mind many times of what that body looked like…” Terry’s eyes dropped down to the tops of Summer’s breasts, “I don’t think I ever told you I’m a breast man…and you got a pair that I just wanna…”

He pressed his face into her neck and inhaled. Summer drew her bottom lip into her mouth to control the incessant trembling. He’d never talked this dirty to her.

“…I just wanna suck and lick and nibble all over these titties…”

She could feel her nipples hardening from his words alone. Hearing it in person and so close to her ears had a greater effect. Summer was squirming. Her pussy leaked so much that it became unbearable to even wear panties around him. She’d have to walk around with an exposed pussy to cool off.

“I can suck these titties all night…sleep with a titty in my mouth…play with your nipples until you’re squirming…flick your nipples with my tongue…you got some thick nipples too, baby…mmmh…”

That long, drawn out groan into her neck had her whimpering. This man had her weak. Summer raked her nails down his chest before twisting the fabric of his T-shirt into her fist.

“Here, please,” Summer thrust her chest into him, “Daddy, please…”

“I love the way you beg, baby girl…” Terry kissed down her neck, “you’ll be doin’ a lot of that shit tonight. Beg for me to suck on that pussy…beg for me to fit this dick in you nice and good…”

“Terry…”

His malleable lips created a tickling sensation until he reached her breasts. Summer watched with desperation as his lips covered the fleshy hills in a repeated motion. She was mewling. Nipples so hard. He started kissing around each nipple through her dress. Summer clawed the suede sofa.

“Daddy…”

She was shivering.

“Want more? Where you want it? Talk to me…”

She was able to control the quiver of her lower lip to speak, “Please suck on my nipples…I can’t take it.”

“Nahhh, you gotta beg harder than that…”

Summer moaned softly, “uhnnnnnn…” when he used his teeth to nibble on her nipples, “Daddy, I want you to suck my nipples. Do whatever you want to my titties…please, please, please….”

Terry peered up at Summer with those hypnotic eyes.

“Good girl…that’s how you ask for what you want…”

With one hand, Terry’s eyes remained fixated on Summer’s face, he lowered the top of her strapless, body-con dress, one beautiful, round, breast coming into view. Skin like honey, nipples and areolas a deep brown. Busty and asymmetrical. Perfectly imperfect. Her bejeweled nipple pebbled and Terry’s lips parted.

“Shit, you just don’t know…”

He revealed the other breast and it jiggled a little upon its release.

“So fuckin’ beautiful…”

He blew air onto her nipples. Summer arched her back. Terry used that opportunity to slither his hands beneath her to keep her chest elevated so he could attack each big titty the way he wanted. Hair in her face, glossy lips slightly open, soft moans flowing from her mouth, Summer looked pleasantly horny.

Terry started off with flicking her nipples back and forth. His pink tongue is warm and wet. When his lips drew her left nipple into her mouth first, Summer cried out. Her thighs gripped his waist, and Terry couldn’t wait to feel those soft thighs do the same thing to his head.

“Ah, mmm, unhhhh, yesss…you like these fat titties, daddy?”

“Mhm,” Terry was in the zone sucking back and forth.

She could tell he was a titty man alright. He rubbed his face in it, dragged his teeth down her breast bone, used his big, strong, veiny hands to push her breast together so he could trace his tongue back and forth.

“I’m a need you to do that on this pussy!”

Terry released a laugh, burying his face between her breasts. Summer was hot all over and close to tackling this man!

“More wine first,” Terry rest his cheek against one of her breasts as he looked up at her, “So soft…the best pillow…”

Summer exhaled impatiently, “You’re driving me crazy.”

“Good.”

Terry kissed her breasts one last time before covering her back up, “Are you okay with me getting the wine? While you put on some music?”

Summer wasn’t prepared for the visual. Terry stood up and as he was fixing his shirt that had lifted up, she focused on those abs, the strip of hair leading down to his crotch, and the deep v-cut. The lower her eyes went, the more she had to stop herself from dropping to her knees. A very vivid and distinct outline of his third leg sat along his thigh like a python beneath a sheet waiting to strike. He was on brick.

“It’ll be all yours tonight…”

Their eyes met with equal desire.

“I’ll go grab that wine…bathroom?”

“Uh…d–down the hall and t–to your right.”

Terry chuckled, “I’ll be back.”

He disappeared and Summer let out a long exhale. She walked over to her Bluetooth sound system and knew exactly what she wanted to listen to.

——

Summer dimmed the lights with her cell phone and after five minutes, Terry returned with their glasses and a bottle.

Storming outside, rain

She keeps me home

Quiet conversation makes me warm

So

Summer rain

Whispers me to sleep

And wakes me up again

Sometimes i swear i hear her call my name…

Terry smiled at her. Summer pat the sofa cushion next to her enthusiastically. He handed her a glass and plopped down, throwing an arm over her shoulder. His finger tips caressed her arm as they sang along to summer rain

“So go ahead and make it rain…you bring the sunshine back again…”

“Okay vocals!” Summer teased.

Terry threw his head back and laughed, “Stop.”

“I’m just teasing, daddy,” Summer snuggled closer, “More wine, please…”

“Anything for you,” Terry leaned forward to retrieve the bottle.

Summer rain started playing again.

They emptied the bottle of wine and their tipsy banter stared. Terry was very playful. He had Summer trapped beneath him on the throw rug, his shirt off and thrown somewhere. Summer couldn’t stop giggling. The wine had her feeling light and cozy. Her laughter couldn’t be contained.

“If you follow directions, I wouldn’t have to do this,” Terry had her by her wrists above her head, “You gotta behave to get what you want, Summer. I’m not asking…I’m telling.”

“It’s on my thigh, and you expect me to behave?”

“I expect you to remember who’s in charge…”

“Terry,” Summer rolled her eyes, “You haven’t felt how deep this throat can go yet.”

“So? What that mean?” Terry arched a dark brow, “You ain’t felt my mouth on your pussy yet.”

Terry sat back on his knees above Summer. She lifted up onto her elbows. He tucked his chin slightly and stared at her with this primal look that reminded her of a jungle cat.

“…take this dress off.”

Summer sat up on her butt and shimmy’s her hips, bringing her dress up and over her head, revealing black, cheeky, lace panties and a matching strapless bra. Terry crawled to her. He pulled her into a fierce kiss. Summer’s hands roamed all over his muscles. His skin is so soft.

“Your room…now…” Terry spoke against her lips, “Right now…”

They both stood on unsteady legs, laughing. Terry popped Summer on the ass and she whimpered softly. They moved towards the stairs, Terry creating space between them so he could watch Summer seduce him with her slow ascend. She would look back at him as she climbed, smirking at him with those siren eyes. That booty in those panties made him want to take a bite.

He’d been dying to see her room. She pushed open the double doors and Terry came face-to-face with a room made for a vixen. The dark palate mixed with low lighting created the perfect space to get nasty. And he planned to get real nasty. Terry walked up on Summer from behind, and with one hand, he gathered her straightened hair into his fist neatly and tugged. She pivoted back against him, her soft cheeks flush against his crotch.

“I’m undressing you…”

Hair still in his grasp, Terry worked on her bra. It fell from her body to the floor. He released her hair so that he could drop down and take her panties off. Summer looked over her shoulder at him. He peeled her panties away at a snails pace. His lips kissed her back dimples. She wiggled her hips to help him lower her panties. Buttery, smooth skin beneath his fingertips.

Terry nibbled on her ass like a famished man. His hands kneaded her plump flesh. It was time to peel the crotch of her panties away from her pussy.

“Bend forward slightly…yes…just like that…”

His deep grunt told her all she needed to know. Terry was blown away by how much sticky, wetness connected to her panties. A slimy, sweetness he couldn’t wait to clean up with his tongue. The aroma of her arousal activated his taste buds. The shape of her lips from the back had him mesmerized. Summer stepped out of her panties quickly so Terry could have her completely.

“C’mere,” Terry stood and walked Summer towards her bed, “Sit this pussy on my mouth right now.”

He got down on the floor and tilted his head back on the bed. Summer straddled his face and tilted her pelvis forward. Terry placed each hand on her ass to push her closer. The moment her pussy smothered him, he used his tongue to clean up her mess.

“Fuck!”

Summer felt his tongue part her outer lips and swipe upward. She almost saw heaven.

“Mhm…”

Her legs shook. Terry pushed her legs apart further with force so he can eat it more. Summer raised a leg to the edge of the bed and Terry wasted no time using his lips and tongue in junction to slurp on her pussy.

“Yes….oh….”

This was a man that knew what he was doing. He didn’t have to tell you. Summer started feeding his mouth some pussy with a roll of her hips. Terry followed her movements eagerly. Clit hard, folds nice and slick, she knew she was close. It was only a matter of time.

“Terry, I’m gonna cum in your mouth…”

His silence was her undoing. He was too busy eating pussy like a starved man. She could hear his big lips working her up to a juicy cum. His tongue darting in and out of her wet hole, her clit being attacked from every angle imaginable, she was going to burst.

“Terry…Terryyyyyy…”

That ass and those thighs jiggled out of control.

“Uhhhhhh….ahhhhhhh….huuuuuuuuhh….”

She fisted the sheets so hard her nails dug info her skin painfully. The aftershocks of her release left lingering tremors she couldn’t control. Terry removed his lips from her clit, a trail of her cum connected to his bottom lip. His face was covered in sweat and cum. Summer threw herself onto the bed so Terry could stand. She looked at him and watched as he licked his lips.

“So good…your pussy tastes so good…”

“Thank you…now I wanna taste you…”

It was the moment she’d been waiting for. Terry hummed his approval, walking up towards her. Summer worked to undo his pants with frantic movements. Terry didn’t stop her. She wanted that dick in her mouth.

“Get yours, baby…”

“Oh, I will,” Summer replied.

Summer lowered his pants and briefs. His dick bobbed out and she had to take a moment to just…

He was definitely a big boy. Enough to stretch you out. That pain and pleasure mix. His length told her she would feel it in her stomach. The veins created a path for her tongue to take. His tip; the perfect shape to fit in her mouth perfectly. His balls were taunt and heavy. It was a masterpiece.

“Summer…put this dick in your mouth…that’s an order.”

An order she would gladly accept. Summer kissed along his shaft. Terry smoothed her hair back so she wouldn’t mess it up. Her kisses turned sloppy, then she added some tongue, then she found herself sinking down onto his pole the sides of her mouth stretched to accommodate all of him.

“Put more in there,” Terry placed his arms behind his back, watching her like a drill sergeant, “there you go…such a good little thing, ain’t you?”

He sat at the back of her throat. Summer used her neck and jaw muscles to work that dick with loud sucking and spit bubbles. Terry’s mouth dropped open when she showed him that she could deep throat. Her tongue wiggled against his balls and Terry almost nutted down her throat from that alone.

“Damn, girl…you lovin’ this big dick?”

“Mmmmcmcjdkssk—”

“Fuuuck,” Terry’s beautiful eyes rolled shut, “that’s how you suck this dick…that’s how you show daddy…”

Summer loved sucking dick. Terry’s dick deserved all the love. She would suck it and look in his eyes. Terry stared back with furrowed brows and a bite of his lip.

“Summer…”

Her name resonated from his voice so deep and lustrous.

She pulled out all her tricks. Sucked his balls, focused on his tip, licked his frenulum. Terry’s ab muscles flexed and his squared jaw clenched. Her hair in his grip, Terry was losing his sanity.

“I’m cumming—”

Thick, ropes of ejaculate filled her mouth.

“Ughh–ahhhhh fuck—”

Summer drank down every single drop like it was the sweetest cream filling. She’d waited months to do this and she was going to make this beautiful man cum. That fat dick hung in her face ready for more action and she had a wet pussy for it to dig into.

“Aight, on your back, no more wasting time.”

Terry spoke those words with such urgency. Summer felt the firmness in his tone. She scooted onto the bed and spread her legs wide and limber. Terry climbed onto the bed and settled between her legs. The feeling of the tip of his dick sitting against her pussy lips made this moment all too real.

“Yes…put that big dick in me…”

Terry placed himself above her and with one hand, he guided his dick between her lips and then with a slight thrust of his hips, he sank inside of Summer. She gasped, knees drawing into her chest. Terry watched his dick split her open with a penetrating stare. Summer tried to move and Terry locked her legs to her ears.

“You want me to keep you still? I suggest you stop moving.”

She froze.

With one thrust, he was fully inside of her. Summer moaned louder. As a reflex, she tried to close her legs, but Terry wasn’t having that.

“Terry! Holy FUCKING SHIT!”

“Eyes on me. That’s an order.”

He smirked mischievously. She was ruined.

Terry pumped into her at a moderate pace. Summer couldn’t handle taking all that dick and focusing on his eyes at the same time. There was no way.

“It’s so big!”

“It’s big but this pussy love it, this pussy love it, look at this pussy…creamin’ all over me like that…such a messy girl…”

Summer was making a mess indeed. You could hear it and see it. Wet, sloshing noises.

“Ain’t been fucked in a while…got you wettin’ this dick up.”

She couldn’t handle the way his dick stroked her spot.

“Stretchin’ this pussy out? Didn’t I say I wasn’t gon’ take it easy?”

She couldn’t speak. How could she? Terry had her folded in half and teetering over the edge. She felt her stomach grow tight and her body seized up.

“T–T–T—”

Summer didn’t have a chance. She turned her head and cried out. Terry held his dick deep while staring down at her face.

“You tryna push me out?” Terry chuckled evily, “What if I don’t wanna leave?”

“P–please, daddy…”

“Hmm,” Terry slowly withdrew his hips, “Please keep fucking you?”

His words were killing her. She could only nod her head.

Oh! Boy I've been waiting

(Oh oh oh)

Now my body's shaking

(Oh oh oh)

You're so deep, baby please, take it easy…

“Think you can arch your back for me?”

Terry kissed Summer on her lips.

“Mhm…”

Terry lifted Summer and helped her into position. She arched her back exactly how he wanted her. Deep with that ass high in the air. He was tall so it needed to be. Terry had a handful of her ass and that was his leverage to anchor his dick in her pussy. Summer groaned into the sheets. She looked breathtaking. Hair fanned out above her. Back in a beautiful position. Ass sitting up and giving Terry the best view of that pink pussy.

“Oooh!”

She could feel him almost touch her heart with how long his dick is!

“Terry, it’s too much!”

He wasn’t even giving her all of him. He arched a brow down at her.

“What did we discuss…”

She knew to be a big girl but LAWD he was hefty.

“I know…it’s just so big…”

“With a body like this…it’s built for dick like mine…”

He stroked slower, Summer drooling onto her sheets.

“Nah you look at me when I’m in this pussy…”

“Summer turned her head and looked back at Terry.

“There’s my pretty girl…such a pretty girl.”

Summer put a finger in her mouth and sucked on it like a pacifier while staring into his eyes.

“Fine ass,” Terry picked up the pace.

“Mmph! Mmph! Mmph!”

Summer bit down on her finger and her eyes crossed. She coated his dick again and at this point it was dripping wet. Terry pulled out and ate her from behind. He couldn’t control himself. Summer tried to move her hips away and it earned a sharp slap to the ass. Terry resurfaced, pumping his dick in his hand. He snatched Summer by her hair and abruptly angled her head to suck him off. Summer did just that while Terry fingered her pussy from the back. He started talking her through it.

“Fingers deep in this pussy, little one? Mmhm…”

Summer stroked him while sucking on his tip.

“There you go, such a creamy little slut…”

She furrowed her brows at the feeling of two fingers pumping her. She was leaking to the bed.

“Daddy fingering this pussy good? Hmm?”

Summer spit his dick out, “I’m cumming!”

Terry continued to work his fingers knuckle deep. Summer felt something burst inside of her and soon she was creating a puddle between her legs. Terry’s fingers slipped out and he brought them to her mouth to taste. Summer licked them clean for him.

“I know you can give me more, right?”

“Yes…” Summer replied weakly.

Terry placed Summer on her back and then he got between her legs from the side. Terry pointed his still hard dick at her pussy and with one look into her eyes he was back inside like he never left. His toned hips worked to drill her hole.

“Daddy! Cum already!” Summer begged.

It felt too good and she couldn’t handle the overwhelming pleasure. She pressed a weak hand against his abs, attempting to push him away, only for Terry to lock her wrist down. He licked his lips at her and gave her a sly smirk while continuing to fuck her into the mattress.

“Terry…”

“Yes?”

Summer erupted. The tight hold from her walls made his balls tighten and his dick pulsate within her wetness.

“Give me this pussy!”

Terry’s hips stuttered out of control. He couldn’t hold off any longer. This good pussy on her had his dick so sensitive.

“Summer…FUCK!”

Terry pulled out and Summer shot up from the bed with her tongue poked out and eyes on him. Terry fisted his long dick, emptying a big load all over her tongue and face. It just wouldn’t stop. His ass muscles clenched from the overwhelming pressure. Summer looked pleasantly fucked and her giggle warmed his heart.

“You’re such a nasty girl…”

“All for you…”

[rafey-baby]

rafe has always been close with his sister...(part two)

c/w: incest, some dubcon touching & a kiss from rafe, both of them are more or less drunk, 18+ mdni!

wc: 1.3k

previous part & moodboard

if this is something u don’t like, scroll & read something else xx

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

It’s well past 3 am when they stumble through the front door— wobbly on their feet and drunkenly giggling about some stupid joke Rafe had muttered while fumbling with the keys. Yet another party her big brother had dragged her into, and if it weren’t for his hands on her hips guiding her upstairs right now, she’d wake up the entire house tumbling down the stairs when she’d inevitably loose her footing.  

“Rafe, m’never going out with you again. Told you I wanted to leave like two hours ago,” she complains the moment they make it to her bedroom; her feet aching and head spinning.   

“‘N she’s complainin’ again. I mean, my apologies for wantin’ to—to show m’little sister a good time,” he huffs, peeling off the shirt that’s beginning to stick to his skin. “Don’t even try t’act like you didn’t have fun.”  

“Well, yeaah, but now m’sooo tired and gross and I need to shower and…” she yawns around the rest of the words; hand on his bicep for balance while she kicks off her shoes. 

“Don’t— don’t need to worry ‘bout that, told you I’d help you out, yeah?” he slurs, already beginning to tug down the zipper of her dress.  

“Nooo…can’t shower yet. Need to take m’makeup off first,” she blabbers, brows pulling together as if he’s just committed some heinous crime, making him roll his eyes before he’s searching through her vanity for makeup remover.  

And despite her drowsy resistance about wanting to shower alone, Rafe manages to drag her into the bathroom (after wiping her face clean) anyway — the thermal water soaking through her fatigued limbs feeling entirely too good for her to push him away when he corners her behind the shower curtain, its printed seashells beginning to twirl against the cream-colored material when she stares at them for too long. 

And she’s almost starting to believe he’s truly doing all of this for altruistic purposes; thoroughly washing her hair for her and making sure to coat the strands with a generous amount of conditioner afterwards.

But when his soapy palms mindlessly glide along the wet skin on her tummy— inching closer and closer towards her tits, she realizes that she was wrong. However, she’s far too out of it to care, and upon noticing the fact, he’s letting his eager paws grope at the squishy flesh; covering them in the foamy shower gel in the process.  

Only when his thumb is smoothing over a sensitive nipple, does she blink away the haziness blurring the lines of what a brother should and shouldn’t do to his sister. And at first, her dozy complaint doesn’t even reach his ears because he’s entirely too focused on the way her tits fit perfectly in the palms of his hands, wondering how it would feel to—  

“Rafe…can you not do that?” she suddenly takes a tentative step back.  

“Hm? Jus’ makin’ sure you feel all nice ‘n clean,” he drawls out, seemingly confused before he’s tugging her closer with a hold on her waist. “Can you wash my hair next?” he pleads; an abrupt attempt to distract her intoxicated brain. 

“I can barely stand and you want me to wash your hair? Can’t even reach your head when you’re a fucking giant.”  

But when he leans down for her, she reluctantly begins to lather the shampoo into his roots— gaining a delighted grunt from the back of his throat when her fingers absentmindedly dig into his scalp. However, with the new position, he’s now eye-level with her tits; soap bubbles and water droplets trickling down the smooth skin, and with his thoughts muddled, he’s unable to resist the allure for very long before he’s gravitating towards them.  

“Rafe, stoop,” she stumbles backwards when she feels the flat of his tongue laving over the valley of her breasts.

“M’sorry.” But he doesn’t seem all that sorry, not when he looks up at her under his lashes, offering her an inebriated grin— something nauseating coiling in her belly in response.  

- - - - - - - - - -

When they finally make it out of the shower, he insists on patting her dry, the foggy mirror saving her the absolute mortification of having to watch her brother’s eyes skim across the expanse of her bare skin during the unnecessarily long process.  

“Let me take care of m’favorite sister, yeah?” he croons when he’s tugging down the hem of her sleep shirt afterwards — a shirt that just so happens to be stolen from him, the worn fabric apparently softer than anything of her own.  

She’s unsure as to why he’s suddenly being so nice, but she’s not exactly complaining when his uncharacteristically gentle fingertips daub her face with her night cream when they sit down on her bed— making sure to rub the moisturizer into her forehead as well. And she thinks he almost looks cute like this; brows furrowed in concentration, flicking her nose with a sleepy smile when he’s finished.   

“That smells so fuckin’ good,” he groans after applying a layer of chapstick to her lips; his heady gaze fixed on the action of her rubbing them together, something she’s too dozy to notice.

“I know, right? I looove anything vanilla-scented,” she gushes over the product while placing the rest of the skincare on her nightstand.  

“Can I— uh, try it?” his question sounds innocent enough, but she should know better.  

“Of course,” the naive girl fully expects him to uncap the lip balm once more but instead, he’s suddenly grabbing her jaw into his massive hands and pressing his mouth against hers— swallowing her surprised squeak before she’s quickly pulling away.   

“Rafe, you promised you weren’t gonna do that anymore,” she whines, but the way her button-eyes blink up at him — the betrayal so tangible — lures him in to do it again; smearing their mouths together with a satisfied hum before she’s shoving at his shoulder.  

“Ray, m’serious, it was one time,” she lets out an annoyed huff.  

“Calm down, m’lips were jus’ dry, alright?”  

“You could’ve just— nevermind, m’too tired for this right now,” her attempts at putting some much needed space between them prove to be futile when he just follows her under the covers— acting as if he doesn’t hear her muttering how he should sleep in his own bed for a change.  

“Listen, m’sorry, okay? Don’t like when you’re mad at me,” he ignores her protests and nestles his face into her neck, nose soon nudging her throat and eliciting a somnolent giggle from her. 

“Ray, stop. You’re being annoying,” she tries to swat his hands away when his fingers suddenly begin to poke and prod at her sides because he knows how ticklish she is.  

“Yeah? Tell me you forgive me then.” 

Involuntary laughter bubbles from her chest when she shakes her head and squirms in his arms— desperately trying to wriggle away, but he’s much stronger and she’s no match. And when she grows even louder, he’s forced to slap his palm over her mouth to muffle the noise.

“Shut up, Sarah’s gonna wake up ‘n tell dad we were out late again,” he hisses, suddenly remembering how his other sister is sleeping on the other side of the wall, nonetheless continuing his attack when she attempts to escape once more.

“Stop tickling me then,” she manages out between fits of laughter, uncomfortably writhing in his hold because she hates when he does this. However, she quickly realizes he’s not planning on stopping anytime soon, and the feeling is quickly turning into something unbearable, more or less forcing her to finally let out a sigh in defeat. “Okay, okay, I forgive you— whatever, jus’ let me sleep.” 

His breathy chuckle fans the expanse of her neck before he finally relents, but when she tries to shift away from him, he merely tucks her closer against his naked chest; large palm slipping under the hem of her shirt to splay over the expanse of her stomach to keep her right where she is.

“Don’t move,” he murmurs into her hair, tone suddenly desperate, needy. It makes her swallow around the knotted coil in her throat before she reluctantly gives up altogether— entirely too exhausted to put up a fight when sleep is already dragging her into its dreamy embrace and she feels so warm like this.

[kashverse]

OMG imagine Babykuna tries to mimic her dad's tattoos with a marker when it's dress like your favorite hero day at school, or something like that lol or her just pulling a prank of dadkuna

when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. when life gives the sukuna household a permanent marker, you make an emergency dermatologist appointment.

it was six in the morning. sukuna, still groggy from sleep, barely cracked open an eye when he felt something small and warm crawl onto the bed beside him.

“papa.”

he grunted.

“papa. wake up.”

he grunted harder. but then, he opened his eyes, and nearly died on the spot.

because staring back at him, grinning like she just made a breakthrough in modern art, was babykuna.

with thick, uneven, horrifically wobbly black lines drawn all over her tiny face, mimicking his own tattoos.

oh. oh, no.

sukuna bolted upright so fast the bed creaked. "the hell did you do to your face?!" babykuna beamed with pride. “i wanted to look like you!”

sukuna’s soul left his body. because this was no washable marker. oh, no. this was the big leagues. the forever ink. he snatched the marker from beside her.

"where did you even—" he stared at it. PERMANENT MARKER was boldly printed on the side. he nearly threw it out the damn window.

"who gave you this?!"

babykuna, sensing danger, pointed at mr. pickles. the maine coon, sitting innocently at the foot of the bed, blinked. sukuna nearly combusted.

but before he could launch into a fatherly lecture about why tattooing your face with an office supply is a very bad idea, you groaned and rolled over, finally waking up. "why the are you yelling this early—"

then, you saw.

there was silence. long, painful silence. then—

you wheezed.

"OH MY GOD—" you threw your head back in laughter. "she looks like a criminal sketch!"

babykuna giggled, delighted. sukuna scowled.

"it's not funny!"

"she looks like a bootleg version of you, this is the funniest thing i've ever seen."

"SHE LOOKS LIKE A TAX FRAUD SUSPECT."

but the real horror came twenty minutes later when you realized that even after three rounds of scrubbing, coconut oil, baby wipes, and the sacrifice of one of sukuna’s expensive skincare products, the marker wasn’t coming off.

so now, an hour later, here you were, in a dermatologist’s office, with babykuna swinging her little legs from the examination chair, sukuna sitting next to her with his face buried in his hands, and the dermatologist trying very hard not to laugh as he examined your child’s very bold life choices.

"so." the doctor cleared his throat. "permanent marker, huh?"

you, exhausted: "yes."

sukuna, defeated: "yes."

babykuna, proudly: "YES!"

the doctor nodded solemnly. "have you tried… rubbing alcohol?"

"DO YOU THINK WE’RE IDIOTS?"

you kicked sukuna’s ankle. the doctor bit his lip, clearly enjoying this.

“well.” he examined babykuna’s bold new look. “good news is, it’ll fade. bad news is… it’ll take a while.”

sukuna groaned. babykuna, still swinging her legs, just grinned.

"do i look cool?"

you held back a snort. sukuna, however, did not. he turned to her, dead serious.

"no. you look like an off-brand action figure."

babykuna gasped. mr. pickles, sitting in his carrier by the chair, just blinked in amusement.

and thus began the longest two weeks of your life.

[bi-writes]

Is it possible for Simon's MOB request him to dress up as Ghost for Halloween? and of course she will wear whatever Simon want her to

But if you don't want to bring Ghost into MOB's universe, just skip this. We completely understand 😉

it's about time, huh?

mail-order bride (18+)

when simon comes home after a long two weeks away, he's pleasantly surprised by what waits for him. there's carved pumpkins lined up on the porch ascending up the steps, and there's candles lit inside, making them flicker. along the porch railing, there's garlands with orange lights, and there's a black feathered wreath on the door. simon smiles under his mask, even wider once he sees the cats staring at him from the window. their tails are swishing, and he waves at them before putting the key into the door and coming inside.

it smells like pine. there's candles on everywhere, making the entire living room glow a soft orange.

all the throw pillows are different. they've been changed. they are made of velvet and linen, with some of them having fall prints on them like black cats and pumpkins and autumn-colored checkers. there's pumpkin motifs and leaves everywhere, like all the colors everywhere have been changed to browns, reds, and sage greens. you poke your head out from behind the fridge, smiling as you see simon by the door, taking off his boots and jacket. he showered before coming back from work; you can tell because he's not wearing the skull balaclava, and he has regular clothes on.

"hey," you greet him softly, waving. "you're in early."

"couldn't wait," simon murmurs. "had to come see my girls."

you snort, rolling your eyes, but you shut the fridge before coming into the living room. you wrap your arms around his neck easily, tugging him close as you snatch his mask off and kiss him softly.

"i missed you, simon," you whisper between kisses, and he wraps those big arms around you tight, cradling the back of your head as he kisses you back.

"i missed ya more."

you giggle when he picks you up a little, turning you in a little circle before setting you back down. it baffles you how easily he takes your weight; barely even grunts, just smooths his hands down your thighs and picks you up with that wicked, crooked smile.

"loved wot ya did wit' the house, luv," simon adds, chuckling low. your eyes light up, and you look around, beaming at the cozy couch you've made up with the new blankets and pillows you had bought. you giggle, looking back at him, cupping his cheeks to bring him closer to you.

"the kettle's on. why don't i make you some tea? we have so much to catch up on," you coo, and simon blushes, easily, and you giggle when he tries to look away. "simon!"

he slips a hand up your skirt to stop your laughing. you gasp, your breath caught in your throat, and simon hums as he kisses along your jaw, chapped lips sucking at the skin until you're liquid in his arms.

"mmm...a cuppa sounds nice, baby," simon chuckles in your ear, and you nod, pulling away slowly. he squeezes your ass gently before letting you go, kissing under your ear before he collapses onto the couch, sinking into it. he grabs one of the thick new blankets thrown over it, and you come into the room a few minutes later with his mug of tea and a big smile on your face. "oh, ya didn't have ta do tha'...i-i meant--"

"i know what you meant, simon," you say softly, setting it down next to him. "i wanted to, okay?"

he smiles a little, nodding, and then he reaches for your hand to pull you into his lap.

"okay, hafta catch up, luv," simon sighs. "tell me wot happened while i was gone. want ta know everythin'."

you shrug, leaning back against his chest.

"did a lot of shopping," you tell him. "a lot. sorry about the bills, simon."

"don't worry about the bills," he says firmly, and you smile a little when he takes your hands and squeezes them gently. "tell me more."

"i bought mostly stuff for the house," you smile. "all the halloween stuff. i left a few pumpkins for us though. that we can do together."

"mmm. i'd like tha'."

"and i bought...some halloween costumes," you finish, looking over your shoulder at him. he raises a brow, grinning, and he tilts his head to the side.

"you wanna dress up, tha' it, luv?"

"well...i bought a lot of costumes for me," you continue. "i...i was hoping...that..."

simon nudges you a little. you swallow, squeezing his hands, and he kisses your shoulder gently.

"well...i was hoping you could put on your..." you clear your throat, "i mean...you could be...ghost...and i-i could be--"

"ya want me ta wear my mask?" simon asks, leaning in a little. he puts his face into the crook of your shoulder, and you shiver a little. "want me to be ghost...not simon...tha' it, baby?"

you can't meet his eyes. you shrink a little in his lap, and he buries his face further, sucking gently on the curve of your jaw.

"woteva ya want, swee'eart," simon mutters. "can have woteva ya want."

"simon--" you gasp, arching your back, and he wraps a strong arm around your middle and holds you against him.

"shhh--" simon quiets you. "'s olright. why don't ya wait 'ere for me, aye? sit right there, lookin' so pretty..." he wraps a big hand around your throat, holding you there, squeezing gently. "why don't ya sit there, and i'll go put somethin' on, and we can practice?"

"p-practice?"

"tha's right," simon licks his lips. "got to see if our costumes will look nice together, don't we? got to make sure we match."

"y-yeah..."

"will ya wait 'ere, swee'eart? wait right 'ere for me?"

"yes. yeah. yes, simon." you're breathless, shaking practically, and simon tucks you against the couch before grabbing his bag and heading into the bedroom. he gives you a wink before the door shuts, and you put a hand over your chest and breathe deeply as you settle there.

your husband never fails to make your head spin. he occupies your every thought; the way he loves, the manner in which he takes care of you, the insatiable look in his eyes whenever his eyes are on you. never in your life have you ever been more at the center of someone else's world. never in your life has every word that leaves your mouth been so akin to some kind of revered gospel.

everything you say matters. nothing that you do can be wrong. nothing that you feel is ever dismissed, nothing that you want is ever not given to you, everything in your life is sunshine and rainbows and fuck, he's so fucking hot--

your brain goes fuzzy when the bedroom door opens again. it's someone you don't recognize, not really.

even when you've visited him on base, he somehow still maintains himself as simon in your presence. when you look into those eyes, you always recognize them. they are soft, they are kind, they are the ones you have always known.

whoever stands in front of you isn't someone you've met yet. he's taller, somehow. maybe it's the way he stands. feet spread apart in those steel-toed boots, cargos snug around his massive legs. your eyes start low, taking in the holsters that are positively squeezing his big thighs to his waist. mmm, his solid middle. that place that never gives, that feels full and warm when you've fed him a nice meal, now he uses it as his own personal armor. he wears a windbreaker under his tact vest, but he's pushed the sleeves up to his elbow, his tattoos on display. they've never looked so right on him until now. you follow the line of his chest to his face.

his face. his second skin. you've seen this mask before, that dirty skull that he never washes properly that frames his eyes, making him sunken and dead. he's smeared eye-black on under it, and his eyes are voids. they sink, the whites barely peeking through, and as you look at him, really look at him, you don't recognize what you see.

he's so big. he's never looked bigger. he takes up the entirety of the doorway, and you shift on the couch as you take in all of him this way.

it's like seeing someone new. it's like being married to two different men. it's simon, surely, somewhere under there, but whoever you're in the presence of isn't simon.

"hmm..." you giggle nervously, standing up. he narrows his eyes a little, flexing his hands in and out of fists, and you point to the bedroom behind him. "i'm...i'm gonna go get the costumes i bought. and...and we can pick one for me."

he blinks, but he says nothing. he walks slow, past you, and you hold his eyes as he does, and he holds yours. you turn to keep eye contact as he takes a seat on the couch, spreading his legs wide, resting his hands on his thighs. you swallow, nervous under his intense stare, and you hurry towards the bedroom to fish the costumes out of the closet.

you look at yourself in the mirror. you look frazzled. your entire body feels hot, too hot, and your palms are clammy. you wipe your face gently before going back into the living room, where ghost is waiting exactly where you left him.

it looks like he hasn't moved an inch.

you hold up a few of the hangers, showing off the outfits on them.

"o-okay, i got a few. some of them are...kind of dumb," you laugh nervously. you hold up a stupid nurse outfit. it's a short little dress that would show off your thighs and way too much cleavage, and ghost considers it for a few long moments before he shakes his head. you clear your throat, nodding. "yeah, this one was dumb."

you toss it aside, holding up another one. it's a fitted bodysuit with a matching witch's hat, and ghost shakes his head at this one as well. you toss it aside to show him the next. he turns down every single one. little red riding hood. alice in wonderland. even the cute little corset angel dress that you really thought would work.

you play with your fingers nervously, looking at the costumes that you've tossed over a chair. you frown a little, curling your toes, the picture of quietly frustrated as you think about what to say next. ghost sits there, unbothered, staring at you as if he's waiting for something. he blinks slow.

"i-i don't understand what you want," you whisper. "i...i thought you'd like at least one of them, i mean..." you run a hand over your face, shrugging. "what do you want me to wear, nothing? i--"

ghost tilts his head to the side, making your breath catch in your throat.

what do you want me to wear, nothing?

your lips part, and you take a few deep breaths. nothing. he wants you to wear nothing. simon--well, simon would say differently. simon would tell you to wear whatever you wanted. he'd tell you that you would look beautiful in every single one, and you think maybe he'd ask you to wear the nurse outfit just to be cheeky.

not ghost. ghost doesn't like the theatrics. ghost doesn't care for the game. he doesn't chase, everything he wants comes to him, or he makes it come to him. everything he desires ends up between his teeth, and that includes the woman that's wearing his fucking ring standing in front of him.

you take a timid step forward. he narrows his eyes under the mask, watching curiously, and when you make your way between his legs, he stares up at you, right into your eyes. you smile.

"you might be a ghost, but you're still my husband," you say softly. "so will you do the honors for me?"

ghost hums lowly. he reaches for you, gripping the base of your shirt, and he lifts it over your head with ease. he tugs your shorts down along with your panties as you unclasp your bra, and finally you see the flicker of something in those eyes when your tits fall in his line of sight.

there's a man under it all, as much as he would like to pretend like there isn't.

you lean over, putting your hands on either side of him on the back of the couch before straddling him. he grunts as you sit down, his hands finding your waist, and you lean forward enough to press your forehead to his.

ghost, like your simon, is insatiable. as soon as he has you this close, his hands are wandering. gloved hands slide up your slides and cup your tits, thumbs smoothing over your nipples until they're puckered and hard. once he's satisfied that you're shuddering enough, his hands fall to your thighs, spreading them apart even more before he grips both sides of your ass and squeezes, spreading them apart. the tease of his thumb over your ass makes your brain restart, and if he wasn't wearing the mask, you have a feeling you'd seek a sickening grin come over his face.

your mouth falls open, short breaths leaving you, and your eyes flutter closed when his hand slips between your thighs and cups you, big palm swallowing your folds as he puts two fingers to your clit and makes a nasty squelch as he moves them in firm circles.

"olready so wet..."

you squeak with surprise when he flips you over. your back slams against his chest, and it arches away from him as he plants your heels on either side of his thighs and wraps an arm around your middle to hold you against him.

"oh--ha--"

you reach back and grip the back of his neck for support as he puts his hand back where it belongs. two gloved fingers move in achingly slow circles through your folds, but like a teasing shit, he only skims your clit every so often. he leans in, humming against your ear, and he smacks his lips under the mask as he watches from over your shoulder.

"is it time?" he rasps against your cheek. "mmm...y'r husband neglects ya, huh?"

"w-what? no..."

"'s olright," ghost huffs. "i know. even pretty girls need to get fucked, tha's the truth, innit?"

"nnghh--"

"even sweet, pretty girls deserve a firm hand. don't hafta be so gentle...ya don't want gentle, aye? not wot ya need."

"just need you," you whine, and he paws at your tits hard as he sinks two fingers into you, right down to the last knuckle. you cry with relief, bucking your hips up against his hand, and he shushes you, shaking his head. ghost is simon's nasty alter ego, and you just want more and more and more of it.

"relax," he chuckles. fuck, he's so smug, it's infuriating and appealing all the same. "just need ta get ya nice and soft...need ya to open up fer me. won't be easy, takin' me."

like always with your husband, the one thing that is easy is not thinking at all. you sink, relaxing into his grip until there is no resistance from you. you don't have to have any thoughts when it comes to him. you can just be in the moment. you can float on this plane of nonexistence, this place that is just for you where you can just be and enjoy and think of nothing but how good you feel at this exact moment. he's got such big fingers--they curl, petting your insides, coaxing you to make all sorts of soft, pretty noises that just make him more desperate. he's hard against your ass; he chubbed up as soon as you sat in his lap, but now it's an unmistakable feeling.

he is everything you have ever wanted. he is more than you deserve. for your entire life, nothing has ever felt more precious. nothing has ever been more special. no one in the entire world has ever been so pervasive and demanding and thoughtful and wonderful, and you love him so much, you think you might die if you don't have him--

"i know," his voice brings you back. you're crying, tears wetting your face. you're shivering, holding onto him, babbling nonsense that sounds a lot like i love you and please and more. "i know, baby--it's so good, innit? feels so good, look at ya...look at ya, 's oll mine, 's mine, everythin' tha' y'are is mine."

everything you are is mine. skin, bone, and all.

"i'm gonna--no!" you seize when his fingers leave you. you miss them, turning around in his lap, cupping his cheeks, shaking your head, desperate desperate desperate. "don't take it from me, don't--!"

he hums. deep within his chest, something you feel trickling up his throat as your hands slide down his neck. you paw at the tactical vest, pulling on the straps, but ghost is something you cannot move. he's rigid, solid. nothing about him gives. even hard, pressed up against your cunt, he loses no control.

"gonna be good?" he asks. "hmm? gonna be good, and let me take care o' this, aye? can't 'ave ya coming on my fingers, swee'eart. first time ya come tonight, 's gonna be on my cock, y'hear tha'? say you hear me."

"i hear you--"

"tha's good, good, i like tha', like when ya do wot i ask. 's easy, innit? easy ta do wot i tell ya."

you can see those eyes. you're in love with those eyes. it doesn't matter how much he paints around them or how many layers he covers his face with, you will never forget them. you will know them when you close your eyes for the last time, and you will know them when you are born again, and you will spend eternity looking for them until you find the ones you know belong to you.

simon will wear a million faces, and you will know each and every one of them, just like you know this one, even the one you can't see.

simon makes other men so inferior. ghost makes them infinitely obsolete.

"so pretty, i've got such a pretty wife," ghost mutters. "did good, didn't i? gettin' myself such a nice girl. a messy girl." you're drooling as he lifts his hips, undoing his jeans with one wet, gloved hand. the zipper comes down, and your eyes fall as you watch him shove the denim just below his balls. "fuck--so full, baby, huh? won't last if y'keep lookin' at me tha' way, close y'r mouth."

you giggle a little. it escapes you without you even thinking, and when ghost tilts his head to the side, you're caught in it. he's about to fuck you for the very first time. he's about to eat, like he's never eaten before. you're about to lose your fucking mind, that's for certain, and nothing about it scares you.

simon might not be here right now, but ghost still knows what you are to him. he's going to take care of you. he loves you.

you cradle his head when he turns you in his lap. you clutch onto the back of his mask, lowering yourself in his arms as you press your lips to his over the mask. your shuddering breaths make him groan, and he hisses when you use one hand to slip his cock between your thighs, rocking your hips to coat him in slick. the bulbous head catches between your ass, and you lick over his jaw as you draw your hips back, meeting his eyes again.

you never want to know another man. even if they take him from you, even if someone manages to put a bullet in him, you'll never be with anyone else. this is it, the end all be all.

"not supposed t'think," ghost tells you. "y'r too pretty t'think."

your lashes flutter, and he grins under the mask.

"just the tip?" he teases. you press your forehead to his, shaking a little, and you nod your head. you take it nice and slow. he hitches you high up on his lap, on your knees, and you're a whimpering mess when he pushes the fat tip inside of you. you rock your hips, feeding yourself more, and ghost leans his head back when he feels you squeezing and squeezing and squeezing as you take just a little more of him, little by little. "don't need ta work ya open when y'r cunt's beggin' for it, innit?"

you squeeze his broad shoulders, leaning all your weight on him as you sit down on his cock. both of you groan, finally one, and you push his mask up to seal a kiss as you feel him throbbing as he touches deep.

"i love you so much," you whisper between kisses, "but i've been waiting t-too long for this."

"don't worry," ghost mutters. "there'll be time f'nice 'n sweet later. i know wot y'need."

and fuck, he certainly does.

ghost has you propped up underneath him when he fucks you for the first time. he shoved a few pillows under your hips, and the angle has your eyes in the back of your head as he indulges himself. when he puts a gloved hand low on your tummy and presses, you see it--fuck, it's good.

he's hitting that spot again and again now. the groans that slip out, the ones he can't control, have you squeezing his cock every time he meets your hips, and he has to grab onto your thighs to keep you from shaking yourself too hard. his balls are heavy, fat, smacking against your ass with a wet sound that's making it hard to focus. you go in and out, and every time that skull mask comes into your vision again, you feel a new wave of shudders make it's way down your spine, curling your toes.

"tha's it, love--" ghost praises. "ughh, knew ya'd be so good f'me. knew ya'd take it like this. open up--yeah, yeah--fuck--" he spits into his glove, nasty, and when he thumbs at your clit, you mewl. your back nearly lifts off the couch and the pillows you rest on, but ghost just cackles, pressing you back down, his palm a nice weight on your tummy as he pushes down again just right and-- "oh--fuck--there it is..."

your orgasm is unlike any other you've ever had. for a split second, the world is nothing but stars. your vision hazes, white spots dancing, and when you blink back to consciousness, ghost has slowed his hips, his hands gripping your hips as he watches the mess between your legs quickly wet his cargos. he hums low, eyes wild, and he keeps fucking up into you suddenly, a bit quicker, renewed vigor.

"want anotha one," ghost hisses, and you babble as you try and tell him i-i can't, never been able to--but he's still going, still running his big thumb in nice circles, and when he draws your legs up and over his shoulders and leans his weight on you, you cry with relief when something softer but just as lovely hits you head-on. ghost gets down onto his elbows, faltering, and when you feel his cum spurt, you shake at how good it feels to be surrounded by your husband, inside and out, the start of him and end of you blurred between tangled limbs and shared breaths and the wedding band you can feel him wearing underneath his gloved hand as he intertwines your fingers and squeezes.

your body is liquid. it seeps back into the couch, melding to the cushions underneath you, and you smile up at your husband as he smooths his hands over your face and chuckles low and breathless.

"y'r so beautiful," he murmurs, and you tell him the same, because it's true. you touch your nose to his, breathing him in, and when you laugh, he asks you what it is.

"i just..." you laugh again. "hmm...why did we wait so long?"

you laugh together, soft and quiet, and when you kiss him, he's gentle. he sits up enough to throw his gear off, the tact vest falling to the floor, and you toss his mask behind you so you can scratch at his short hair and kiss his cheeks.

"so..." you bite your lip, and he gives you all his attention.

"wot is it, baby?"

"you...wanna go again?"

[starkwlkr]

May I request hugh and actress!reader w/ baby olivia on set pls (love your writing!!)

baby on board | hugh jackman

an: hi!! thank you for this request!! glad everyone is enjoying this series <3

X-Men: The Last Stand set

Baby Olivia was the star of the show. It was the last day on set of the latest X-Men and the Jackman family was visiting. While Alex and Reese took a nap in Hugh’s trailer, Hugh took Baby Olivia on a trip around the set. He showed her everything from the costume department to his chair with his name printed on the back.

“And that lovely lady is Famke. She plays Jean and in this movie she’s one of the bad guys, but don’t worry Famke is a sweetheart.” Hugh told Olivia as his co-star, Famke, approached the dad and daughter.

“Hi Olivia. Oh my god, you are so adorable!” Famke gasped when she saw Olivia wrapped in her pink blanket. “I’m guessing your boys are with their mother?”

“They’re all napping in my trailer. The flight here tired them out so for now it’s Olivia and me.” Hugh held his daughter close.

“I’ll let you two get back to your set tour. Bye, baby! I’ll see you later.” Famke blew a kiss to Olivia, who cracked a little toothless grin.

“Alright, miss Olivia, where to next?” Hugh looked around. Crew members smiled and waved to him as he passed by. They found it heartwarming and a little funny that Hugh, dressed as Wolverine, had a baby with him.

“Oh, look, that is a special chair. Wanna try it out?” Hugh looked around wondering if he would get in trouble for sitting on Charles Xavier’s chair. He didn’t see anyone stopping him so he sat on it with Olivia. Still holding his daughter close, he didn’t expect the chair to actually move when he moved the small lever forward.

“Woah, okay, hold on baby,” Hugh chuckled as he tried to steer the chair with one hand. He eventually got the hang of it and even made it to craft services where he found the owner of the chair. “Hope you don’t mind. Olivia wanted to take it for a spin.”

“Oh, don’t be like that! This beautiful girl can do what she wants!” Patrick Stewart laughed, waving at Olivia.

A crew member then came up to Hugh and Patrick holding a video camera. He recorded Hugh having fun with Olivia. After a while, Alex and Reese woke up from their nap and joined their dad and sister. Soon, Hugh had all his children on the chair, going from one room to the next and it was all captured on video. Years later, the same footage was used in the end credits for Deadpool & Wolverine, along with other behind the scenes footage.

@kellyxo1

[aliyahwritings]

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (02)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Model!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 4.1k

Aliyah's Notes: rafe triple appearances 👏 i actually rlly like this yk like the pacing and the dynamics are great imo. i hope u all will like it too. reader seems like such a jobless ho in this chap but she's booked and busy yall i promise

As the early morning sunlight streamed through the large windows of your apartment, you stood in front of your full-length mirror, taking a deep breath as she surveyed her reflection. Today was the day—the day you would finally meet Rafe Cameron and discuss the terms of your marriage arrangement. The thought made your stomach flutter with a mix of excitement and anxiety.

Despite your bubbling personality, the pressure of the situation weighed heavily on your shoulders. You had spent the past few days steeling yourself for this moment, and now that it was finally here, the reality of it sent your heart racing.

You glanced at your closet, a vibrant array of outfits hanging neatly. You had planned to wear something that screamed “fabulous”, but time was slipping away from you. You settled on a leopard-print strapless top, pairing it with a denim mini skirt. You slipped on your favorite black heels, which added just the right amount of height and made your legs longer. You grabbed your black Prada bag, a reminder of the success you had fought so hard to achieve.

Despite your nerves, you felt a surge of excitement. This meeting was a step forward resolving your visa issues, and you were determined to make the best of it. You wanted to present yourself as confident, someone who could hold your own—especially when facing someone like Rafe Cameron.

You slipped into the back seat of your private car, offering a quick nod to your driver, Gregory. As the engine purred to life, you felt your heart pounding in your ears, each beat amplifying the weight of anticipation.

When you arrived at the law office, your gaze immediately landed on Nicolas, your lawyer. He stood up from his chair and made his way over, exchanging small talk that felt oddly comforting amid the tension. Together, you entered the meeting room, where Rafe and his lawyer were already waiting for you.

Even seated, his presence dominated the space. His broad shoulders, casual posture, and confident smirk that made him look every bit the arrogant athlete you had read about. His lawyer, Sabrina Rashid, sat beside him, a sharply dressed woman who radiated professionalism. Rafe, on the other hand, looked annoyingly relaxed in a plain white t-shirt and black jeans. 

Well, this made you look overdressed… Embarrassing, but you kept your head held high.

Nicolas gestured toward the table. “Shall we?”

You slid into the chair opposite Rafe, offering a small nod to his lawyer before turning your attention to him. His blue eyes flickered over you, lingering longer than necessary. You could practically feel his ego inflate with every second.

“You’re late,” he drawled, breaking the silence. His voice was as cocky as his expression.

You arched a brow, setting your Prada bag on the table with a soft thud. “Hello to you too—and you’re lucky I showed up at all, considering your reputation.”

He smiled. “Feisty. I like that.”

And so, you cringed at his words. You rolled your eyes, refusing to take the bait. “Let’s get to the point, shall we?”

Nico cleared his throat, clearly eager to steer the conversation to business. “Yes, well, the purpose of today’s meeting is to discuss the logistics of the marriage arrangement—specifically, where you’ll be living, financial obligations, and how this will be handled publicly.”

“Publicly?” you repeated, frowning slightly. “I thought this was supposed to be discreet.”

Rafe shrugged. “I don’t do discreet, sweetheart.”

You shot him a glare. “I am not your sweetheart.”

“Not yet, but wait ‘till we’re married.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by his audacity, but recovered. “This isn’t going to be like that. We’re not doing some fake, lovey-dovey routine for the press.”

Rafe leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Who said anything about love? I’m talking about looking like a normal couple, someone the media can’t tear apart every other week. It’s all about appearances, sweetheart.”

“Stop calling me sweetheart.”

“Whatever you say,” he grinned. “Plus, you gotta admit, you and I? We’d be a headline every day, sweetheart.”

“Is he serio—”

Nico stepped in before you could respond. “Alright, enough. Let’s get back on track.” He glanced at Rafe’s lawyer, who nodded and opened a folder.

“First item on the agenda: where will you two be living?” Sabrina asked, her tone professional and no-nonsense. “Given that this marriage is primary for legal purposes, we need to establish residency. For it to be legitimate, you will need to live together.”

You shot a look at Rafe, who was already smirking like he’d won some kind of silent argument. “I’m not moving in with him,” you said flatly.

“You think I’m thrilled about having a roommate? Especially one who probably spends hours in front of the mirror.”

You crossed your arms. “I do not.”

Lies.

“Oh, please. You’re a model. You probably have a different skincare for every day of the week.”

“And it’s supposed to be a bad thing because…?” You frowned. “You should take exemple. You look like you wash your face with body soap.”

Nico pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s focus, kids.”

Rafe’s lawyer continued, ignoring the banter. “You’ll need to appear as though you’re cohabiting. If not, immigration authorities will become suspicious, and the arrangement could fall apart.”

You narrowed your eyes at Rafe. “Where do you live, anyway?”

He learned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I’ve got a place in SoHo. Penthouse. Nice view, great amenities. It’s got plenty of space for you to do… whatever it is models do.”

“Funny, I have my place in the Upper East Side. And I am not giving it up.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Upper East Side, huh? Posh.”

“I earned it.”

“Well, we’ll need to figure something out,” Sabrina interjected smoothly. “But you need to live together. In one place.”

Rafe looked amused. “You can have the closet space. I’m a sweet guy like that.”

“How generous,” you muttered, turning back to the lawyers. “Fine. We can do the whole ‘living in one place together’ thing. But I need time off, to stay at my place once in a while.”

Rafe winked. “Wouldn’t want to cramp your style.”

You ignored him. “What about finances? How is this going to work?”

Nico pulled out his own folder. “We’ve drafted a preliminary agreement outlining financial contributions from both parties. It’s important that this marriage appears legitimate, so we suggest pooling certain expenses—utilities, rent or mortgage payments, and shared household costs. This can be done through a joint account, which will be monitored to ensure the marriage looks genuine.”

You could feel Rafe’s eyes on you, and you shot him a look. “A joint account? I hope you’re not expecting me to pay for your post-game drinks?”

He chuckled. “Relax. I’ve got more money than you can spend in a lifetime. The joint account is just for show. But if you want to chip in for groceries, I won’t stop you.”

“Oh, how noble of you,” you replied dryly.

Nico glanced between you and Rafe, clearly trying to keep the conversation on track. “This account will cover all necessary shared expenses—bills, groceries, and any incidentals that may arise from your living arrangements. It’ll help maintain the appearance of a genuine marriage.”

Sabrina nodded in agreement. “Exactly. As for your individual assets, those will remain separate. No need to worry about your personal finances getting tangled up.”

You relaxed a little at that. “Good.”

“And what about public appearances?” Rafe asked, sounding surprisingly serious. “How often do we need to do the whole ‘happy couple’ thing?”

Nico exchanged a look with Rafe’s lawyer. “You’ll need to be seen together frequently enough to make it believable, but not so much that it seems forced. A few key events—charity galas, public outings—will suffice. It’s important that you strike a balance.”

Rafe shrugged. “I’ve got games, events, plenty of opportunities to be seen.”

You sighed. “I have shoots, fashion shows, and meetings. We’re both busy.”

“Sounds like we’ll have to schedule our love life,” he quipped, flashing you a grin that made you want to throttle at him.

You gave him a sweet smile. “Good thing it’s not real.”

He laughed, and for a second, the tension in the room eased.

Nico shuffled his papers. “There’s one more thing to discuss—media coverage. Given that Mr. Cameron is already in the spotlight, it’s important to control the narrative.”

Sabrina continued; “We’ll need to issue a carefully crafted statement once the marriage is official. Something that explains how you met, why you’re together, and addresses any potential rumors before they can spiral out of control.”

“A public statement?” You cringed at the thought.

“It’s necessary,” Nico said. “If this looks like a publicity stunt, it could raise red flags with immigration.”

Rafe leaned back in his chair, looking far too relaxed for the situation. “Don’t worry, we’ll make it believable. I’m great with the media.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what worries me,” you muttered.

He smirked. “Come on, sweetie. We’ll be the hottest couple in New York. Think of the headlines.”

“I’d rather not,” you moved your hands dismissively.

The lawyer continued discussing the finer details of the arrangement—contract clauses, confidentiality agreements, and timelines. You zoned out for a moment, your eyes drifting back to Rafe. Despite his infuriating attitude, there was something about him. Something that made you feel like this might not be the worst decision after all.

“I hope you’re prepared for the spotlight,” he said suddenly, snapping you back to reality. “The media’s gonna eat this up.”

You arched a brow. “Please. I’ve been in the spotlight longer than you have, and with far less drama.”

He grinned. “We’ll see about that.”

You leaned forward, meeting his gaze head-on, the space between you suddenly charged. “I’m not one of your little fangirls, Rafe. You might charm the media, but you’re not charming me.”

His smirk faltered, just for a second, replaced by something darker, more intense. His gaze dipped, lingering on your exposed cleavage, heat flaring in his eyes. You felt a spark, your breath catching as your own eyes betrayed you, flickering to his lips—pink, curved, and way too tempting for your liking. The air between you thickened, crackling with an unspoken challenge, the playful banter giving way to something far more dangerous.

Rafe’s tongue flicked out to wet his lips, and for a moment, you forgot where you were, the weight of his stare pulling you in. The thought of what it would feel like to wipe that cocky grin off his face—or maybe even taste it—flickering through your mind.

But then Nico cleared his throat, shattering the moment like glass, and you quickly sat back, your heart racing as you wrenched your gaze away from Rafe’s.

“So, we have a deal?” Rafe asked, cutting through the tension.

You glanced at Nico, who gave you a subtle nod of reassurance. With a deep breath, you turned to Rafe and extended your hand. “Yes, we do.”

His hand clasped yours, warm and firm. “Looking forward to being your husband, sweetheart.”

“Looking forward to not being your wife,” you rolled your eyes, pulling your hand back. “This is purely business. Don’t get any ideas.”

“Whatever you say, wife.”

The next few days passed in a blur of contracts, legal jargon, and meetings with Nico, Sabrina, and Rafe. You had signed your life away—well, not really your life, but it certainly felt like it. 

You were lounging in your Upper East Side apartment, scrolling through Instagram when your phone buzzed.

Rafe Cameron.

Just seeing his name made your stomach tighten with a mix of irritation and something else you couldn’t quite place. Hesitantly, you opened the message.

Rafe: “When do you plan on moving in?”

You stared at the screen for a second before typing.

You: “I’m not even packed yet… what the hell.”

Rafe: “What you waiting for? You’re not chickening out, are you, sweetheart?”

There it was again—sweetheart. That nickname got on your nerves, but you were determined not to let him get under your skin (although he already did).

You: “Stop calling me that, and also I have a job and a life. I can’t just drop everything to move into your stinky place.”

Rafe: “I’m offering help.”

You snorted at your phone. Right, because Rafe Cameron would actually help you pack your boxes.

You: “What are you gonna do? Carry my shoes for me?”

Rafe: “If it gets you here faster, then sure. I’ll be here tomorrow.”

Your eyes widened. Was he serious? You couldn’t picture Rafe Cameron, basketball star and all-around cocky jerk, standing in your apartment, packing boxes and loading them into a truck. The mental image alone was laughable.

You: “Wait! No!”

Rafe: “Why no? You need a few more days to decide on what to pick?”

You: “Jerk.”

Rafe: ":)"

You: “And I can’t move in yet. We need to make a public appearance and get married before I start packing and do all the move-in things.”

There was a pause before his response came through.

Rafe: “Fair.”

You: “Excited to live with me, am I right?”

Rafe: “Projecting much?”

You: “You wish.”

Rafe: “Ditto, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes. You quickly clicked on the rolling eyes emoji as a response and threw your phone onto the couch, not wanting to keep talking to him.

The next morning, you blinked your eyes open, greeted by the familiar warmth of your apartment, and for a fleeting moment, you forgot about everything. The visage, the arrangement, the pressure, the stress, immigration, Rafe Cameron—all of it felt distant, like a strange dream.

But then reality settled back in.

You groaned softly, burying your face into your pillow for a second longer before sighing and throwing off the covers. Today was yet another meeting with the lawyers, and you already were over it.

You knew marriage was a lot of papers and documents, but you truly didn’t think it was this much.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you padded across the plush carpet to your closet, glancing at the outfits hanging neatly in a row. Usually, your first thought would be what designer outfit to wear today but you couldn’t muster the energy to care this morning. Today wasn’t about looking fabulous; it was about getting down to business, and you didn’t care how you looked because you’d be stuck in a room for hours with two lawyers and your future husband.

Future husband… God, how weird was it to say that about a man you didn’t even know.

Instead of focusing on it, you reached for a pair of soft gray sweatpants and a simple white tank top. You pulled a thick, cozy grey cardigan over your shoulders, its warmth a small comfort against the stress building in your mind. 

As you made your way to the kitchen, your phone buzzed on the countertop, and for a moment, you thought it might be Rafe. But no, it was just a reminder from Nico about the meeting. You sighed, grabbed a cup of coffee, slipped into the backseat of your car and headed to the law office.

The law office was as sleek and imposing as ever—polished wood, glass walls, and the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air. You stepped into the conference room, finding Nicolas and Sabrina already seated at the table, a stack of papers in front of them. They looked up and offered polite smiles as you entered.

“Morning,” you said, taking a seat and smoothing the sleeves of your cardigan.

“Morning, Y/N,” Nico replied, his tone friendly but businesslike. “How’re you feeling?”

You hesitated, offering a half-hearted smile. “A bit nervous and tired, I guess. But ready to get things moving.”

Nico nodded, glancing at the empty seat beside you before opening his mouth to speak, but Sabrina beat him to it.

“Hello, Ms. Y/L/N, just to let you know—Rafe won’t be joining us today.”

Your heart sank, but you tried not to show it. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“Last-minute practice session,” she explained, her tone casual. “It was unavoidable, apparently. He couldn’t get out of it.”

You nodded slowly, processing the information. It wasn’t that you were angry—just… bothered. This was an important meeting, after all. Even though this marriage was fake, it still involved a lot of big decisions. Decisions you didn’t feel comfortable making without him.

“Okay,” you said after a moment. “I guess we’ll have to catch him up later, then.”

Sabrina gave you a sympathetic look. “I’ll make sure he’s informed about everything. I know it’s frustrating, but Rafe’s schedule can be pretty unpredictable.”

“I get it,” you replied with a shrug, trying to convince yourself it wasn’t that big of a deal. “It’s just... this is important, you know? It would’ve been nice to have him here for this.”

“I understand,” Sabrina said gently. “And I’ll make sure he’s fully briefed on everything. He’s committed to this, even if it doesn’t always seem that way.”

You nodded, still feeling a bit unsettled but trying to brush it off. He was used to a chaotic schedule, and you couldn’t expect him to drop everything for every meeting. But still... you couldn’t shake the slight discomfort gnawing at you.

“Okay,” you said, trying to focus on the task at hand. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

Nico flipped through the stack of papers in front of him. “We’ve got a lot to cover. First off, the wedding itself. We need to finalize a date, and given your visa situation, we’re looking at a timeline of about three weeks.”

“Three weeks?!” you exclaimed, immediately covering your mouth with your hand. It was sooner than you’d expected, but you understood the urgency. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Nico said, waving his hands. “We need to move quickly. The sooner the marriage is official, the sooner we can start the immigration process. And in the meantime, you and Rafe will need to be seen together publicly—on dates, outings, and even social media.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, feeling a little overwhelmed. “Public appearances... right. How often are we talking?”

“Enough to make it believable,” Sabrina took over. “We don’t want to overwhelm you, but it’s important that you’re seen together frequently. A few key public outings, some posts on social media—it’ll help establish the narrative that you’re a real couple.”

You nodded. “And Rafe’s on board with all of this?”

“He is,” Sabrina reassured you. “We’ve discussed it, and he knows what’s required.”

“Okay,” you said, feeling a bit more reassured but still uneasy. The idea of staging your life for the public was daunting. It wasn’t just about attending a few events or posting pictures—it was about selling the image of a relationship that didn’t exist. And with Rafe not even here for the planning, you couldn’t help but feel a little disconnected from it all.

You smiled faintly. “It just feels... strange, doing all of this without Rafe. I mean, I know it’s a fake marriage, but it would still be nice to have him involved, you know?”

“I understand,” Sabrina said. “It’s not ideal, but Rafe’s committed to this. His schedule is unpredictable right now, but that doesn’t mean he’s not invested in making this work.”

You nodded, trying to take comfort in her words. Maybe Rafe’s absence wasn’t a sign of disinterest—maybe it was just bad timing.

Nico continued, flipping through the papers. “Let’s move on to the wedding itself. Have you given any thought to what kind of ceremony you want?”

“Honestly, I haven’t thought about it at all.”

“Alright,” Nico said, nodding.

“A small ceremony,” you echoed, thinking it over. “It… It could be nice, no? That could work—but shouldn’t Rafe have a say in this?”

“He will,” Nico assured you. “Mrs. Rashid will loop him in on everything. But for now, we need to focus on logistics. The venue, the guest list, the timeline—it’s all about making sure everything looks legitimate to immigration.”

“Okay. Let’s go with the small ceremony, then. But I’d still like Rafe’s input before we make any final decisions,” you said softly, your cheeks warming slightly.

“Of course,” both lawyers said with a smile.

The conversation shifted to the finer details—the venue, the guest list, the timing of public appearances. It felt more like planning an elaborate PR campaign than a wedding, but you tried to stay focused. Every decision was one step closer to securing your future, even if it didn’t feel real.

The meeting felt like a marathon. You exhaled a long, tired sigh, your head spinning with wedding details and timelines. You couldn’t help but glance at your phone again, half-expecting a message from Rafe. But there was nothing. He was at practice, wrapped up in whatever game plan his team was working on.

You adjusted the strap of your tote bag and pulled your cardigan tighter around yourself as you headed for the door. But as you opened it, you stopped short, nearly walking straight into someone standing just outside.

“Whoa—” A familiar voice interrupted your thoughts, and you blinked up to see Rafe Cameron standing there, leaning against the doorframe, as if he had been waiting for you.

“Rafe?” you blurted out, surprise laced in your voice. You hadn’t expected him to be here, especially after Sabrina said he wouldn’t make it.

He straightened up quickly, looking just as startled as you. “Y/N… uh, hey. I—uh, I’m sorry I missed the meeting,” he stammered, his usual confident demeanor slipping for a moment. “I couldn’t miss practice…”

You stood there, momentarily frozen. It wasn’t like him to stutter—and it threw you off. “Oh… right. Yeah, no, it’s fine, don’t worry. Sabrina said you had practice,” you said, trying to brush off the awkwardness.

He shifted his weight, his hands sliding into his pockets. “Yeah, I, uh… tried to make it, but, you know… basketball.”

You nodded slowly, still surprised that he had actually shown up. “Well, the meeting’s over. Sabrina said she’ll catch you up on what we discussed.”

“Right, yeah, I’ll talk to her,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, so... goodbye?”

“Goodbye,” he said, looking down at the floor for a second before glancing back at you. There was a brief, awkward silence that stretched between the two of you. Neither of you moved, though you weren’t sure why.

Finally, Rafe cleared his throat, and his gaze flickered over your outfit. A slow smirk crept onto his face, his familiar cockiness returning. “So... what’s with the sweatpants and cardigan? Didn’t know you had it in you to dress so casually.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the teasing tone. “Excuse me?”

He shrugged, his smirk widening. “Just saying... it’s not exactly the runway look I was expecting from a supermodel.”

You felt a laugh bubble up in your throat before you could stop it. “You’re one to talk, Mr. I-show-up-in-a-T-shirt-to-a-business-meeting,” you shot back, your lips curving into a smile.

Rafe’s eyes lit up slightly, surprised by your reaction. It was the first time you had actually laughed at something he said, and for a moment, he just stared at you, taking in the sound. Cute, he thought to himself, the word slipping into his mind unbidden.

“At least my T-shirt was designer. This,” he flicked his gaze over your cardigan, “looks like something you stole from your grandma’s closet.”

You gasped, feigning offense. “I happen to like this cardigan, thank you very much. It’s cozy.”

He grinned. “Cozy, is it? Guess you’re preparing for the life of domestic bliss we’re about to have. How cute.”

You shook your head, fighting another smile. “Funny—like you even know the meaning of domestic bliss.”

He tilted his head, his smirk never faltering. “Who says I don’t? I could be all about the cozy life. You don’t know me.”

You arched a brow. “Really? You? In sweatpants, lounging on a couch, binge-watching Netflix?”

“I can be a homebody if I want to,” he said, shrugging, though the teasing glint in his eyes told you he wasn’t being serious. “Give me some credits, alright? I can rock sweatpants.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Maybe you will. You’ll be living with me soon enough—” you froze slightly at that reminder, and your smile wavered. He noticed the shift and cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’ll make sure to show up to the next meeting. Promise.”

You gave him a small nod, still smiling. “You’d better.”

He nodded, and for the first time since you’d met, there was no teasing in his expression—just quiet understanding. You gave him one last look before heading down the hall, feeling the warmth of your laugh still lingering in the air between you.

And Rafe stood there watching you walk away, thinking about how cute your laugh was—and how much he wanted to hear it again.

chapter three

[baronessvonglitter]

Bad Santa

sleazy mall Santa!Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Word count: 2.3K

Summary: Frantically seeking relief during the Christmas rush, the Santa at your local mall is the last person you'd expect to help.. and the only one who can.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Reader is a hot and horny mess and wears a short skirt. Mall Santa is a perv, but he's your perv. Semi-public masturbation (f). Squirting. Cockwarming. Semi-public sex. Infidelity. Unprotected piv. Oral (m & f receiving). Analingus (f receiving). Possibly illegal use of a candy cane. Creampie. Come swallowing. Santa Joel is a menace and a sleaze but that's what we all need, right?

Author's Note: one of the first things I learned about @strang3lov3 is that we share a deep love for Bad Santa (and Billy Bob in general) so this is written in her honor. Bug, I hope you enjoy Santa Joel, and don't forget to leave out some cigs and whiskey for him on Xmas Eve. (And the latest edition of Hustler. He's an old-school magazine man.)

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

You're home on Christmas break from college and all you want to do is fuck the boyfriend you left behind and have been faithful to for four long, painful months. But the only thing on Derek's mind is doing last minute Christmas shopping.

The mall on Christmas Eve is the last circle of hell.

Derek guides you through the crowd. "Sleigh Ride" plays over the speakers, tinny, bright and cheery. You hate it. You're impatient. You're horny. You need to find a way to get him alone, even just a fingerbang would suffice. For now.

You pass by the huge Christmas tree in the center where the mall Santa waits with bored-looking elves. There's no line, which is surprising given it's the last day for photo ops.

Santa watches as you pass, cheap plastic beard hanging off, revealing gray scruff, his red suit wrinkled and stained. You track his gaze roving over your figure, fully concentrating on the jiggle of your ass under the short skirt you'd picked out in the hopes of getting a quickie.

"God damn," you hear him mutter. "Merry Christmas, babygirl." he calls out.

You glance back and see him pull the beard down, wiggling his tongue at you in a lewd manner.

Fucking sleaze. But your pussy is wet and throbbing, and this is the first bit of attention you've had all day. You respond by stuffing your tongue in your cheek and making a blow job motion. Santa licks his lips and subtly palms his cock over his fluffy red pants.

Derek, oblivious, is walking you towards a department store.

"Mommy said she'd like a new bathrobe for Christmas," he says, bringing you past the awful perfume and makeup counters. You heard right.. Mommy. What the fuck?

"Didn't you already buy her a foot massager?" you ask, barely hiding your disinterest, looking around for a corner where you can blow him.

"She said she wants the robe instead," he says, diligently checking each one on the rack. Pink, green, blue, they're all in ugly prints and you wonder how little he must think of his mom to actually buy her a bathrobe instead of something nice.

But the bigger problem is your aching cunt.

"Derek, come on, just pick one out," you beg him, whispering in his ear, giving his lobe a little bite.

"Calm down, we're in public," he chides you over nervous laughter.

"So? That makes it more exciting." Closer to him as the clothing rack hides you, you cup his crotch, disappointed to find he isn't even remotely hard. Not a problem. You know exactly how to get him started.

"Let's go to the dressing room," you tell him before he can remove your hand. "I'll let you do whatever you want, please, I just need you now.."

"Get a hold of yourself," he whispers harshly, finally pulling your hand from him.

"Derek, what the fuck?" you whisper back. "Your horny girlfriend wants you to fuck her in a semi-public place and you're limp as a fucking noodle. Don't you want to at least watch me get off?"

You're not even allowing him time to think about it, leading him to the men's dressing room, where you're less likely to set off an alarm than the women's. You step into the first stall and push him against the wall, caging him in with your arms.

"Sweetheart, what the hell?"

"Fuck me," you tell him. "Jesus, Derek, I'm pussy on a plate right now." You lift your leg, rubbing against him, but only the fly of his jeans provides any feeling. "And you can't even get hard??"

"You're coming on a little strong," he says faintly, as if he's being cornered by a feral animal. And in a way he is.

You lean back on the little dressing room seat, hiking up your skirt. "At least eat me out, for Christ's sake," you whine, fingers dipping into your dripping-over cunt.

"Darling! You're acting like a crazy person," he says, shielding his eyes as you desperately finger yourself.

"You're such a pussy," you grunt out, breath hitching as you fuck yourself on two, then three fingers.

"You're not wearing any panties??" he says too loud, but you're past caring who hears, or if anyone even walks in. You'll gratefully fuck the store manager and the security guard who'll probably come to haul you away.

Derek keeps his gaze averted as you continue shamelessly fucking your hand, reaching inside your dress to twist your nipple. "Derek.. fuck.. you just gonna stand there and be useless?" You shove a fourth finger in your snatch, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Your boyfriend is deeply afraid as he risks a peek from between his hands covering his face. "You look possessed! You have to stop or someone's going to hear you!"

"Baby, please, put your cock in my mouth," you beg, still working yourself into a frenzy. "Jizz on my face, anything, please!" You're on the floor now, riding your own fingers, your other hand madly strumming at your clit like a perverted version of air guitar.

There's a knock at the dressing room door, to which you answer "Go away, we're fucking" Then you come, squirting all over the bathrobe Derek was going to gift his dear mommy.

"You're lucky that guy didn't turn us into the police," Derek says, tight-lipped as he leads you back towards the center of the mall. "Got it all out of your system?" He's leaving the store embarrassed and minus any gifts.

"Yes," you sigh in exasperation, though it's a bald-faced lie. The need is growing again and you're just a slave to it. Your hands itch to go up your skirt again, to relieve the tension before it becomes unbearable.

And there he is, right where you left him before. Fucking Santa Claus. Like he's been waiting for you this whole time.

"Let's take a picture," you pull on Derek's hand. "Please? End the day on a good note?" You do your best to look contrite but all you're thinking about is sitting on that sleazy man's lap, maybe getting felt up. It'd be fucking amazing to have someone touch you besides your own fingers.

Before he can even protest you're practically skipping past the velvet rope and traipsing up the candy-cane lined walk to the big green chair where Santa sits. His eyes already on you, he pats his lap, tongue peeking out between his lips.

Derek follows after, but is stopped by one of the elves, who tells him he has to pay in advance for a photo.

"And what's your name?" Santa murmurs, discreetly adjusting himself as you seat yourself on his lap. "Does it matter?" you ask, subtly lifting the back of your skirt as he pulls his thick hard cock. "Guess not," he chuckles low and deep, then hisses as your slick tight cunt envelops him.

"My fucking god," he says lowly, doing all he can to keep from thrusting up into you as your boyfriend comes up, all smiles as he watches you get cozy with Santa. He makes as if to sit on Santa's other thigh. "Not you," Santa grunts, his hands on your waist as you clench and throb around him. Derek holds a smile and stands to the side opposite you.

This, this is what you needed. His cock isn't even all the way in, the way you pulse around him pushes him out a little until his hands grab your waist, as if to pose you for the camera, and pushes you down, bottoming out within your sopping wet cunt.

"Gonna leave a mess on me," he murmurs. "Already got my lap soaked. And the suit's a fuckin' rental."

His breath smells like cigarettes and cheap booze and it's only making you want him more. "Fuck, I needed this.."

"You been a good girl this year?"

"Not at all."

He leans in and whispers: "Good girls get presents. Bad girls like you get to sit on Santa's fat cock." He shifts his lap up a little, jutting up into you and you bite your lip to barely suppress a moan.

Your picture is being taken with Santa but you could give a shit. Cockwarming him while he's whispering filth in your ear is the most fun you've ever had.

"Does baby girl want a candy cane?" he asks when it's time for you to go. Derek goes to pay, leaving you alone with Santa again. "We have some more in the elf cottage, You gonna come get one? Gotta earn it first.." His gloved finger traces your arm. "C'mon, ditch the wanker."

The elf cottage is a sparse room for the Santa's Wonderland employees to take their breaks, and right now it's filled with the sounds of flesh slapping on flesh, your moans muffled by the fluffy red hat he put there to quiet you as he bends you over the folding table and rams his holly jolly dick into your stretched needy cunt.

"That's it, baby, fuckin' take it. Let Santa stuff your tight lil' stocking," he grunts.

You moan around the red fluff of his hastily discarded hat, throat burning with all your pent-up screams. Christ, you've never had anyone so disgusting, so eager, so perfect to satisfy this itch that you've been unable to scratch yourself.

And lord, his cock is the most filling thing you'll ever have. You already know he's going to leave you gaping for the next few days.

He watches the ripples of your ass as you throw it back on him, taking his entire fucking shaft so that with each thrust his balls thwack against your inner thighs. "Tight and wet.. lil' bitch in heat, ain't ya?" he teases, circling his hips so you feel him against every square inch of your aching snatch. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, finally spitting out the stupid hat.

"Fuck me Santa, fuck me Santa, fuck me Santa," you chant in broken moans, pushing your hips back, demanding it hard and fast, which he gives even as you come, clamping down all around him in a vise grip.

"Jesus," he growls, pulling out and kneeling behind you. He purses his lips to your dripping cunt, wiggling his tongue against your folds before licking a wide stripe upwards, teasing your asshole with his tongue. You practically shove your ass against his face, his gloved hands spreading your cheeks to get better access.

Grabbing a candy cane from a basket on the table you unwrap it with your teeth and hand it to him. It's thick and hard, and Santa knows just what to do with it. Feasting on both your holes, he takes the candy cane and watches it disappear into your glistening pussy. Hearing your gasp encourages him to keep going, fucking you as his tongue keeps rimming your ass, delving into tease you.

There's a knocking at the makeshift cottage door, then a moment of silence and a "God damn it, Joel, not again!" from the other side. "Fucker's always doing something," the person, most likely one of the elves at the cash register, mumbles and walks off.

He's back inside you, sliding the candy cane between your lips, moving it in and out just as he moves in and out, keeping you spread open so he fill you with every inch. "Babygirl likes havin' somethin' to suck on, don't she?" he mutters, pumping steadily into you. "Gotta be a good girl and tell me where ya want it."

"Inside me," you beg, and he moves double time, hands on your shoulders as he ruts up against you, slamming every inch until you cry out again, knees buckling as you come hard and Santa Joel follows soon after, his jizz painting your insides in warm sticky ropes.

"Lick me clean, baby," he murmurs, and you immediately go to your knees, taking him deep into your mouth, your jaw aching as the tip of him hits the back of your throat. When you gag he keeps you there, your mouth filling with saliva until it spills out from your lips, mixed with his cum. You bob your head on his length, eyes watering as you look up at him, your cunt still throbbing as you start to leak him on the floor.

"Fuuuuck yes," he growls, hand on your head, teeth sinking into his lower lip as you suck him off, and it's a Christmas miracle he's hard again, and he's about to come. He holds your head still and facefucks you, your hands cupping his ass to stop him from going too shallow-- you need to be deepthroated for once in your life.

Santa Joel lets out another curse as he uses you to come, spurting his Christmas magic down your throat. "There's a good girl. Babygirl's thirsty for what Santa's got, huh?" he teases as you greedily swallow every bitter, salty drop.

Clothes are straightened before you leave the little elf cottage, but the look of satisfaction is plain on your face as you suck on the candy cane that you'd been fucked with only moments before. Santa Joel puts his hat back on his head and shuffles over to the helper elves. "I'm goin' out for another smoke break," he tells them.

The head elf puts her hands on her hips. "Joel, you're not allowed to take ten smoke breaks an hour!" But by then he's already on the way out, both middle fingers in the air to salute her.

Derek joins you, looking puzzled as he studies the holiday photo -- there's something off about the face you're making in it. "Did Santa give you that candy cane?"

Grinning, you slurp up the sweet peppermint that still has traces of your own flavor on it. "And then some."

dividers by @saradika 👑

Tagging those who showed interest: @clawdee @itwasntimethatdidit40 @milla-frenchy @myownwholewildworld

@penascigarette @hoelaris