#found a hole that was too small to fit into
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bosspigeon · 11 months ago
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oh i love her
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hurlingdown · 5 months ago
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MONSTERFUCKING — ft. monster! reader, human! character, heavy dub-con, oviposition (eggs), mpreg, aphrodisiacs, degradation, belly bulge, loss of virginity, and all that lovely shit. ♡
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It was foolish of him to wander into unknown territory. 
You could still clearly recall just how beautiful he looked, trembling at the mouth of your lair. You could smell it—he was pristine, and evidently untouched. A virgin. 
He had sworn he would slay you and bring your head home to his village, bloodthirsty and terrifying and claiming this and that before he fell to his knees under the effects of the aphrodisiac, begging you to fill him up with your seed. 
And now look where he was. 
“So fucking wet,” you crooned lowly, slobbering all over his chest, forked tongue swirling around a nipple as you pushed the fat bulb of your cockhead into him. “Gonna stuff you, ooh, make you carry allll of my eggs.” 
“P-please,” he implored, delirious with pleasure, cum dribbling out of his cock in small spurts. It hadn’t even been a minute, and there he was, twitching and broken, just from being stretched out. “‘S too much, please, it won’t, won’t fit!” 
How cute. It only made you hungry for more. 
“Then we will just, have to make it fit, yes?” With that, you roughly jerked your hips forward, slamming the rest of your cock into his tight little hole. He let out a squeal, back arching as he gasped for breath. 
“Oh, fuck!” he sobbed loudly, writhing as shaky hands found their way onto your horns, gripping tight. He was clenching around you so tightly, your cock resting so deep inside him he could almost feel it in his throat. “You’re gonna break me…!” 
“Is that not what we are doing?" you sneered, tongue slithering into his ear, making him shudder. "Hah. You came here… ‘cause you wanted this, yes? Wanted to get fucked by a monster.” 
“That’s n-not true… I’m here to slay you!” 
Clawed hands grabbed at his parted thighs, and lifted him up carefully and gently, switching up the angle so you could now fuck him into the nest. He shivered as your claws grazed sensitive flesh, letting out a pitiful whine. 
“You just looove to lie, don’cha. So stubborn! Hehe, d’you go around fucking other monsters, too? Ooh, aren’t you a lil’ slut? My pretty lil’ slut?” 
"No! Haah, 'm not, not your slut..."
He shook his head wildly, letting out small sobs as you drove your cock into him with little restraint, treating him like how a child would play with his new toy. Savage and ruthless and obsessive, conveyed in every powerful thrust of your hips, the thwop thwop thwop of slippery skin against the plush fat of his bruised ass resounding in the lair. 
It was humiliating. And yet it felt so good.
“You are so pretty. Mine. My mate,” you chanted, and for a second he thought he saw hearts dancing in your eyes. “Gonna make you all mine, you'll never think about fucking another monster again…” 
You manhandled him onto his stomach with ease, suddenly pushing back in, and he wailed, bursting with fullness. “Yeah, that’s right. Oh, I’m gonna cuuum. Gonna cum so hard in your perrrfect lil’ hole. Fill you up with my eggs, make you the prettiest mate ever. How’s that sound, my sweet?” 
“Please! D-don’t!” he mewled as the base of your cock began to thicken, swelling with knot. “Please, I’ll do anything, I can’t, can’t get pregnant…” 
“Don’t worry,” you purred, your tongue wrapping around his neck as you pushed impossibly deep inside him to let the knot catch. “I'll take goood care of you. You will be safe here in our nest, with our eggs… and with me!” 
“It’s hard to believe that when—when you’re the danger h-here!” 
He keened, shuddering and wailing as your knot began to ever-thicken and expand, impaling him on your cock. A strange, slippery sensation began to fill him, and for a moment he thought that you were simply cumming inside. You shifted above him, grunting loud as you pushed the first egg into him, the action making him gasp, eyes widening. 
“What��” he panted, “What’s happening?” 
“Told ya I was gon’ fill you up,” you slurred, pressing your chest against his back and stroking his belly in contentment. “Ooh, hnngh, there’s another—” 
You let out a groan as the second egg pushed past the gaping rim of your cockhead and into his soft, velvety womb. He was shivering all over, letting out soft whimpers as his cock gave another weak spurt at the feeling of being stuffed. 
“No, no, please, stop…” 
He let out shaky whines as you pushed egg after egg into him, tummy feeling bloated and heavy. It was too much, and it didn’t seem like you were going to stop anytime soon. Soon, spots were dancing in his vision, and he slumped bonelessly into the nest, letting exhaustion overtake him. 
He stirred awake to the soft rumbling of a warm body behind him. Your knot had gone soft, warm cum leaking out of his puffy, used hole. The only physical barrier between him and the exit was your clawed hand, placed protectively on his bulging belly. 
Lifting your hand, he rubbed over his stomach, gasping when he felt the outline of multiple egg-shaped objects. You really had gone and impregnated him, didn’t you?
Sighing, he closed his eyes again. Escaping could wait. For now, being surrounded by the warmth of the nest and the fullness of his eggs would do.  masterlist!
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rqnarok · 26 days ago
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worst!logan losing his last bit of self-control. 
smut, mdni! fem!reader. worst!wolverine. unprotected p in v. size kink. 
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logan howlett is a decent neighbor, you think. sometimes he might smell like alcohol when you meet him, but still, he’s moderate, respectful, and minds his own business. always got something yet nothing going on. the only thing is, he’s hot. hot and older. way older than you with those wrinkles and greying stubble on his face.
wade told you he doesn’t have a girlfriend nor has he ever once brought back a girl to their shared space, let alone even mentioned one. you thought that this little crush on him would go away like any other—it does not. so then you begin dropping hints that you find him attractive, by wearing your tightest piece of clothing, brushing your ass against him in the laundry room, and even leaving one of your pink cottoned panties to mix in with his clothes. 
the same logan howlett never takes the bait. 
you begin to suspect that perhaps he simply doesn't think you're attractive, or worse, that he thinks you're a creep. doesn’t take long for you to stuff your girl crush into your chest cavity.
it was when you were cradling your laundry basket back to your room when you caught a glimpse of logan trying to open the locks to his apartment, back from his morning run. 
you pad closer to ask him if he needs any clothes washed. logan’s back is still turned from you while he searches for the right lock. 
“need any clothes washed, logan? i’m starting a load up for the day.” you question all while eyeing the movement of back muscle underneath his sweat-soaked shirt.
he finally turns to you and starts to respond, “uh- don’t think so—” before he stops his sentence midway when he sees what you’re wearing. 
“‘s that mine?” his voice sounds hoarse in your ear. 
oh, yeah. it’s his customized t-shirt that is long enough to cover your shorts. the t-shirt wade and blind al got him for his birthday as a half-fuckin’ joke. the one that has his name in bold at the back of it. you notice he’s staring lowly at the fabric—waiting for your answer.
you look downwards, “o-oh, yeah. sorry. i was doing laundry and found this in the hamper. my clothes are already in the wash. hope that’s… okay?” 
you sound docile and small as though a deer caught in the headlights. christ. what were you thinking, wearing your neighbor’s shirt without his permission. the same neighbor that may think you’re a weirdo. you try to hide your humiliation by shifting—playing with the hem of his t-shirt.
within three big steps, he’s on you. the sound he makes is somewhere between a growl and a snarl, almost animal-like.  how or when you both ended up on the floor of his living room is unknown to you. you're on your knees, rubbing your cheek against the carpet as his gaze burns between your legs. only left in his shirt. your shorts and panties are scattered all over the place. when you move your hips backwards, you're silently pleading with him to do something—anything.
he gives the flesh of your bottom a heavy slap that has your hole clenching around nothing, “be good now, doll.” is all you hear before the sting leaves a burning red mark. he calms you down by placing his palm over the back of your his shirt.
you hear a noise behind you before you feel the head of his tip onto your folds—making you release a high-pitched whine into the air. logan, too, groans at the contact, kneading the fat of your hips before he presses forward painfully slow. you whimper into your own palm, another hand reaching back to touch him, feeling warm all over. your pussy pulses trying to fit his large girth inside your heat.
“i know, bunny. ‘m almost there. thaaaa’s it.” you’re crying with relief when you feel logan’s balls meet your skin—a sign that he’s all the way in.
logan lets out an animalistic sound seeing you speared open on his cock, his name across your back, and you babbling stuff like “so b-big, logan…” 
he pulls back just to sink in again, slowly. logan sets a pace that has you trying to buck your hips back to meet his hips. he lays a large palm in the middle of your back, just under the word ‘logan’, keeping you pinned down on the carpet.  giving you no choice but to take what he gives you.
“f-fuck. such a pretty fuckin girl. gonna give ya’ what you deserve, yeah?” it manages to get hotter when he bends his right leg to slide in deeper, reaching your sweet spot. “rite’ there, logan…!” you slur mindlessly. 
he only chuckles at the act before taking both of your smaller wrists into one of his hands—pressing them tightly at your back—forcing you into an arch.
“needed this real bad, huh, sweet’art? don’t ya' worry. always gonna be here from now on. no need to fucking wear those tiny tops t’get my attention again.” 
“mhm!” you reply without a second thought. too oblivious to the fact that you’ve been drooling all over the carpet and to the fact that you’ve been caught. logan gives a deep relief sigh at how compliant you’ve become just from his thick cock.
your high comes hard and fast leaving you sobbing out phrases of please and logan. logan is not far behind—burying himself deeper as he can—and comes inside with a profound ‘oh fuck.’
he trails kisses on your face until he reaches your lips. logan pulls himself out with an obscene sound and watches his cum stream down your thighs. leaving small traces on the floor that he knows he’ll have to clean later before his roommate yells in his ear. 
logan pats your back affectionately and pulls you until you’re lying soundly on his chest, “don’t think y’re gonna do any laundry today, dolly.”
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envy-of-the-apple · 4 months ago
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Fun Sized
Dark!Fairy!Gojo Satoru x reader
Word Count: 2k
Synopsis: You save a tiny fairy. Gojo Satoru decides that you and him belong together, regardless of how little he is and how little you think of him. 
(Warnings: Yandere, not many warnings in this one ngl)
The fae are a dangerous bunch. You've heard more than enough stories to be spooked. Sirens will sing beautiful songs before dragging you into the depths. Dragons will burn you to a crisp before a second's thought. Nagas would make sure you were alive until the very end as they feast on your organs. Centaurs would use their powerful legs to stomp yours to mere twigs. Driders would suck your blood until there's nothing left but a husk of your body. 
You've never heard anything about fairies. They didn't live in your region. Their lands were high in the mountains, where humans rarely traveled. Also, they were so tiny, according to the books. The biggest seemed to be barely the size of your hand. They were harmless, you concluded. Harmless to humans. Harmless to you. 
He had been harmless. At first, you thought it was a cluster of leaves in the stream, but as the current drew it closer, you noticed tiny arms and a tiny face. He was unconscious; you didn't even know if the poor thing was alive. 
The Fae are a dangerous bunch, but saving one tiny fairy couldn't hurt, right? 
Your guest quickly proved to be a bigger hassle than you initially thought. 
When you brought him to your cottage, he laid in a basket of warm linen, asleep for hours near the warm fireplace. The blueberry pie was still hot when you turned around and caught him staring at you. 
It was silent for a while, and then you said: 
"Do you like sweets?" 
That's how your tentative friendship with the other kind started. Gojo Satoru (you later learned his name) was a boisterous thing. He did in fact like sweets, which helped bribe his friendship. You're surprised that he ate so much despite his stature. Did all faires have black holes for stomachs? 
He healed up rather quickly. At first, you were afraid that his wings had crumbled due to the prolonged exposure to water. But after stuffing himself full of the blueberry syrup, he smiled widely before flitting out your window. 
You thought that would be the end of it, but then he just came coming back. 
Apparently, your baking skills left an impact on the small creature. He didn't visit often, but when he did, you would always make sure you had something. Whether it be cookies, brownies, or that blueberry pie he was so fond of. Anything was good enough for Gojo's taste palette. 
"In the fae lands," Gojo said when you prodded, "sweets are too sweet. Yours is just enough."  You weren't too sure what he meant by that, but you took it as a compliment. You were sure the fae wasn't something who'd give praises so easily. 
It's not like you were upset at providing food for your tiny friend. Quite the contrary. You loved it when Gojo visited. You found him fascinating, the way he could fly miles and miles above your head. How tiny he was. The amount of times you had to hold yourself back from squishing him between your fingers because of how cute he was scared you. 
And you hoped you were fascinating enough to entertain Gojo. You had to be; you don't know why else he'd keep coming back. Even after gobbling down your cooking, he'd lounge around your home, entertaining you with his stories. You learned of the other magical creatures he was in contact with, the students he taught, and how fond he was of them. You don't know why he was so open about sharing his personal life with you, in the stories fae hated humanity, but you would never complain. 
It doesn't click as to why Gojo's so invested in you until he comes out and says it himself. 
"Instead of me coming back and forth like this, why don't you just come live with me?" He says, "I would cut down my flying time by a lot." 
You stare at him in amusement, sure he's joking. "I'm not sure how I'd fit in your house." You tease. "I'd probably crush all your furniture." 
"I can make my house bigger." He announces. "Don't worry 'bout it, just say yes." 
You stare at him, slowly realizing that he isn't as amused. He's still smiling, but there's no joke. 
"No," you finally say, "I'm not doing that." 
He cocks his head surprised as though he's never had someone reject him before. 
"What?" He asks, "Why not?"
"Well." You clear your throat. "For one, I'm human, and you're a fairie. I don't think Fae would appreciate a human wandering around in their lands." 
"Who cares about all that?" Gojo waves his hands around. "You'll be with me, anyways. It'd be fine." 
"I don't get why you're so fixated on the human realm." His mouth turns into a sneer. "It's all so boring. Nothing ever happens. And our magic is much more advanced than yours." It's true. You can't disagree with that. Satoru didn't wear clothes made out of leaves or vines, unlike the common fairy stereotype. His clothing looked much more advanced compared to your loose cotton dresses. A black shirt with intricate buttons and long sleeves. Along with black trousers. You wonder what material could make his suit so shiny. 
You laugh at his disgust. At that time, you saw Gojo as a tiny child clutching their mother's skirts, a cute puppy. You hadn't yet taken Gojo Satoru as the threat he was. 
"It's because I am human." You say, not offended by his remarks. "So I like being near other humans." 
He groans as though your logic makes no sense. "Yuji and the others ask about you all the time, though. They've been dying to meet you." 
"You talk to your students about the giant that cooks for you? I'm flattered." 
"You're dodging," he warns. You roll your eyes. 
"Satoru, I'm not coming to live with you. It'd be too much of a hassle." You finally say. "Besides, you're not my type." 
"I'm everyone's type." He argues. 
"Not mine." You smile, and then you make your first blunder. 
"I like my men a little taller." 
He stiffens, and you know you said the wrong thing. Your smile fades as does the cheery energy in your cottage. He says nothing, but he's zipping out your window before you can apologize. 
He doesn't return for the longest time. You count the weeks. Guilt weighs on your shoulders, heavy and burdensome. Every day you bake something even tastier than the day before. Not even that is enough to coax him back. 
You think you've lost him forever, when he returns on one sweltering summer evening. 
"Hi." You blink. He's watching you, sitting idly on the window, kicking his tiny feet. 
"Hi." He smiles. 
You're happy enough to grab him with one fist and hugging him to your chest, but as always, you stop yourself. Instead, a shy smile rests on your face. 
"I'm sorry," you say, "I really am...will you accept an apology pie?" 
He grins wider, and you relax. 
He eats, and you're grateful. Something you once cherished in your life has finally come back to you. You might not return Gojo's feelings, but you still care for him. You'd rather die than ever hurt him again. 
"No, you're right." Gojo surprisingly concedes when you apologize for the third time. "We're too different. It'd never work out. Not as the way you are, right now." 
You nod, grateful he's so understanding. "Exactly." 
He's finishing up when he announces he brought you a gift. 
"I've been working on it for the past few weeks," he cheerily says. "It took a while, but it's finally safe for human consumption." 
He takes out a tiny glass bottle filled with something swirling and blue. When he asks you to bring a glass of water, you acquiesce. To your astonishment, when the elixer is poured, the entire water becomes a swirling mass of a color comparable to none other than galaxies. You're so mesmerized by the color, it's enough to stump your voice. 
"For you!" He declares. "You've always been cooking for me; thought I might return the favor, just this once." 
"What is it?" You ask, amazed by the color. You admire the glance, unaware of the glint in Gojo's eye. 
"It's kinda like the wine you have in the mortal realms, but a little less poignant." He gives when you glance at him. "Go on, tell me what you think?" 
You're too trusting, and so you make your second blunder. 
Once you start, you can't seem to stop. The taste is otherworldly, addicting. You drink and drink, not wasting a single drop. You're breathing heavily once the cup detaches from your lips. 
"Amazing." You say before looking at him. His eyes are too wide, but you're too distracted by the taste still on your tongue. "Seriously, what was that? Can I make it here?" 
He scratches the back of his head. "Not really, the ingredients are pretty hard to find." He shrugs. "Besides, it's supposed to be a one-time use." 
Your eyebrows twist, and then the world sinks. 
You're falling. You think you are. You don't really know. Everything feels like it's stretching. The walls of your tiny little cottage get higher and higher and higher. The floor gets more and more warped. You're sinking, sinking through the air. When you scream, nothing comes out. You feel like you're choking because you can't breathe, and then your vision grows black. 
The next time you open your eyes. It's still dark, and to your horror, you realize you're buried underneath something. 
You panic, clawing and tearing your way out. The material gives away easily. It's fabric. Cotton. But there was so much, an undying ocean of fabric. You lift yourself up from the pile and that's when you realize you're completely naked. 
The mountain of cotton you just climbed to the top of was your old dress. 
Everything was gigantic—the table, the chairs. The windows seemed endless. The ceiling looked miles above you, and you know what happened, but your brain can't formulate it because it can't be—it just can't be.
There's a flutter of wings. You always thought he was so quiet before. Now, he's all you can hear. Immediately, you wrap your body with the cloth. It's hard to keep still; your body is buzzing with nerves and you still can't understand. You have to force yourself to look at him.
You don't know why you expected shock, guilt, something other than the pure manic glee on his face. Satoru towers above you, head tilted. He bends down, cupping your trembling face in his hand because he's big enough to do that now. 
"Just when I thought you couldn't get any more adorable." He coos. 
You can see him now. His skin isn't pale, it's borderline translucent. His canines are sharp and pointy. And his eyes. Oh God you've never seen eyes so terrifying before—an endless mass of blue, threatening to swallow you whole. 
He wasn't a cute little fairy. He was anything but that. 
"Gojo..." You start, heart squeezing. "What did you do.." 
You know. He knows. That's why he ignores your question entirely. 
"I'm surprised it worked." He says, mainly talking to himself. "Shoko said it might be a dud, and she was so sure of it, that I mostly believed her." 
"But now look at you!" He roughly pinches your cheek. "You're the perfect size now." 
"Stop." You blubber, pushing his hand off of you. "Don't touch me. Change me back. Change me back." 
He frowns. "Why would I do that? You being human-sized was always such a hassle. Lumbering around. Way too loud. Don't get me wrong, I adore you either way." He proclaims like it's something benevolent. "But this has its charm."
He leans forward, and you scuddle backward in fear. His grin widens. 
"So, am I tall enough for you, now?" 
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codnasties · 2 months ago
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cod characters fucking fleshlights
this post includes: soap, ghost, gaz, price, graves, konig & alejandro
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soap 🧼- the one that takes his time
now, this ain't soap's first time using a fleshlight. he started with a tenga egg or something like that, just for the sake of trying something that wasn't his hand. and i just know that troughout the years he has created a decently sized collection with a lot of varietiy: fleshlights imitating pussies, asses, mouths,... even if a man like him could easily pull a pretty lass to fuck, with the job he has and what it requires of him, it isn't always ideal.
but there is one thing that soap does, no matter weather he's fucking one of his partners or a plastic replica: he takes his time. stroking himself tentatively before lubing his dick up and loweing the fleshlight onto his hard on until he's balls deep. and when i say he fucks it as if it were a real person i mean it. he's fucking int in diferent positions, jerking himself with it but also fucking into it, both slow and fast until cums all over himself
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ghost 👻- the stretcher
ghost sometimes has to ask himself if he's really that big and thick or if it's just that the one or two fleslights he owns are way too fucking small. he doesn't know, but he very much loves it. there is something about the size difference, the way the plastic stretches to fit him and how he can perfecly see it expanding as he pushes his dick deeper into it that makes him go feral.
now, other than his size kink goin brrr, he finds himself swiping his cock against the flesglight's pussy-like entrance, as if he were teasing a real cunt, before fucking himself slowly into it. he's mersmerized by the plastic doll completely swallowing up his aching hard dick until he's balls deep. he also intends to pull out - just to save himself some clean up - but he finds himself so overwhelmed by the feeling and visuals that he just fill the fleshlight up with his potent cum - more than once, at that -.
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gaz 🧢- mess making perpetrator
this may be my most repeated gaz headcanon but he's a mess maker and there is no deniying. when he get's home from a mission or something like that and he doesn't feel like trying to find a partner to fuck, he always has a trusty fleshlight. the thing is, he doesn't even make it to the bedroom most of the time, deciding to just fuck it in his livingroom.
he just plunged deeply into the plastic pussy, stretching the plastic over his limit because his dick is too long for the small fleshlight, almos breking it. the pent up hornyness and the feeling of something other than his hand wrapped around his dick sending him into an orgasm faster than he expected. he pulls out to first his impossibly hard cock when he feels himself about to cum. and he stains the sofa with it as the mess perpetrator that he is - and let me tell you, it ain't the first time he's had to clean his seed out of that sofa.
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price 🚬- the first timer
price is an older and more traditional man, he would rather fuck another person than some piece of plastic. but he keps hearing his men talk about fleshlights, how good they feel,.. and all that combined with the fact that he ain't getting younger, he's extra tired and trying to find a partner with a job like his is tedious, he decides to get himself a fleshlight just to try it out of curiotisty.
what he did not expect was that god forsaken piece of plastic would feel that fucking good. all it took was some slow deep strokes into it before he found himself cumming. and at that moment his lust filled brain took over and he started fucking himself into the fleshlight again, trying to extend the pleasure of the orgasm. let's say he now fully understands why his men praise them plastic holes.
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konig 🗡- the nasty fucker
lets be real, konig is fleshlight collector number 2. anxiety gets the best of him so he would rather to make do with some plastic pussy or ass than having to deal with the hassle of interacting with people. his not that experiended ass is fucking enamoured by the feeling of and ass or pussy, even if it isn't a real one.
now, konig allways finds himself doing two thing every time he uses one of his fleshlight. a. he moans. like a bitch in heat. he can't help it, it just feels overwhelingly good to have something wrapping tightly around his unexperienced cock. and the fact of finally getting some release. b. he makes messes - yup, mess making perpetrator no. 2 -. spit, precum, lube and cum mixing all together, covering his dick, hands and fleshlight as he fucks himself dumb and slaps his dick all over yhe plastic ass.
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graves 🪦 - the stressed
now, these military men always find themselves stressed out, it's a part of the job. but for graves, said job and the tension that it generates have kept him away for some time now from a real pussy or ass. so a fleshlight is a good alternative, giving him all that he needs to reach some much needed release.
the few occasions he has had enough time to indulge in some pleasure, he's going to make the most of it. alternating slow, sensual deep strokes and fast shallow ones. hands making sure that the fleshlight stays in place as he plunges into it chasing an orgasm and moanig at the sweet feeling of release. he for sure cums deep inside of the plastic masturbator, because it may be plastic, but he loves creampie-ing it the same way he would creampie a real person.
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alejandro 🤠 - the tip teaser
alejandro doesn't strike me as the type of person that would have a proper fleshlight, you know? instead of a piece of plastic that fully engulfs his dick he has one of those quickshot ones. a transparent one at that. it gives him a lot of options, from fully jerking his cock with it to just teasing his tip.
and oh does he love to tease his tip! using that comact masturbator to play with his angry red bulbous tip. pushing just the head in and out, sometimes tilting it to make his dick pop out of the fleshlihgwith a wet noise. and seeing his cock breach into the plastic, dick twitching at the feeling, his stomach spasming from the sensation... he always inevitably cums all over himself, staining his hard shaft, lower hairy stomach, thights and even the quilt.
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halfmoonaria · 2 months ago
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what i can’t say
pairing: tara carpenter & female reader
summary: tara wants the only person she can’t have, but she’ll do whatever it takes to change that —even if it means risking everything.
word count: 10.7k
author’s note: yall don’t forget to wish me a happy birthday this friday on the 22nd!
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Tara wasn't used to hearing the word "no."
Growing up, she'd mastered the art of getting exactly what she wanted, whether it was a toy, a treat, or just a little more attention.
All it took was a well-timed look, a hint of a pout, or a small scene in a public place—not that she ever felt bad about it. After all, it always worked, and it always felt worth it.
But more than any toy or treat, Tara always seemed to have what she wanted most: you.
Her best friend since... well, since you both were small enough to think scraped knees were the end of the world. You'd been there from the start, the friend who laughed with her, who stood by her through every phase and whim.
Tara didn't have to beg or throw a fit to keep you close. You just were. It was like you were woven into each other's lives, and if anyone asked, she'd say you'd always be there—like you were something she'd managed to keep just for herself.
If anyone asked, Tara couldn't quite recall a time before you.
You were there in every memory that mattered, the friend who understood her quirks, finished her sentences, and knew every dream she'd ever had.
You were inseparable, not just in the way kids cling to each other, but in the way people do when they know they'll never quite find someone who gets them like this again.
You shared everything with your clothes, midnight snacks, and every embarrassing crush you'd ever had.
You laughed together about the silly things you thought were love back then, sharing conversations about who you'd marry someday and who had the best smile.
Although. Tara was always a little quieter during these talks, listening more than sharing, and you never thought much of it. That was just Tara, after all, always keeping a bit of herself back, tucked away in her own mind.
But when it came to your middle school crush, she never missed a chance to tease you, brushing him off as if he wasn't as special as you seemed to think.
She'd laugh and tell you he wasn't as funny as you made him out to be, or that his smile really wasn't anything to write home about.
To you, it was just typical Tara, always finding a way to poke holes in the things you liked.
You didn't notice how her smile faltered when you gushed over him or how her gaze turned a little sharper, though even she didn't fully understand why.
It left her with an uneasy feeling, the kind she could never quite explain, that made her want to change the subject whenever she could.
And as time passed during this time, it seemed like your crush only grew, and so did the way you talked about him.
No matter how many times Tara brushed off your comments or tried to steer the conversation elsewhere, you still lit up whenever his name came up.
Brian.
Brian slipped into conversations almost daily, whether it was about the way he made everyone laugh in class or how he'd held the door for you that morning. And each time you brought him up, Tara felt a pang of irritation she couldn't quite explain.
She never told you how much she despised Brian, but the feeling ran deep. It gnawed at her whenever you mentioned him, and even though she tried to brush it off, she found herself disliking him more and more.
The worst part was, she couldn't understand why. It wasn't like you weren't allowed to like a boy—that was just part of life, after all.
Whenever she hinted at her frustration with her mom, she'd hear the same thing: it was normal, fun even, to have a crush, and Tara would experience it too someday.
But she hadn't. She'd never felt that way about any boy in your grade, no matter how many times she tried to convince herself she should.
It confused her, and in a way, it confused you too. You'd always laughed off the fact that Tara never seemed to "crush" the way you did, teasing her about how she'd figure it out someday.
But whenever you'd gush over Brian, Tara would just sit quietly, trying to ignore the strange knot in her stomach that seemed to tighten with every word you said.
Time went on, and those middle school crushes never quite faded.
Brian only seemed to grow more attractive, transitioning from the shy boy you liked to someone who was effortlessly charming, with a confidence that made everyone notice him.
Back then, you'd have called him "cute," but now, there were new words—hot, gorgeous—terms that made Tara roll her eyes every time they left your mouth.
But you still felt that rush of excitement when he was around, that same giddiness you'd had since you were ten, only now it felt a little more real.
Tara, on the other hand, hadn't changed much when it came to relationships.
While others around you both dated, broke up, and fell in love, she stayed quietly distant, brushing off questions and teasing about why she never seemed interested in anyone.
The truth was, she didn't really know why herself. There was a part of her that felt left out when you gushed about Brian, when your other friends talked about crushes or brought dates to dances. She tried to tell herself that she just wasn't interested yet, that maybe someday she'd feel what everyone else seemed to.
But as the years went by, Tara started to realize that maybe she was different—and she couldn't shake the strange sense of frustration that came with that realization, especially whenever Brian was mentioned.
Somewhere along the way, as high school turned into something more serious, so did her thoughts about you.
Tara didn't want to admit it at first—not to herself, not to anyone. The idea crept up quietly, unexpected and unwanted, like some shadow she couldn't shake.
The way you'd laugh at something silly, the familiar warmth of your hand in hers, or the way her heart would skip when you'd throw an arm around her shoulders. It all made sense now, but it was a sense she desperately didn't want.
When the realization hit her, it was like she couldn't breathe.
There was this tiny voice in her mind that whispered, almost cruelly, You're in love with her. Tara's immediate reaction was to shut it down, to deny it with everything she had. This couldn't be right. She wasn't in love with you.
That wasn't what best friends did. She told herself she was just confused, that maybe it was normal to feel this strongly about someone you'd known your entire life.
But every time she saw you look at Brian—every time you said his name with that sparkle in your eyes—it felt like a punch to the gut, and there was no denying it anymore.
The more she tried to reason with herself, the clearer it became. And that terrified her.
She couldn't let herself feel this way about you. You were her best friend, the person who knew her better than anyone else.
The idea of telling you—of you finding out and looking at her with pity, or worse, disgust—made her stomach twist. She could already imagine the awkward smile, the way you might back away, laugh it off, or even leave her behind. It would shatter her, and she knew that.
And so, she decided then and there that this secret would stay with her.
She'd lock it away, bury it so deep that even she could forget about it someday. Telling anyone—even her parents—wasn't an option.
Not only did she fear their reaction, but she knew they wouldn't understand. To them, you were her friend, nothing more, and the thought of losing you, or of anyone making her feel like her love was wrong, was enough to keep her quiet.
But keeping quiet wasn't easy. The secret felt like it was burning a hole through her, consuming her thoughts and leaving her frustrated in ways she couldn't explain.
She wanted to be around you, but every moment with you felt like a reminder of what she could never have, and it only made the ache grow stronger.
She was angry, scared, and hopelessly in love with the one person she could never tell.
So she became skilled at hiding the depth of her feelings, putting on a mask that had somehow become part of her daily life.
She played her role well, acting like nothing had changed between you both.
At school, she kept her gaze casual, listening to you talk as if she didn't want to lose herself in the way your lips moved.
During sleepovers, she'd lie next to you, forcing herself to focus on anything but the warmth of your arm just inches from hers.
And at parties, now that you were both old enough to go, she'd laugh and dance alongside you, all while pretending her stomach wasn't in knots from the way you looked at her under dim lights, a playful grin lighting up your face.
It was like living with a constant tug-of-war inside her, balancing between wanting to be near you and needing to keep her heart steady.
She'd perfected the art of nonchalance, even when you made it nearly impossible. When you got excited about something—eyes wide, laughing about some small victory—Tara would have to swallow down the urge to reach out, to brush a strand of hair from your face or lean in just a little closer.
The hardest moments were the little things, the 'normal' things, like when you'd give her an easy, carefree compliment, your eyes warm and sincere.
She'd feel the blush rise to her cheeks, and she'd quickly look away or laugh it off, hoping you didn't notice the way her voice wavered.
And when you held her hands, like you always did, squeezing them to give her a little boost of courage, she'd act as though it didn't send her heart racing, as though she wasn't fighting the impulse to hold on tighter.
Every smile you threw her way, every moment you lingered too close, she had to act like it didn't make her insides flip.
She trained herself to respond with that same easy smile, to pretend she didn't feel like the air had been knocked out of her whenever you looked at her like she was the only one in the room.
It was a constant game of pretending, a battle against herself that she had to win every single day.
And as much as she tried to hide it, each touch, each laugh, each simple, familiar look left her more tangled in her own emotions.
She tried to tell herself that these things were just... normal. Friends did these things all the time, she told herself, even if everything in her felt far from normal.
But no matter how many times she told herself that, her resolve was starting to crack. She couldn't help but notice her jealousy flare up when she saw you talking to other people, especially Brian.
Then, one Tuesday at lunch, you dropped a bombshell that flipped her world just a bit more.
She leaned back, half-focused on your conversation with the others at the table, when she saw you walking toward her with a grin so bright it felt like it could light up the whole room.
Tara felt her heart jump at the sight, her thoughts immediately swept into the excitement that was clearly radiating off of you.
You barely took your seat before bursting with excitement. "Tara!"
Tara's smile matched yours, though a part of her already felt a small pang of unease. But she pushed it aside and leaned in eagerly, mirroring your excitement. "What happened?"
You practically glowed as you told her, "He sat next to me in class today." Tara's chest tightened, but she held her expression steady, keeping that casual, easy smile.
She already knew who you meant—you didn't even have to say his name. It was in the way your voice softened, how your eyes sparkled with excitement she rarely saw except when you were really, really happy.
She couldn't stand the sight of it. Seeing you so... in love, so giddy, felt like a punch she wasn't ready for.
You practically glowed, your whole personality seeming to shift as if you were that younger version of yourself again, like back in middle school when every new crush filled you with wide-eyed excitement.
Except now, it wasn't an innocent schoolgirl crush; it was real, and you were already slipping further from her reach with each passing second.
Tara kept smiling, but inside, every bit of her was tangled up in knots.
You'd never look at her like that. Never talk about her with that bubbly, uncontainable happiness. The thought clawed at her, a reminder she could never push away.
She was your best friend, sure, but she'd never be the person who made your cheeks flush or your heart race. And somehow, knowing that made it even harder to keep that same easy smile on her face.
"And?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't betray her, even as she felt a knot forming. She listened as you recounted every word, every laugh you'd shared with him in that class.
Then you dropped the real news, your eyes sparkling. Your grin only widened. "And then, right before class ended, he asked me to go with him to that party next weekend."
Tara's heart sank, yet she barely let the smile slip. She forced herself to open her mouth in surprise, eyes wide, like she was just as thrilled as you were. "Really?" she said, trying to sound as shocked and happy as you seemed, her voice just a bit too bright. "Did you... did you say yes?"
Of course you did. Tara felt stupid for even considering asking you that question.
But you didn't seem to mind, you just nodded eagerly, your whole face lighting up. "Obviously!"
"Oh, wow. That's... that's great, actually," she said, her voice a little too steady, but it was the best she could manage.
Inside, though, she was unraveling. You were actually going with him. It shouldn't have been such a shock—after all, this was what you wanted, right?
But knowing that you'd be there, dressed up, all smiles and laughter... with him... felt like a lead weight sinking in her chest.
She could already picture it, the two of you in some dimly lit room with music thumping, Ethan leaning in close to say something to make you laugh, you smiling up at him like he was the only person in the world.
The thought of it made her throat tighten, her mind racing with feelings she didn't even want to name.
"Are you excited?" she asked, her voice coming out just barely above a whisper. She hoped you wouldn't notice how strained it sounded, how much effort it took just to ask.
You nodded, your smile impossibly bright. "Yeah, I mean... I didn't think he even noticed me like that, you know? But now... maybe he does."
The way you said it—hopeful, almost in disbelief—cut deeper than she wanted to admit. Maybe he does. Those three words stayed in her head, echoing louder with each second.
She was supposed to be happy for you, and maybe part of her was, but mostly, she just felt hollow.
Because even though you'd never know it, she'd been looking at you the way you were looking at him, longing for that same chance to mean something more to you. And now she was faced with the awful reality that she might never get that chance.
Swallowing down the bitterness, she forced a tight-lipped smile. "You'll have a great time, I'm sure."
But even as she said it, a part of her was already wondering if she'd do something she'd regret. The thought of watching you fall for someone else—someone who wasn't her—was more than she could stand.
And as much as she hated to admit it, she knew she'd do almost anything to keep you from slipping away.
Your eyes brightened again. "You should come with us!"
Tara's heart twisted at the invitation, feeling both flattered and devastated. Of course you'd want her there, being the good friend you were—unaware of what it did to her to see you light up over someone else.
Forcing herself to stay casual, she shrugged, managing a small playful smirk. "I'm not exactly great at third-wheeling."
Her voice sounded steady enough, but inside, it felt like she was clinging to the last threads of composure.
She couldn't stand the thought of watching you fall for him right in front of her, yet the idea of saying no, of letting you go without her... that hurt, too.
Maybe if she was there, she could stop whatever was beginning to grow between you and him. Just maybe, she thought, she'd find a way to keep you by her side, where you'd always belonged.
Her mind spun, the smile on her face frozen, all she could focus on was the sinking realization that she might actually lose you.
Until now, she'd convinced herself that her feelings for you were something she could handle, something she'd eventually learn to live with. But now, with Brian's name hanging between you, that quiet acceptance shattered.
She could see the way this might unfold, each painful step already clear in her mind.
She'd watched enough romance movies to know how these things went, and as much as she wanted to push the thoughts away, they crept in, vivid and unrelenting.
First, you'd go to the party together, and maybe he'd make you laugh so much that you'd find yourself leaning in, your hand brushing his.
She could already picture the two of you on future dates—sharing secrets over a quiet dinner or standing too close on some sidewalk, your face lit up in a way that made her stomach twist with envy.
And worse, she could imagine what might happen after those dates, how one day soon he'd reach for your hand, and you wouldn't hesitate to hold his back.
She didn't want to picture it, but the thought seeped into her mind anyway, filling her with a fierce, unfamiliar ache.
The image of you wrapped up in his arms, whispering into his ear, or—even worse—laughing with that same joy you always shared with her, but this time meant for him, made her chest feel hollow.
The thought kept spiraling, her mind betraying her with scenes she couldn't bear to picture.
You, with Brian, alone, closer than she'd ever be, maybe even leaning in for a kiss.
She imagined his hand brushing your cheek, the two of you getting so lost in each other that you forgot everyone else around you—including her.
The jealousy was sharp, hotter than anything she'd felt before.
She hated the way it took over, the way it made her feel small and powerless, like she was losing something that had never even been hers to begin with.
And then, a terrible, aching thought hit her: she might never get to be close to you in that way.
She might never get to be the person who held you, who kissed you, who made you laugh like that.
It wasn't just about watching you fall for someone else—it was the crushing realization that you might never look at her the way you looked at him.
Maybe it would be better if she came along?
The idea took a root in Tara's mind, an unexpected, half-formed plan that both excited and unsettled her.
If she went to the party with you and Brian, it might give her a chance to keep things from moving forward between you two.
She could play it off as tagging along to "keep an eye" on you, to make sure you had fun—and stay close enough to step in if Brian tried anything. It was risky, maybe even a little desperate, but what choice did she have?
At least if she was there, she'd know exactly what was happening. She wouldn't have to lie awake later, imagining him whispering things in your ear, pulling you close, stealing the attention she wanted only for herself.
She could keep you safe from all that, and maybe, if she was careful enough, find subtle ways to draw your attention back to her, where it belonged.
In her mind, it sounded almost justified. A "protective friend" sticking close to make sure you were all right. But the truth simmered beneath that excuse—she knew this was more than friendship, that she wanted to keep you to herself in ways you might never understand.
If Brian was going to try to win you over, he'd have to do it with her there, watching his every move, ready to swoop in the second things started looking too cozy.
And maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to make sure that night ended with you still hers—still looking at her with that easy, trusting smile that had always been her anchor.
Her chest tightened at the thought of it, the chance to stay close to you a little longer, to stave off the reality she dreaded.
If you didn't have the chance to fall for him—if she could prevent that—maybe she'd finally have the time and courage to make you see her the way she saw you.
You nudged her lightly, snapping Tara out of her thoughts, leaning in with that familiar, hopeful smile that always made it so hard to say no to you. "Come on, Tara. It'll be fun—just this once. Please?"
Tara's chest tightened at the way you looked at her, like her answer actually mattered to you. It made something inside her ache, the way your face lit up with excitement, completely oblivious to the storm brewing in her mind.
She should've said no. She wanted to say no.
But the thought of watching you leave without her—without knowing what might happen between you and Brian—made her stomach twist painfully.
And now, thanks to the idea she'd let herself entertain earlier, the thought of staying home didn't feel like an option anymore.
That plan, desperate and reckless as it was, had already taken root, and no matter how much a small part of her whispered it wasn't right, she couldn't let it go.
What if she stayed behind and missed her chance to stop something from blossoming between the two of you? What if she sat in her room, alone, while you fell for him right in front of everyone? The mere idea made her skin crawl.
But going wasn't any better. If she went, she'd have to watch you fawn over him, maybe even see you with him. And that thought was enough to make her want to bolt from the room. Yet here you were, looking at her like her presence actually mattered.
But why? Did you think she needed convincing, or was there some part of you that truly wanted her by your side? Her stomach churned at the thought.
She hesitated, her fingers brushing the hem of her shirt as she tried to keep her expression neutral. If she said no, you'd go without her, and that stung more than she wanted to admit. But if she said yes...
Her mind spun with the possibilities. She didn't even know what she'd do if she went—how far she was willing to take this twisted plan of hers. But what she did know, with a growing certainty, was that she couldn't stay behind. Not when the thought of Brian pulling you closer was enough to make her chest burn with jealousy.
Your face shifted slightly, your brows knitting together when she didn't answer right away.
"Tara," you pressed gently, your voice dipping into that teasing tone you always used when you were trying to coax her into something. "Come on," you pressed again, your grin widening when she hesitated. "You have to come. It won't be the same without you."
It won't be the same without you.
Those words sealed it, though not in the way you meant them to. Something twisted and desperate bloomed in her chest, making her pulse quicken.
You didn't even realize it, but you were giving her exactly what she wanted: a reason to stay close. A reason to be where she could see you—and control what happened between you and Brian.
"Fine," she said at last, forcing a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes. "But don't complain when I tell you it sucks."
The way your entire face lit up at her answer sent an ache through her chest. Her stomach fluttered against her will, a mix of longing and guilt tangling together in a way that made it hard to breathe. She hated how much it affected her, how happy you seemed just because she'd agreed to go.
She looked away quickly, pretending to focus on something across the room, anything to avoid the way your joy sent another wave of guilt and longing through her.
She knew it wasn't right—none of this was. But she couldn't let it go. Not when her plan had already started to take shape. Not when the thought of Brian having you was enough to make her reckless.
Because no matter how hard she tried to tell herself this was just a party, just a stupid night out, deep down, she knew she wasn't going for the music or the fun.
She was going because if Brian thought he was going to win you over tonight, he was dead wrong.
___
"What about this one?"
Tara looked up from where she was sitting on the edge of your bed, her gaze drawn to the shimmering fabric you held up against yourself. It was a short, fitted dress, one you'd clearly been saving for a moment like this.
The way Tara sat there, watching you flit around the room, sifting through piles of clothes you'd pulled from your closet.
It reminded her of when you were younger, back when the two of you would raid your moms' closets, parading around in oversized heels and dresses that pooled around your feet. You'd giggle uncontrollably, striking exaggerated poses in front of the mirror.
But this wasn't dress-up anymore.
Now, the clothes were your own—real, grown-up outfits that fit you perfectly, accentuating curves and edges Tara wasn't sure she was supposed to notice. It wasn't just playtime; this was your life now. And tonight, you weren't dressing up for laughs or pretend tea parties.
You were dressing up for him.
Her eyes flickered briefly over the dress before settling on your face. You were beaming, the excitement practically radiating off you as you turned to the mirror, holding the dress against your body.
She should've said something. A simple "looks great" or even a teasing "a bit much, don't you think?" would've worked, but the words caught in her throat.
It wasn't the dress—it was the way your whole body hummed with energy, the way your smile was just a little too wide, your movements a little too quick. Tara saw it all, and it was like watching you wear your feelings on your sleeve.
The way you twirled the dress in front of the mirror, the way your hands moved restlessly as you smoothed down imaginary creases—it was all too familiar. She knew exactly what you were feeling, even if you didn't say it out loud.
Did Brian? She doubted it.
He didn't know the little things, like how your voice got higher when you were nervous or how you couldn't stand still when you were excited. He didn't know the way your lips pressed together when you were thinking too hard about something or the way your shoulders tensed when you wanted something to go perfectly.
He didn't know you, not like she did.
"What do you think?" you asked again, snapping her out of her thoughts. You turned, holding the dress out at arm's length, giving her a better look. "Too much? Not enough?"
Tara forced a smile, her heart twisting as she watched you. "I think it's... nice," she said carefully, her voice steady even as her stomach churned.
Nice. The word felt like a betrayal. It didn't come close to how she really felt—how beautiful you looked, how much she wished those bright eyes were sparkling for her instead of someone else.
"You think Brian'll like it?" you asked, your tone innocent, but the question struck Tara like a punch.
She swallowed hard, her fingers curling into the fabric of your comforter. She wanted to tell you Brian didn't deserve you, that he wouldn't know how to appreciate all the little things that made you you. But instead, she kept her tone casual, masking the storm inside her.
"I mean... yeah," she said after a pause. "It's hard not to like you in anything."
Your grin widened, lighting up the room in a way that made her stomach flutter. You didn't notice the tightness in her smile, the way her eyes lingered on you for just a second too long.
"You're the best." you said, turning back to the mirror.
Tara's chest tightened, a quiet ache settling beneath her ribs. She glanced away, forcing a small smile as she leaned back on her hands.
She let her fingers dug slightly into the comforter as she watched you move across the room again, this time heading toward your closet. You sifted through the hangers with an almost frantic energy, pulling out one piece of clothing after another until something caught your eye.
"This," you announced, holding up a sleek black skirt and a tiny top with delicate lace accents.
Tara blinked, her focus shifting from the faint hum of her own thoughts to the outfit in your hands. The skirt was just short enough to grab attention, and the top would clung to the curves in all the right places—your curves, she couldn't help but think.
Her stomach twisted again, but not with the same bitterness from earlier. No, this was something else entirely. She couldn't stop herself from picturing you in it, couldn't stop the way her mind immediately conjured the image of you standing there, all done up, looking effortlessly hot and completely out of her reach.
She swallowed hard, tearing her gaze away. "You're not wearing the dress?" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.
"Oh, I am," you replied with a grin, holding the outfit closer to her. "This is for you!"
Tara froze. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe, her chest tightening as your words sank in.
She had been so caught up in watching you, so wrapped up in her own spiral of emotions, that she had momentarily forgotten she was actually going to this party.
"Me?" she echoed, her brows furrowing slightly as she tried to act like the idea of dressing up didn't make her stomach drop.
You laughed softly, stepping closer to hold the outfit up against her frame. "Yeah, you! Come on, Tara, you can't just wear that." You half-pointed to her attire.
Tara's eyes darted to the mirror, catching a glimpse of herself in her usual hoodie and jeans.
She had planned on blending into the background tonight, just another shadow in the corner, but now you were holding out a version of herself she wasn't sure she wanted to confront.
"It's... a little much, don't you think?" she murmured, her fingers brushing over the fabric.
"Not at all," you said, undeterred. "Trust me, you'll look amazing.
The way you looked at her, so excited, so hopeful, made it impossible for her to argue. The truth was, she didn't want to blend into the background—not really. Not if it meant letting Brian win.
"Alright," she said finally, forcing a small smirk as she reached for the outfit.
You grinned, clearly thrilled, and the sight sent her heart fluttering all over again.
As she stood up to take the clothes in you, the weight of the night ahead settled on her shoulders again. She knew this wasn't about the clothes or the party. It was about you—about keeping you close, about holding onto the part of you that still felt like hers, even if it wasn't.
And as much as she hated to admit it, she was willing to do whatever it took to keep it that way.
Tara pulled the clothes from your hands, her fingers brushing yours for just a second longer than necessary before she turned away.
She hesitated only briefly, her eyes darting to the bathroom door, but then she decided against it. It wasn't like this was anything new. You'd seen her change plenty of times before.
Slipping off her hoodie, she pulled the top over her head, the soft lace brushing against her skin in a way that felt oddly delicate, almost foreign.
The skirt followed, the fabric snug around her waist and flaring slightly at her hips. When she finally turned back toward you, she caught sight of herself in the mirror.
It was strange. She didn't recognize the girl staring back at her right away—not entirely. The clothes fit her so well, so effortlessly, that she felt a flicker of something unexpected: pride.
She looked... pretty. Not in the same way you did, with your radiant energy that drew everyone in, but still. Pretty enough.
Her heart jumped a little at the thought of you seeing her like this, of you noticing her in the way she always noticed you. She didn't know why she wanted that so badly, but the hope curled tightly in her chest, warm and persistent.
You looked up from where you'd been smoothing out your own dress, and your reaction was immediate. Your eyes widened slightly, and then your face lit up in that effortless way that always made her stomach flutter.
"Tara, oh my god, you look so good," you said, your voice soft but genuine, carrying none of the over-the-top excitement you sometimes used when joking around. This was real.
Tara felt her cheeks warm under your gaze, her fingers automatically reaching to adjust the hem of the skirt, as if she could somehow shield herself from the weight of your words. She tried to play it off, shrugging casually. "It's just a skirt," she mumbled, but her voice lacked its usual bite.
"It's not just a skirt," you countered, stepping closer. "You look amazing. Seriously, this is perfect for you."
Your words were kind, almost too kind, and Tara wasn't sure how to process them. There was no teasing, no playful edge, just an earnestness that made her chest feel tight and achy.
She glanced away, pretending to focus on her reflection again, but the warmth of your approval lingered, sinking into her skin like the lace of the top.
She wanted to feel good about it, to let herself bask in the way you saw her, but the nagging thought that this wasn't for her—that it was all part of your excitement for Brian—kept her grounded.
Still, the way you smiled at her, so unreserved and so entirely you, made her feel something she hadn't in a long time: seen. She wished, just for a second, that you were saying all of this for the same reason she wished you would.
You spun on your heel, nearly tripping over the pile of discarded clothes strewn across the floor in your excitement. Tara's breath caught for a second, her hand twitching instinctively like she was about to reach for you, but you caught yourself, laughing it off as if nothing had happened.
"You need to clean your room before someone gets hurt," Tara muttered, though her tone held more amusement than annoyance.
You ignored her, too caught up in the moment as you reached your makeup table, rifling through your collection with a kind of chaotic precision.
Pulling out a palette, you held it up, the colors catching the light as you grinned at her. "What do you think? Want me to do your makeup?"
Your voice was so full of unfiltered excitement, your smile so wide it made her stomach flip. Tara hesitated, her fingers brushing the hem of her skirt as she glanced at the palette in your hands. She wasn't really the makeup type—not like you were—but the way you looked at her, like you were just waiting to make her feel special, made it impossible to say no.
"You don't have to," Tara said finally, though her voice lacked conviction.
"I want to!" you insisted, stepping closer, the palette still in hand. "Please, Tara? I promise I'll keep it simple. Just a little something to go with the outfit."
She sighed, feigning reluctance as she sat back down on the edge of the bed. "Fine."
You grabbed a chair and pulled it in front of her, gesturing for her to sit. "Alright, let's make you even more stunning."
Tara rolled her eyes, though the faintest smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she leaned forward.
___
The buzz of the party hit you as soon as you stepped through the door.
Music pulsed through the house, the bass vibrating in your chest as voices overlapped in a cacophony of laughter and shouted greetings.
People crowded the space—groups gathered near the kitchen, couples pressed close against walls, and a few brave souls danced in the living room, already letting loose despite how early it was in the night.
You glanced over at Tara, catching the way her shoulders stiffened slightly as the noise and energy enveloped her. She'd been quiet on the drive over, her fingers drumming against her thigh in a way that let you know her nerves were kicking in. But she'd never admit that, not to you.
"See?" you said brightly, bumping her shoulder with yours as you stepped further into the house. "I told you this would be fun."
Tara gave you a look, one that was half-skepticism and half-amusement, as she tugged at the hem of her skirt. "Yeah, we'll see about that."
Your laugh was warm and easy, a sound that somehow made the chaos of the party seem less overwhelming. You reached back to grab her hand, pulling her through the crowd as you made your way toward the kitchen. The feel of your fingers around hers made something in Tara's chest twist uncomfortably, though she forced herself to ignore it.
The kitchen was just as packed as the rest of the house, but you managed to snag two drinks from the counter, handing one to her with a grin. "Alright, party rule number one: stay hydrated."
Tara raised an eyebrow, glancing at the cup in her hand. "This is definitely not water."
"Details." You waved her off, your playful smirk making her stomach flutter in that maddeningly familiar way.
Before she could respond, a voice called out from across the room. "Y/N! There you are!"
Tara's grip on her cup tightened as she followed your gaze, her stomach sinking when she saw him—Brian—making his way toward you. His smile was wide and easy, the kind of grin that would make anyone else swoon.
But Tara wasn't anyone else.
"Brian!" you said, your face lighting up in a way that made Tara's chest ache. She stepped back slightly, letting go of your hand as he drew closer, though her eyes never left you.
He didn't deserve that smile.
Brian's gaze flickered to her briefly, his smile faltering just a bit. "Tara, right?"
She nodded, her expression neutral as she took a sip of her drink. "That's me."
If he noticed the edge in her tone, he didn't comment on it, turning his attention back to you instead. "You look amazing," he said, his eyes raking over your dress in a way that made Tara's jaw tighten.
You beamed at him, clearly pleased by the compliment, and Tara had to look away, her hand gripping her cup so tightly she was surprised it didn't crack.
This was going to be a long night.
And it most definitely was.
As the night went on, the party only grew louder and more chaotic. People drifted in and out of the circle you, Tara, and Brian had settled into, friends of his joining the conversation with easy smiles and casual jokes.
You made a genuine effort to include Tara, always pulling her back in when she started to fade into the background, but it was clear who held your focus.
Brian.
He stood close to you, his arm brushing yours as he leaned in to talk over the music.
You didn't seem to notice—or maybe you did, and you didn't mind. Either way, the proximity between you two only seemed to grow as the minutes ticked by, and Tara couldn't stop watching.
Every time you laughed at something he said, her chest tightened just a little more.
You weren't doing it on purpose. Tara knew that. She knew you didn't notice the way her jaw clenched or how her fingers drummed against her cup.
You were just being you—kind, bubbly, and effortlessly charming. But watching you with Brian, seeing how much of your attention he was soaking up, felt like a slow, relentless sting.
She hadn't expected it to bother her this much.
At first, Tara tried to play along, chiming in when she could and taking small sips of her drink to distract herself.
But then Brian's friends started joining the conversation, their loud energy making it harder for her to keep up. You were still trying to include her, turning to her every so often to ask her opinion or flash her one of your brilliant smiles, but it wasn't enough.
Not when you lit up like a damn firework every time Brian said something that made you laugh.
Tara tipped back her cup, finishing it quicker than she probably should have. She wasn't much of a drinker to begin with—she never really liked how it made her feel—but tonight was different. Tonight, she needed the edge taken off.
"Want another?" you asked, noticing her empty cup.
She hesitated, but before she could respond, Brian offered. "I'll grab her one. Be right back."
She opened her mouth to say she didn't need another, but he was already walking away.
You smiled after him before turning back to Tara, your expression so full of effortless warmth it made her stomach churn. "You having fun?"
She forced a small nod, her grip tightening on the plastic cup. "Yeah. It's... fine."
You didn't notice the strain in her voice, too caught up in the energy of the party to catch on.
By the time Brian returned with her drink, she'd already decided she wasn't going to overthink it. She took it with a quiet "thanks" and drank just enough to feel the buzz set in. It wasn't much—maybe two drinks total—but Tara was short, and she always felt the effects quicker than most.
The alcohol didn't drown out her frustration, though.
Every laugh you gave Brian, every time you leaned in to whisper something to him, only seemed to magnify it.
And you? You were oblivious. Still trying to keep her in the conversation, pulling her in with the same ease you always had. But she could feel the gap widening.
Tara's foot tapped against the floor as she shifted her weight, her eyes flickering between you and Brian. She should've left, should've wandered off to another part of the house to escape this torturous little triangle, but she stayed.
Because if she left, she'd have to admit to herself why she couldn't handle this.
So instead, she took another sip of her drink and plastered on a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"You okay?" you asked, your voice cutting through her thoughts.
"Yeah," she said quickly, her words sharper than she intended. "I'm fine."
But she wasn't. And as the night wore on, that became harder and harder to hide.
And after an hour, or maybe even more.
The alcohol was definitely working its way through Tara's veins. She could feel it, the familiar warmth spreading through her chest, making her limbs feel looser but her thoughts louder.
The edges of the room blurred ever so slightly, but her focus on you was sharp as ever, almost painfully so.
You were giggling at something Brian said again, your hand brushing his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Tara had been watching you both like a hawk all night, trying to play it cool, but the subtle touches, the shared smiles, the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at him—it was getting under her skin.
She clenched her jaw, tipping back the rest of her drink as if it might drown out the frustration bubbling inside her. But it didn't.
It wasn't just the alcohol making her feel reckless, though it didn't help. Tara was desperate.
Desperate to do something—anything—that might shift the balance back in her favor. But how? She wasn't like Brian. She didn't have easy jokes or effortless charm. And she wasn't like you, all soft laughter and open smiles.
So she sat there, stewing in her own silence, searching for an opening she couldn't find.
Then she turned her head for just a moment.
A distraction—a loud burst of laughter from somewhere across the room. She glanced over, barely processing the source, and when she looked back...
Her heart stopped.
You and Brian were kissing.
It wasn't shy or hesitant. It was full and unguarded, like something out of the movies. His hands rested lightly on your waist, your fingers clutching the front of his shirt as though you were afraid to let go.
Tara's first thought wasn't sadness. It wasn't heartbreak or even surprise.
It was rage.
Her body went rigid, the plastic cup in her hand creaking under the force of her grip.
Because of course this wasn't a problem.
Why would it be?
You weren't hers. You'd never been hers. You were allowed to kiss boys, especially the boy you'd been crushing on for as long as she could remember. It wasn't like you were breaking some unspoken rule. She had no claim to you, no right to feel betrayed or blindsided.
But God, it felt like a betrayal.
Her rational mind tried to reason with her, repeating the same useless mantra: This isn't a problem. This isn't a problem. This isn't a problem.
But the other side of her mind—the side that had been clawing its way to the surface all night—was screaming the opposite.
It was a problem. A huge one.
The anger burned through her like a wildfire, consuming every rational thought as it spread. It started in her chest, hot and heavy, before curling into her throat and setting her teeth on edge. Her nails dug into the soft plastic of her cup until it crumpled under her grip, a sharp crack breaking through the buzz of the party.
And still, she couldn't look away.
She hated it. Hated the way his hands touched you so easily, like he'd earned that right. Hated the way you kissed him back like you'd been waiting for this your whole life. Hated how he got to have what she wanted so desperately without even knowing how much it mattered.
Her breaths came quicker, each one catching in her chest as if she couldn't quite fill her lungs. The alcohol amplified everything, stripping her bare of the filters she usually relied on. Every raw, unspoken feeling she'd buried for years was rising to the surface now, and there was no stopping it.
She wanted to scream.
To grab you and pull you away, to tell Brian to get his hands off you, to do something.
But she didn't.
Because no matter how angry she was, no matter how much she hated what she was seeing, there was a part of her—a small, quiet, agonizing part—that whispered:
You're not supposed to feel like this.
So instead, Tara sat there, her body tense and trembling, her nails biting into the palms of her hands. She didn't even realize she'd crumpled her cup until the sticky remnants of her drink dripped onto her lap.
And still, she couldn't look away.
Eventually you pulled back from Brian, cheeks flushed and eyes slightly glassy from the alcohol coursing through your system.
A small, almost dazed laugh escaped your lips as you glanced at him, then turned to find Tara in the crowd. She hadn't moved from where she'd been watching, her posture stiff and her eyes fixed on some indistinct point on the wall—anywhere but you.
When your gaze landed on her, your smile widened, bright and unrestrained, like you hadn't just set her entire world on fire.
Tara's chest tightened, the molten frustration inside her bubbling hotter with every passing second. She couldn't stop her thoughts, couldn't silence the storm brewing in her mind.
You stumbled a little as you reached her, still grinning like a fool, your energy infectious to everyone but Tara. You leaned close, tipping forward on your toes, your voice loud but slurred enough to betray your tipsy state.
"I think he kissed me," you said, as if it hadn't been entirely mutual.
Tara felt something snap.
Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms so hard she half-expected to draw blood.
She couldn't speak, couldn't trust herself to even try. If she opened her mouth, she was sure she'd yell or say something she couldn't take back. Worse, she might cry—and that wasn't an option.
Her silence stretched on, but you didn't seem to notice. You were too lost in your own world, your thoughts spinning with the buzz of the alcohol and the remnants of Brian's touch. Tara's silence didn't matter, because you filled the space with another easy laugh, leaning closer so she could hear you over the pounding music.
"I need to use the bathroom," you said, your lips brushing near her ear. The warmth of your breath made her stomach twist. "Wanna come?"
Tara's mind scrambled for an excuse, her mouth dry as she fought the urge to say something reckless.
"No," she said finally, forcing her voice to sound casual, detached. "I think I'm good down here."
It wasn't true. She wasn't good down here, or anywhere else in the universe at that moment.
You gave her a light shrug, your expression still full of that easy joy that made her want to scream. "Okay! Be right back!"
You disappeared into the crowd, weaving your way toward the bathroom, leaving Tara standing there alone.
The second you were out of sight, she exhaled sharply, her hands shaking as she reached for another drink she didn't need.
She wasn't sure if it was the alcohol, the anger, or the ache of jealousy threatening to overwhelm her. Maybe it was all three, swirling into something she couldn't control.
But one thing was clear—she couldn't keep this up. Not tonight. Not with you and Brian. Not with her chest full of feelings she couldn't name and didn't want to face.
Tara's eyes burned as they landed on Brian, standing not far from where you'd left him. His posture was easy, relaxed—too relaxed.
He stood there like nothing had happened, chatting casually with a couple of his friends, his hand lifting a red cup to his lips like this was just another night. Like he hadn't just kissed you.
The most beautiful girl on the planet.
Tara felt her stomach twist painfully, her grip tightening around the drink in her hand. How could he be so unbothered? So unaffected? He wasn't grinning ear to ear, wasn't puffing out his chest or gushing about how lucky he was.
He wasn't laughing with joy or smirking proudly like any sane person would if they'd just kissed you.
How was he not telling everyone in earshot about what had happened? How was he not reeling from the fact that you—you, with your blinding smile and endless energy—had given him even a second of your time, let alone your lips?
Her jaw clenched, teeth grinding together as she stared at him, her anger bubbling hotter with every second he stayed calm. Her hands itched to grab him by the collar, to shake him and demand he act like he understood the weight of what had just happened.
Did he even realize how lucky he was?
Did he know how many people in that room—how many people in general—would kill to be in his place? To have even the tiniest fraction of your attention, let alone that?
Her vision blurred, and it wasn't from the alcohol. Her chest felt like it was about to implode, like something inside her was trying desperately to escape, and she didn't know how much longer she could keep it together.
Brian's laughter snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts. He was laughing at something one of his friends said, his expression light, carefree—unbothered.
Tara nearly saw red.
She downed the rest of her drink in one go, the sharp burn doing nothing to dull the fury roaring in her chest. How could he be like this? How could he act so normal, so indifferent, after kissing you?
How could he not be overwhelmed by the fact that you'd chosen him, even for a fleeting moment?
It was insulting. Infuriating.
She wanted to march over there, to grab him and make him feel the way she was feeling. She wanted him to hurt, to ache, to boil with jealousy the way she was.
But she couldn't.
Because none of this was his fault.
The real issue—the one she didn't want to admit—wasn't Brian. It was the simple, heartbreaking truth that he could kiss you without consequence.
He could have you.
Tara wasn't sure what happened next.
What she was thinking when it happened, or if she was even thinking at all. Maybe it was the anger—burning hot and uncontrollable—making her body move before her brain could catch up. Or maybe it was the alcohol, buzzing in her veins and drowning out every voice in her head that might've told her to stop.
All she knew was that one second she was standing there, glaring at Brian like he'd committed some unforgivable sin, and the next, she was storming toward him.
His friends noticed her first, their chatter faltering as they shifted awkwardly under her sharp glare. But Brian, oblivious as ever, didn't see her coming. He was mid-sentence, that stupidly calm look still plastered on his face, when Tara grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him down to her level.
The movement was forceful enough to knock the air out of both of them, and before he could even process what was happening—before she could process what was happening—she pressed her lips against his.
It wasn't soft.
It wasn't sweet.
It was messy, rough, and fueled by a cocktail of rage and desperation. Her hands fisted his shirt tightly, holding him in place, her nails biting into the fabric. Brian stiffened for a second, shocked, but then his hands hovered awkwardly near her waist, unsure of what to do.
Tara didn't care. She didn't care about his reaction, about his hesitation.
Because this wasn't about him.
It wasn't about his stupid, clueless face or the fact that he'd kissed you without giving it a second thought. It wasn't about him being unbothered or unaffected.
This was about her.
Her anger, her frustration, her absolute inability to sit there for another second and watch him act like kissing you was nothing.
The kiss deepened as her grip on his shirt tightened, pulling him even closer. She wanted to erase the memory of you from his lips, to replace it with her own. To make him feel something, anything, the way she was feeling.
But it wasn't working.
If anything, the kiss only made it worse.
Because no matter how hard she pressed, no matter how desperate her movements were, it didn't feel right.
It didn't feel like you.
And that thought was like a punch to the gut.
Brian made a soft, surprised noise against her lips, his hands finally settling on her hips, but it only made her angrier. How dare he hesitate now? How dare he act so unsure, like he didn't know exactly what he wanted when he'd so easily taken you from her just minutes ago?
Her chest heaved as she pulled back slightly, her lips still brushing against his, her heart pounding in her ears.
His wide eyes stared at her, confused and more than a little alarmed. "Tara—" his voice laced with bewilderment, but she silenced him with another kiss, pressing harder, needing to cut him off.
She didn't want to hear his voice. She didn't want to hear him try to make sense of this, because she didn't have an explanation. This wasn't about him.
It wasn't about you either—not entirely, at least.
It was about her. About the way she felt like she was unraveling, about how every smile you gave Brian felt like another thread being yanked loose, every laugh you shared with him felt like a blow to the chest.
She didn't know how to make it stop, and the only thing her mind could come up with was this. She didn't have to think when she was kissing Brian. Didn't have to feel the jagged ache of watching you be so happy with someone else.
This wasn't about him.
But it was all she could do to stop herself from falling apart completely.
And Tara wasn't sure what was happening anymore.
Brian hadn't pushed her away. He hadn't stopped her, hadn't hesitated for even a moment after that first surprised noise.
No, he'd leaned into it. He'd kissed her back with the kind of intent that only made her angrier, made the fire in her chest blaze so hot she thought she might combust right there.
Because it wasn't supposed to go like this.
His hands slid from her hips, pulling her closer, pressing her tighter against him, and she hated it. Hated the way he responded like this was exactly what he wanted, hated the way he kissed her back like she wasn't just a replacement for you.
And worse than anything, she hated herself for not stopping it.
His hands moved lower, gripping her ass, pulling her even closer, and she felt herself clench her fists tighter into the fabric of his shirt.
She didn't know if it was the alcohol buzzing in her veins, numbing her better judgment, or if it was the anger still consuming her every thought, but she didn't do anything to stop him.
She should've.
But she didn't.
Because in this moment, it wasn't about him. It wasn't even about you. It was about the chaos she felt boiling in her chest, about the way she felt like she was spiraling further and further out of control.
Brian murmured something against her lips—she didn't catch it, didn't even try to—but his hands stayed firm on her, guiding her, pulling her toward the stairs.
And she let him.
Every step felt like she was wading through quicksand, her mind shouting at her to stop, to push him away, to pull herself together. But her body wasn't listening. She didn't know if it was the heat of his hands on her or the fog of alcohol clouding her better judgment, but she let him lead her.
Because stopping meant facing the truth. And Tara wasn't ready to do that.
Not yet.
She'd barely registered how they ended up in the room. One second, she was being pulled up the stairs, Brian's hand gripping hers tightly, and the next, they were in a dimly lit bedroom, the door clicking shut behind them.
Her heart was racing, but not from excitement. There was no thrill, no anticipation, just a gnawing sense of wrongness she couldn't shake. Yet she didn't stop it. She didn't stop him as his hands found her waist, as his lips trailed down her neck. She didn't stop herself from responding, from letting this spiral further than it ever should have.
It was mechanical, empty, and every moment felt like it was happening to someone else. Brian's touch wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't what she wanted. His lips weren't the ones she craved, his hands didn't spark anything but an aching hollowness inside her.
And yet, she let it happen.
Because, for a fleeting second, it felt like power. Like control. Like maybe, just maybe, if she could take this from him—take you from him in some twisted, nonsensical way—it would hurt less.
But it didn't.
Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word she barely heard, only drove the knife deeper into her chest.
When it was over, the silence was deafening. Tara lay there, staring at the ceiling, her body still and her mind racing. Brian shifted beside her, saying something she didn't hear, and the sound of his voice made her stomach twist. She felt nauseous, disgusted—not with him, but with herself.
What had she done?
Her chest tightened as she fought to keep her breathing steady, refusing to let him see the tears threatening to spill over. It hadn't helped. It hadn't made anything better. If anything, it had only made everything worse.
Because no matter what she did, no matter how far she went, it would never be enough to make her stop wanting you.
Afterwards Tara laid still, the dim light of the room casting shadows that felt too heavy, too oppressive.
Brian was beside her, breathing evening out as if nothing monumental had just happened. As if this was just another casual moment in his life.
Her mind, however, wouldn't stop.
It wasn't Brian she was thinking about—not the way he'd touched her, not the way he'd looked at her. No, every thought clawed its way back to you.
She pictured you in the bathroom, probably still staring at yourself in the mirror, giddy and flushed. She could almost see your smile, so wide it was infectious, and the way you'd probably tilt your head, trying to relive every second of that kiss.
You'd been dreaming of that moment since second grade, scribbling his name in the margins of your notebooks and lighting up every time he was near. Tara could already imagine how you'd be practically glowing, heart racing with excitement as you ran your fingers over your lips, trying to make the feeling last.
She wanted to hate you for it. But she couldn't. She never could.
You'd come out of that bathroom with a smile so bright it could light up the whole house, your hopeful eyes scanning the crowd as you made your way back to the spot you'd all been standing. And what would you find?
Nothing.
Tara wasn't there. Brian wasn't there.
She could imagine how your smile would falter, confusion settling in as you looked around, searching for the two people who were supposed to be waiting for you. How long would it take for the excitement to drain from your face? How quickly would hope turn to disappointment?
The thought was like a knife twisting in her gut.
And yet, she still couldn't make sense of why she'd done this. Why she'd let it happen. Because it didn't feel like she'd won anything. She hadn't taken Brian away from you. If anything, she'd stolen something from herself—something she could never get back.
Her chest tightened as the realization hit her like a freight train. She hadn't wanted him. She hadn't wanted this.
She'd wanted you.
And now she'd ruined everything.
577 notes · View notes
luvrxbunny · 1 year ago
Text
need
Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader
Prompt: Thigh Fucking
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, piv attempts, hurt pussy, some sad feelings, creampie(?)  (lmk if I forgot anything)
WC: 2.5k
A/N: *sulking in a corner* not proofread at all
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He’s gotten used to it, the constant stabbing pain at the base of his stomach, the daydreams and fantasies that plague his every free minute. He’s more sensitive too, you can do anything and it’ll turn him on, make him hard, or raise a new fantasy for him to jerk off to later that night. He got used to waking up in the morning with a throbbing pain between his legs, or a cold wetness soaking his underwear. He got used to having to sneak away to the bathroom, lock himself in his office with his blinds pulled shut because you decided to drop by, or you made him lunch and left a note that was a bit too cute for him to handle. 
He never asked why you didn’t seem to have any sexual interest in him. He assumed that you either didn’t want him that way, or you weren't ready. So when you told him that the real reason was because you’re a virgin… His pain increased tenfold. All his fantasies, all the material he could think of late a night became visions of him taking your virginity, working his fat cock into your tight, unused, untouched, hole. It became a hindrance to his day, something he thought about more than he worried about canon events. He couldn’t get you out of his head, he didn't want to pressure you so he didn’t voice desperation, but it’s like you were trying to provoke him. 
You became more open, more okay with talking about sex, and your fantasies and asking him questions, voicing your curiosities. He found out that you actually think about him quite a bit, almost all the time apparently. There was an entire night, filled with a few blunts and alcohol where you spent hours, literal hours, telling him about all the fantasies you’ve had. You told him about your most used ones, all the ‘odd’ things that turn you on. He had to hide his boner, almost crushing his beer in his hand with how tense he was and his needs doubled again, turning his blood to molten lava.
Then you offered it to him, you came to him and told him you wanted him to be the one who takes your virginity, you wanted his cock to be the first to enter your special little cunt. He almost blacked out. He came at you like a frenzy that night, licking and sucking every part of your body before working you open and lining himself up with your precious hole. Only to find that he couldn’t fit. You couldn’t take all of him, he was able to get a quarter of his dick inside before tears were streaming down your face. You told him he could keep going, that you could take it but you were on the verge of sobbing, there wasn't one break in your stream of tears and this is not the way he wanted you crying on him. He pulled out against your will and spent the night comforting you, telling you it’s fine, that you can try again, as many times as you need… and that's what you guys did. 
It’s been about two months of trying to fit him inside you and it’s becoming unbearable. You guys try every other night, sometimes taking more time in between if you’re too sore or you guys are swamped at work. You guys haven’t done anything else in this entire period of time, wanting the next thing you do together, to be him taking your virginity. He agreed not realizing how long it would take. His hand is nowhere near sufficient anymore, no matter how he tries to pretend it’s yours- especially now that he’s had half his dick inside you. It’s a cycle of build-up, tease, Miguel comforting you, and no-release. 
You’re both pent-up. It’s another night of disappointment, you guys had gotten a little further this time, almost his whole cock and you began to think that this was it, Miguel was finally going to have your virginity. Instead, you tore. It was small, it didn’t even feel like much, a sharp burn at the base of your hole. You decided you would just power through, the burn was worth the fulfillment you’d feel at taking him all, at long last, having your boyfriend be completely connected with you, completely surrounded by you. But Miguel knew you were bleeding, there wasn’t enough that he could see it but he could smell the copper in the air and he forced you to stop. 
You fell asleep upset with yourself and listening to Miguel’s loving words, assuring you he’d rather you enjoy yourself than power through for him but you just felt like a failure. All your life you dreamed of losing your virginity to someone you love, someone who cares about you, someone who deserves it, and now that you’ve finally found that person, you can’t even give it to him. You’re too embarrassed to concede, to give up and jerk him off instead. You want him to cum inside you, you’ve even started birth control secretly, hoping to surprise him once he gets close enough. You’d fantasized about the moan he’d let out once telling him that he can just cum inside you, but you’re too small to even get him anywhere near cumming, let alone inside you. 
You wake up to Miguel groaning in pain, you’re a bit scared at the noise but your fear gets replaced by sadness once you see the source of his pain; a fat bulge resting over his thigh, tenting the sheets slightly. You peak up at his face, making sure it’s slack with sleep before focusing on his hard cock again. You sit, lift your head and rest it on your palm, leaning over Miguel a bit as your other hand comes to stroke over the bulge gently. Your eyes are fixed on his face, watching his eyebrows twitch with your touch. It brings a little rush of pleasure through you, knowing you can pleasure him with the slightest bit of pressure. 
You cover him with your hand, cupping it to feel its length and girth against your palm. He whimpers lightly, a sound you’ve never even fantasized about hearing from him, but you know that no matter what you do, you need to hear it again. You can feel his warmth and the way he’s pulsing under your hand, his fingers dig into the sheets gently next to his thighs and his hips lift off the bed momentarily, trying to pleasure himself with you. 
Your eyes leave his face to watch his movements, deciding to give him some mercy and rub your hand along his shaft, stimulating him through his sweatpants and the thin blanket. You’re mesmerized by his stuttering, sleepy movements, at the soft whimpers that fall loosely from his lips. A gasp breaks the trance and his hands lift from the bed quickly to grip your wrists and his hips thrust up, forcing your palm to put pressure on his sensitive cock and just stay. “B-Baby- ”
His voice is thick and confused with delirium, still not completely aware of what’s happening but all he knows is he doesn’t want you to stop. He’s buzzing, thrumming, and vibrating with arousal, with desperation for you, need for you.  
His eyes meet yours in the dark, taking in your obviously turned-on state, how dilated your eyes are and how your sweet scent is already soaking the air, your taste ghosting over his tongue with every breath he takes. His eyes roll back at the thought, paired with your pressure on his throbbing cock and you pull away. He tries to hold in his groan, trying to be grateful for anything you’ll give him but a small squeak of sadness is what comes out and he chuckles softly at the noise. 
You’re still silent, surrounded by your need for him, the only thought in your head is that you need to make him cum. His thick arm comes around you, resting next to your shoulder and pushing you to him gently, nudging you in his direction for a kiss. You smile and drape yourself over his chest, leaning on him and pressing your lips to him. He groans and pulls you closer, admiring your warmth and pressing his cock into the plush of your thighs as he pulls you on top of him. You giggle and help him situate you over him, the base of his cock resting against your neglected clit, sending a shock of pleasure through you and turning your giggles into a light whine. 
Miguel breathes in a sharp breath at your noise, trying to ignore how badly he wants to hold you down and just grind his cock into you until he cums, staining his clothes and hopefully leaving a mark on yours but he keeps himself in check, offering you a fond smile instead. “You okay, amor?” His hand is rubbing up and down your back now, calmly like he isn’t throbbing against your clit right now. You think of just grinding into him, sitting up to straddle him,  and just fucking his bulge into your clit until you’re cumming all over him. “I wanna cum.” Your voice is weak and pathetic, tired and desperate. 
His eyelids flutter at your words and tone, and his arms tense around you, pressing his muscles into your sides for a moment before taking a deep breath. “Yeah? I can-” He takes another shaky breath as his cock throbs beneath you. “I can make that happen, baby. How do you want it?” His stomach is burning at his words, at the hope of getting to touch you, to make you cum. You’re just staring at him, watching him as you think, trying to figure out a way that will satisfy you both. He’s just getting hotter under your gaze, riled up further by your eyes as his hips rise off the bed slowly, pressing his cock into you subconsciously and his eyelids flutter shut at the pleasure.
Your brain is hazy with his movements, his subtle desperation, it’s driving you crazy. You arch your back and seize his lips again with a soft moan. His hands grip your hips, pulling you into him with a groan. You pull away and pant against his lips, running your fingers through his slightly tangled curls and pressing your forehead against his. “Put it against me. Between my thighs.” He growls at your request and flips you both onto your sides, already nodding at you and working his sweatpants off of his legs, kicking them off under the covers. “You want that, honey?” 
His hand cups your face as his other wrestles his cock from its confines. “You want that? Take these off.” He yanks at your underwear, roughly enough that they dig into your skin harshly before snapping back. You wiggle them off and slide your shirt off, wanting to be as close to Miguel as you can. You can’t stop the pout that settles on your face when you realize he plans to leave his shirt on. He laughs lovingly at your face. “Want me to take it off?” He says with a teasing tilt to his voice. You laugh and slide closer to him, taking the hem of his shirt into your hands and already trying to pull it over his head. “Jus wanna be closer t’you, Miggy.” 
The nickname flips something inside him. You only use that name when you’re feeling extra soft for him, extra tender, and needy. “Yeah, sweetheart?” He pulls you in for a quick kiss before taking his shirt off and kissing you again, swallowing the whine you give him when your naked body rests against his. His wet cock slides against your skin, teasing his sensitive tip, forcing a ragged moan from his mouth when it slides over your mound. You giggle at his reaction, smiling at his eyes, squeezed shut as he takes slow breaths, trying to calm himself. You open your legs, grip his cock, and rest it on your thigh, his eyes snap open. You smile and pull him in for another kiss as he reaches behind him blindly for some lube, lotion, coconut oil- something to get your thighs anywhere near as wet as your pussy is. 
You take rest your hand over his as he rubs himself with lube, moaning into your mouth at the sensation. He brings his hand to your face, giggling and apologizing when it smears with lube but devouring you in a kiss once you tell him it’s okay. You close your legs over his cock and whimper into the kiss when his shaft fits itself between your lips. He pulls away with a moan and his hips start fucking into you fervently, overly sensitive and desperate after months of denial. You’re moaning loud and whiny at the way he’s assaulting your clit, constantly stimulating her from the way he’s thrusting against you. You’re digging into his shoulders, feeling the way they flex as his hands grip your hips and run all over your body frantically. 
“I’m not gonna last, mi amor.” The words spit out of him quickly as his thrusts get shorter, more focused on making himself cum than making the moment last. His head is clouded with need, his balls are pulsing painfully and his cock is throbbing between your thighs. You’re gripping his hair like you’ll fly away if you let go and moaning his name like it’s the only word you know. Your hips are bucking into him too now, some incoherent words falling from your lips like music to his ears. 
You’re trying to tell him that you won’t last either, that you’re on the brink of cumming already, that you’ve been craving him for months, and finally having him is one of the best things you’ve felt but your brain has been shut off since he started moving his hips. You can feel the heat in your stomach bubbling over already, spilling into your bloodstream as you shake against him. “Mig-” Your thighs tense and shake around his cock as he groans your name, almost overwhelmed with how you’re stimulating his cock, at how you’ve been unable to get any sound out but once you’re cumming you can find the strength to say his name. You’re shaking on him, your eyes are rolled back into your head and your jaw is dropped open in a silent moan. 
He’s able to grunt out a warning to you before thrusting once- twice- you reach down for his cock and spread your legs, opening to fit him against your entrance. His third thrust stutters to a stop and he’s cumming. 
Fuck. He’s cumming inside you. 
He folds over like he’s been punched in the gut, a rough moan tearing from his chest as his cock throbs against your wet walls. He sounds distraught, like you’ve ruined him. His entire body is tensing in time with the ropes of cum he’s filling you with. It’s an entire flood, a surplus of cum he’s pouring into you, he feels like he’s died and gone to heaven. He never even imagined that you’d let him cum inside you, let alone that it’d feel so fucking good. He shudders out a groan and holds you to his chest, giving you curt thrusts to ensure he doesn’t push in too deep but still trying to fuck him cum into you. His eyes are crossed painfully and all the air is gone from his lungs as you pulse around him, massaging his tip and forcing him to give you more cum.
Your name is the only thing he can utter as his cock spews its last few ropes into you, softening and letting his cum leak onto your thighs, leaving a slick, shimmering trail on you as it soaks into the bed.
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Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!
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wri0thesley · 6 months ago
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hi sweet Nat, can i ask for size kink with Alhaitham pretty please? ♡
Anonymous asked: Hello! Hope you are having a wonderful day for the ask game how about alhaitham + size kink
great minds think alike....
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Alhaitham's height is obvious to anybody who meets him; less obvious, though, is the breadth of him. One often writes it off as perhaps him wearing clothes that flatter him too much, being as it is difficult to look at him for too long without receiving a sardonic gaze back. After all, is he not the man who calls himself a 'feeble scholar' with only the barest uplift of the corner of his mouth?
You, though, are intimately acquainted with everything that Alhaitham has to offer.
With the big hands, stained with ink. With the muscles that ripple beneath his clothing. With the way he towers over you in both stature and in presence. With the size of him, everywhere that it might matter--
Oh, and you couldn't hide anything from him if you tried. He looks at you and he sees straight through you no matter how hard you work to look unruffled by how much of his hand covers your head when he absent-mindedly pats it on his way past. And at times like this--
"Hard to believe, isn't it?" He murmurs to you, where you're trapped beneath him, his shoulders casting a shadow over you on the bed. His muscular thighs have pressed your own softer, sweeter ones apart. One of his hands is big enough to encircle both of your wrists, and he uses that to his advantage, veins flexing in his forearms as he keeps those wrists pinioned above your head to ensure you feel utterly at his mercy.
You are warm; flushed, beads of sweat rolling down the nape of your neck, glistening in the valley between your chests. It is not only the warm Sumeru air (though that would be your excuse if he called you out) - but being trapped beneath him like this, being pinned and captured like a little rabbit who has found themselves run afoul of a bigger animal ready to devour them.
"H-hard to believe what?" You whisper out, your heart beating fast against your chest. He lets out a single laugh, as controlled as he always is even though you can see that his cheeks are flushed and you can feel the hot hardness of his cock where it rests against your inner thigh, mixing your slick and his precome.
"That something so tiny could really fit this in them," he says, as if it should be obvious; and to prove his point, he uses his free hand to lift the heavy shaft of his cock, to give it a slow, teasing pump. Even his own hands, so big that they make your breath catch, are not quite big enough to wrap around the full length of it.
Flushed and ruddy, leaking silvery bubbles of precome, a vein on the thickness of his shaft pulsing in time with his even breathing, you can barely stand that he's not putting it inside you. Helplessly, you arch your back, and he laughs again.
"Look," he murmurs, dropping his cock, voice husky. His hand delves now to between your own thighs; two long fingers used to push apart the sticky plump lips of your labia. You keen at the cool air hitting the swollen pearl of your clit, standing to attention, and Alhaitham swoops down to press a single kiss to the bud before he straightens up again. "You're even smaller here."
"A-Alhaitham," you whisper, your body shivering under the fleeting touch of the kiss. His lips are wet and shiny even from that brief shimmering moment of contact, and you think if he doesn't do something about the way your hole is clenching and pulsing around nothing you might just explode. "Please--"
"Oh," he says, with a small smile on his lips. "But I might break you in half."
Lazily, he lets his cock slap lightly against your sex, lets it get soaked in your wetness, lets you helplessly buck against it in the vain hope that you can get him to fuck you or at the very least get a modicum of friction going.
You don't get far. He's too strong, too big - you're helpless beneath the Scribe, at the mercy of whatever whims he decides to enact. You try to change tack.
"You're wasting time!" You tell him breathlessly, trying to appeal to his pragmatism. "You could be fucking me right now instead--"
He makes a considering noise in the back of his throat, regarding you through unfailingly calm emerald green eyes.
"I certainly wouldn't be enjoying myself if you weren't properly ready for me," he says, in the end, and his gaze flickers from your own needy face to the needier sight of your cunt, fluttering and pulsing and leaking all over his bedsheets.
"Hmm. No. I think I'll take my time," he decides, shifting, and you're once again struck by his size, by how much of you he can shelter beneath the oasis of his body. He leans down, his lips against the shell of your ear, and you shudder at the sensation of his breath against the sensitive skin. "After all. I'm a very patient man."
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alienpossession · 2 months ago
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6 hours before Part 1
After quite some times, we believe that Enki's work on Earth already provided clear assurance to ensure a safe landing of our kind in the so-called "Blue Planet". As the lead, I landed first to greet Enki as he prepared me for his next step.
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He looked massive inside the human husks from my perspective, but he promised me an even bigger catch which is important as I need to establish my authority and ensured protection over our existing kind that will follow Enki's and my steps. I latched myself in the heel of one of many Enki's husks as my skin seamlessly camouflaged to match the husks as to not draw unwanted attention. When Enki opened his front door, an even bigger human becomes visible from my point of view, which provided me with surrealistic perspective as this other human looked way thicker yet also stronger than Enki's towering form.
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"What else, boy? You really need to stop calling me all the time for any minor inconveniences, you know? I have more than one building to take care off and definitely more than one tenant,"
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"Yeah, and definitely more than one species too, now Cap,"
I take that as my cue. While the bigger guy clearly puzzled by the statement Enki made through this particular husk of his, I quickly latched myself to the hairy, uncovered legs of the older human. He instantly froze upon contact as I released the stream of my numbing liquid into his system with my small, delicate set of teeth that just penetrates the human flesh with ease. Then, after sensing that he really just stood still, I stop biting and climbed up into his shorts and pierced myself right through his anus to access the rest of his organ. The upward journey lasted rather quickly, and soon I found myself staring just slightly shorter compared to Enki's husk. He greeted me with a smile and then proceeded to hug me super tight
"Welcome to New York City, Captain. You fit right in over here as my landlord,"
"Hmmm.....yup....great husk selection, Enki. Or should I say....boy," I said, getting used to my human husk and all sets of his memories and muscle reflexes, "I need to use your bathroom if you don't mind,"
"Sure thing Greg, it's the first door on the left," he replied to me by calling me with the husk name, which put a rather sinister smile on my face
"Boy, I'm your landlord. No need to tell me shit about my own building," I said with a chuckle as I know I nailed to copy this husk way of speaking, but just a bit brighter to Greg's usual mean tone.
I eventually walked into the decent-sized bathroom, this is one of the bigger ones in this building since Enki chose a rather well-off tenant as his husk, and I started to let out a golden-colored stream out of my thick appendage into the toilet bowl. It's peeing, a rather unique excretion system of human's small-yet-complex physiology with all of its ritual and precision. My view is this activity is quite wasteful, as our kind are highly efficient in processing our nutrient, we don't really excrete anything as everything we consumed turned into energy. But based on Enki's notes, this thick meat that only naturally exist in the body of a human male also served as their reproductive organ, yet another fascinating and complex physiology of human body. Enki's video showcased how this meat, in its various form, shapes, color, girth and even curvature, impaled directly to a fitting hole that the female form have in their body. We of course have no full video on the inside of the female reproductive organ, but my husk memory of junior high school biology and his own various sexual encounters sort of fill in the gap on the kind of liquid and process that eventually resulted in the creation of a human being. Greg's memory also flashed me about several memories of man-to-man breeding too conducted by his own offspring, but Enki's knock snapped me out of my focus as he peeked his head in, already in different form
"Everything's good?"
"Y---yeah, all good. So, I'll call the other to start the descend to this room and then we'll go to all the tenants?"
"I mean.....you don't have to knock on all doors, just put them close to the door and let them slide inside and do the rest. We can just wait for their updates. All the tenants have your number after all, they can inform us once they succeed. Meanwhile, if they enter the room with the tenants out, they just can wait until the tenants returned. Sounds easy, right?"
"Hm, okay, that sounded more efficient and less time-consuming. After all, I need you to explain to me about some of Greg's memories, I rather spend my day understanding all things human compared to knock on multiple doors all afternoon long,"
"Even better plan, knock on one door you know exactly that the tenant is inside for the day and tell them to do the work after the takeover while you can return here and I can explain to you about everything you want to understand!"
And that's exactly what I did as soon as the rest of our kind descended. I put them all inside this utility bag and storm out from Enki's unit as I knock on the unit 3 doors down from Enki's husk unit. Greg memories revealed to me about Tim recent divorce proceeding and the fact that he practically lived alone ever since, making him a convenient operative to spread our kind all over the building. I wasted no time as I throw Elmy right at Tim's startled face and before long, Tim is a convert and ready to do his job. Like me, he excused himself first to his own bathroom as Elmy processed all the newfound memories and human reflexes in order to pilot his body perfectly. As I finally walk to the bathroom, he's buck naked and smiling at his own reflection
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"He's so depressed, thank God you threw me to take control over him and instill this husk with a new sense of purpose, thanks Captain,"
"Well, less talking and more moving, Elmy. All your comrades here awaiting their fresh husk and a chance to instill those human husk with new sense of purpose too,"
"On it, Captain. You can leave the bag with me while I put on some clothes first. No need to worry, I'll finish it even before the sun sets,"
---
Truth be told, while Enki told me about the confusion I have over the conflicting memories of my husk and my original learnings about Earth from our elders ages ago, streams of messages entered my phone and disrupted our learning session. It's mostly selfie of men followed by a quick confirmation on who's who
"Ronntholn, reporting from Carter Worthington. 27 years old. Former FAANG senior programmer, now just relying on multiple investments from his savings and severance while enjoying life to the fullest, like sculpting his body and screwing chicks,"
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"Ronnusen, reporting from Bruno Pereira. 49 years old with wife and 2 adult kids, all kids are out from the unit since two years ago, wife already subdued until further command,"
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"Mafis, reporting from Ruben Moreno. Entrepreneur caught up with all sorts of the wrong people across the crime world and police in the city. Very high proximity to danger which usually means abandoning this husk, awaiting orders for next move,"
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I shared the various stream of information I received from the husk to Enki, asking for his analysis on what course of action we should take next with these series of husk under our control. But I know there should be more bodies reporting, and I can sense that some of them are not reporting their updates despite already succeeding, so I tried to zone out and tap into all the visions that I can access all at once, like the human technology called CCTV.
As expected, some of them are already defying my orders, testing around their vessels even before making a report.
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One interesting vision showcased one of the recent husk surrounded by 4 reeked skater punk or something that he alone can clearly beat the shit out of, but somehow he decided not to. I tapped Enki on his shoulder to make him join my vision and share his assessment on the situation
"Come on, pathetic fag. Don't just stand there. Sniff!"
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Enki pulled me out of the vision rather quickly
"That's some sort of fetish, pretty sure uniquely human but it's not like we figured out all the rites of the species in the entire universe yet, right? So, it's when powerful and respectable member of society degraded themselves to be humiliated or controlled by what society generally deemed to be the lower people, younger, smaller, less privileged, all sort of that. Some humans get their "sexual kick" from such act, and I guess it's better for you to not linger too long in it, that can alter your husk's psychological state if you are exposed to it for too long or internalizing it. After all, you are very much still adjusting to all the newfound information, your mind is highly malleable until the first 12 hours is over,"
"Yeah, I really don't know whether it's the atmosphere or something, but I feel like I'm so unsure about everything and just let my husk to do all the moves and the thinking. Like, yes I can assert myself to make this husk do what I want, but there's this nagging sensation that always asked to be paid attention to. I'm not even sure I'm this curious about the matter of gay sex, I just feel like it's what this husk constantly pushed me to think about,"
"Hmmmmm.....maybe that's what filled his mind before he came to my room. Is that memory fresh according to his memory?"
"Yeah, quite fresh. Just last night,"
"Oh well, maybe that's why. You know what, before my friend comes around, maybe we should check your unit, see what's up. And pretty sure your son should've been converted too judging on the timing, let's check him out,"
---
Dang, sorry for long delay from me & @fullfriendnerdclutch we're both dealing with issues in our life hence the delay on the brainstorming session on the direction of this one. The continuation of this part (Greg's son & the actual part 2) will all be posted in fullfriendnerdclutch account, so stay tune!
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proseandpretrichor · 2 months ago
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Entwined | Jinx x Reader
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Word Count: 598
Warnings: none -> just a short little thought blurb I had to write so my mind would shut up so I can sleep
You were her opposite in every way. It was hardly fathomable– the crazed criminal somehow wooing such a quiet and kind person such as yourself. You did share her notorious ambitions, just existing as a simple botanist living in one of the few docile suburbs of the undercity. You were the type of person to leave bowls of milk and water for the stray animals roaming the streets, unlike your cloud filled mind of your partner often found too dazed by the whirlwinds of her own mind to focus on anything else. While she built mechanisms of chaos, you created simple melodies of plants into teas, tonics, and remedies. Often selling these little miracles for such a small cost it seemed as though you were giving them away for free, something that was nearly unheard of in a place like the undercity. And these products not only were affordable, they worked! They worked exceptionally well, whereas the working class of the Undercity were doomed to rely on shimmer to continue with the grueling pace of the labor demands to provide, to eat, and sleep in a sheltered abode, you offered a chance of true health, of hope, of rest, of peace. Naturally, those who knew you, cherished you, none more so than Jinx. While at first the coupling seemed confusing and odd it soon clicked and couldn’t seem to make more sense. Jinx protected you and cherished you away from the extortionists of the Undercity, seeking to take your gifts and extort them for profit. In exchange for no cost, you gave Jinx a real understanding of the concept of true love, healthy love, happy love – no strings or obligations attached. You accepted her as she was waiting patiently to understand her past, unraveling the strings that wove together the misunderstood woman who held your heart in her jittery hands. And when the pieces of the puzzle finally clicked and you stood back and made sense of the whole picture that made Jinx well Jinx, you didn’t cower away in annoyance or fear, but embraced all the parts of her, even the messy jagged broken fragments. Even though it seemed as though your intertwined existences seemed to cancel the other out, you didn’t try to change her or soften her. You allowed her the freedom to exist as she was meant to, and figure out her place in the world, even when at most times she seemed to want nothing more to destroy it and certainly did her best to. And she knew… she knew for every explosion made by her hands, you were somewhere else mending the cracks and sewing the holes into faded little scares. So it really didn’t matter, then did it? — is the conclusion most people end on. It didn’t matter that you two were so biologically different, not when somehow it made you fit together all the while better. Besides, it's not like anyone could successfully tear you two apart, not if Jinx had anything to say about it– and she certainly did, as long as she was breathing you would be by her side. It didn’t matter what the pair of you concluded the tasks of the day, you would find your way back to each other. Wrapped into an embrace, one that slowly recharged the energy the day demanded of the two of you, and in that little pocket of the Undercity, a place of the forsaken, there was perfection given to the most damned of all women. So perhaps that makes her all the more deserving of it, you decide. 
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tohokuu · 2 years ago
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jjk men zipping up your dress
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REBLOG MY WORK.
warnings : suggestive, light fluff, tension
a/n : something i did to my girl bestfriend the other day and it made me gay. also i didnt k is what to call this so… the name is misleading but 🧍🏽‍♀️
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GOJO
“satoruuuu, can you please help me?” you whines prettily. gojo straightened up, looking at you away from the netflix tv show that kept him occupied.
“yeah. what’s up, baby?” he asked. you came closer, tiny little crop to sticking to your skin while the material of your jeans hugged your hips a little too tightly.
“i think i got them a size too small, baby. they won’t fit and i don’t wanna wear any other jeans with this top.”
gojo motioned you forward, leaning over to work his thin, long fingers around the buttons of your jeans.
these weren’t regular jeans. they were the ones with four buttons as a replacement for your zipper.
your panties peaked from underneath, if they could be even called that. you wore your thong out of your jeans today, showing off the cute dior imprint on the sides.
“toru, hurry up. i’m getting late!” you whined. gojo ignored your protest, squeezing your ass closer to him to make it fit inside your jeans.
“babe, if it wasn’t for your ass, this would’ve gone in perfectly ya know?” you rolled your eyes. fingers slowly trailing into his white hair, you tugged lightly while he worked four buttons through each hole.
you leaned back, getting annoyed at how long he was taking. you swung your hips side to side, a small habit when you felt bored.
but you were knocked out of your gaze when gojo pulled you roughly by the belt loop. you heard a thread snap and you looked down in shock.
his blue cerulean eyes stared up at you, blown wide open with lust and dominance.
“stop. moving.” he repeated.
you listened to him. not moving another inch as he pulled you closer using a finger hooked around a belt hoop.
TOJI
“tojiiiii, can you get this for me?” you said as you went up to your boyfriend. you turned around, showing him the extremely backless dress you wore. he raised his eyebrow, smiling to himself.
“you goin’ somewhere, pretty?” he asked. you nodded your head.
“i’m going out with shoko and utahime.” you chirped.
“mmm, dressed like this? coulda thought you was out to fuck other guys.”
his comment left a sour taste in your mouth. pulling away, you looked at him sadly, lip a little wobbly because how could he think of you like that?
he smirked at your distressed expression.
“i’m only messin’ wit ya.” you crossed your arms over your chest, still mad.
but toji knew how to make it right. he grabbed each wrist, pulling your arms around his neck and lifting your chin up so you could look up at him.
“look at me, babygirl.” he spoke in his husky voice.
you looked up, eyebrows still furrowed.
“you’re so fuckin’ cute with that face, ya know that? thinkin’ that it’ll really make a difference at all.” he crooned.
“shut up, toji. it wasn’t funny.”
“i think it was, babydoll.” he leaned in to your neck, pressing soft kisses around the column of your neck, right below your ear. you found it difficult to not gasp, breathing a little heavier as you tried to push at his shoulders.
toji wrapped his hands around the silky thread that ran across the span of your back, tugging it tightly while pulling you against his chest.
you gasped.
“ ‘m not done yet, where you think you’re goin’?” the deep timbre of his voice made your thighs press together, trying to hold in a squeak.
you felt your dress stick to your body tighter and together until a small snap was heard and your dress was all good to go.
toji pulled away, raising an eyebrow at your now pushed up tits.
he flicked your forehead softly, walking away to go back to whatever he was doing.
SUKUNA
“kuna, how do you do this??” you asked.
you walked up to him, almost tripping in the cloth that pooled around you.
he looked down from his throne, brows squinting as he saw your tiny form in a haori that was much too large for you.
he sighed..
“why are you wearing my haori, you bumbling fool?”
you tilted your head, looking down at the cloth that was wrapped around you, engulfing you in linens and silks.
“what?” you chittered.
“what exactly are you trying to achieve, brat?” his voice low and venomous.
“i just wanted to look pretty in a kimono.” you cried.
“well, that isn’t a kimono, for starters.” he sighed, watching your eyes tear up a little at the little mistake you had made.
within seconds, he appeared before you, a deep red kimono in hand.
his calloused hands pulled down his haori, exposing your shoulders to him. you blushed now, feeling more than exposed.
“k-kuna, what are you doing?” you asked.
“shut up. i’m aiding you.”
you kept quiet, fidgeting around a little until he raised his eyebrow at you, silently telling you to stop moving.
the haori was long gone and your body was naked and bare before him. he didn’t dare touch you slyly, though. his hands only grazed where needed and his eyes never left the fabric, not daring to look at anything he wasn’t supposed to.
his hands pulled the kimono taught around you, fixing it around your shoulders and then taking the obi to wrap around.
“life your arms.”
you did as told, lifting your arms and making a T-pose.
he worked the obi around you neatly, finishing off with a small brush to your side and a step back to admire his work.
“you look… presentable.” as he cringed.
you knew he just meant that you looked beautiful.
GETO
your roommate was the only available help you currently had. it was an awkward situation you got yourself stuck into.
“hey uhh, geto, can you please uhh zip this up?” you asked meekly.
he got up quickly, coming around so you could see each other in the mirror. you moved your hair to the side so it wouldn’t get stuck in the zipper.
he inhaled sharply, staring at the tramp stamp at the end of your back. it was cute, he thought.
he pulled your body back roughly, “sorry, my bad.” he wasn’t sorry.
you nodded, letting him carry on with the annoying zipper that just wouldn’t go up. his cold hands touched your back, making you arch away from him.
“sorry.” once again, he was not sorry in the slightest.
his heavy fingers played with the zipper a bit, trying to even it out so it could move up and down smoothly. a part of him could feel in his chest that you did this on purpose.
you probably wanted him to lay his plush lips along the juncture of your neck, kissing the skin and marring it with reminders of him.
but he pushed those thoughts away, reaching all the way down to where the waistband of your panties were, playing around with the zipper until it finally came up.
“mmm, there you go.” he said, but not before giving you a look through the mirror that made you regret not grabbing and kissing him.
CHOSO
you decided to head to the beach with your boyfriend today. you were tired and figured you needed a day off before getting back to work.
you packed your skimpiest bikini that left little to the imagination and left for a two hour beach drive.
things would’ve gone smoothly until the elastic on your swimsuit snapped.
you rushed across the sand, running to your boyfriend.
“choso, choso, my swimsuit snapped!” you whisper shouted.
he got to work quickly, putting a hand on your waist to pull your back against him. something about how rushed his actions were did something to you. a fire brewed in your belly as you thought that other people could see how close he was standing next to you, more than half naked while your tits almost flew out of your swimsuit.
“mm, maybe i’ll have gojo rent a private beach for us.” choso hummed behind you.
“why’s that?” you asked.
“so i can fuck you completely naked on the beach, obviously.”
your face turned red. “choso!” you shouted. he chuckled behind you, bending down to kiss at your neck. he bit the skin lightly, nipping just enough for you to let a small moan out.
“mmm, you’re not ashamed that others could hear, princess?” you shook your head, knowing he’d find it cute if you tried to lie.
“i should just untie this thing and fuck you right here.”
NANAMI
you were excited to wear a ball gown today. it was the first ball you were attending as kento had been invited and you were his date.
he purchased a beautiful white gown with golden accents. “for you.” he had left it on your bed with a note asking you to come down once you were done getting ready.
but if only it were that easy to wear a ball gown…
the top was a corset and you honestly had no idea how to even wear a corset. you whined as your arms got tired and you gave up trying to put this damn thing on.
there was a knock at your door.
“y/n, what’s going on?”
it was nanami. you felt a little hot. your boobs and your back was nearly out and he was the only one who could help with this current dilemma of yours.
you shook the thoughts from your head, reaching forward to open the door to let him in.
he gasped.
“oh.”
he spoke. you cringed, letting yourself curl inwards. “do i truly look that bad?” you asked.
nanami shook his head. “not in the slightest, but darling what’s going on with the back of the dress?”
you sighed, “i don’t know how to wear a corset.”
he chuckled, walking behind you and facing you in the mirror.
there was something intimate about this moment.
he used his front to push you straight against the dressing table, your mouth letting out a gasp. he pushed you down by the shoulder, acting calm and collected while your panties gained an extra layer of wetness.
you watched him in the mirror as he wrapped his hands over and over the bands of the corset until he finally pulled back really tight.
you felt the wind knock out of your legs, but you weren’t sure for which reason.
was it the lack of rooms your lungs had or how tight you were against nanami’s back?
he chuckled, tying the strings at the bottom of your waist, pulling away with just a gentle kiss on your temple like he wasn’t just in perfect position to fuck you.
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REBLOG MY WORK.
taglist form.
©️ tohokuu. do not steal or plagiarize.
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eroscomet · 3 months ago
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Make it Right
Chapter one- Love returned
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Pairing: Astrid Deetz x Fem!Ghost!reader
Context: Astrid and you have been dating two years before a tragic accident happened to you, ending your life. She spends a year alone somehow trying to contact you from the living as you're in the afterlife. When finding that all of her attempts are futile, she turned to her mother's ability but was quickly reminded of how her mother "somehow" could never see the people Astrid wished to see the most.
Warnings: Probably bad writing (I'm sorry), Death
Word count: 2.8k
A/N: I'm not so much familiar with tumblr other than reading. I'm not much of a writer either, this would be like the first piece I post ever. I'm sorry if there are any mistakes, I will correct as many as I see. Also, my brain was a bit foggy when remembering the new Beetlejuice Beetlejuice movie so if there's a mistake in that too, I'm sorry. Other than that, I hope you guys enjoy. I have been heavily inspired by many other amazing writers and I hope I really do capture all of the characters as correctly as I can. Also, I'm not expecting this series to blow up, i'll add another chapter if I see many people interact with this one.
Not proof read
╰┈➤Series Masterlist
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Letʼs be honest, Astrids life was definitely not one that usually someone finds themselves in. A ‘psychicʼ mother, who Astrid believes makes things up, an artist grandmother who seems to be an emotional wreck now that her husband is dead, and finally, a father who she no longer has. Astrid couldn't recall the last time her life was stable, from the beginning it had always be something with her family.
Now, with the passing of her grandfather and her mother suddenly marrying her manager who she is blindly following and clearly not seeing how he exploits her. She finds her world completely upside down and the one time she finds someone who makes her feel at least a bit normal, the universe seems to keep taking any form of normalcy from her. Once upon a time, it had been you and Astrid. The one person who kept her head straight as her world span.
Granted, you didn't come from the perfect family either but you always had found a way to excuse their actions despite Astridʼs constant nagging about your family and their almost pertinacious attitudes.
Your mother, a woman who almost seems to so desperately want to fit in with the women of the neighborhood. Your father who loved his image and his family's image. Your older sister who was always trying to somehow one-up you. Your family cared about the big things, you always found yourself content with the small things. You had always excused their behaviors with simple statements like,
“That's just how they are.” or, “No family is perfect.”
Astrid would cave eventually to your excuses but not with good attitude. Now remembering it, it felt like such a close but distant memory. It had only been a year, almost two, of your passing and yet Astrid finds herself dug in a hole the universe seemed to only bury her deeper in. Every memory had been bittersweet. Between every laugh shared, smiling in the middle of kisses, comforting smells theyʼd grow to find solace in, compliments, listening to music together, there had also been disagreements, comforting each other about things that neither of them had caused or been involved in, emotional damage, and trying to balance finding middle ground in each otherʼs crazy lives.
A year.
The thought of it makes Astrid almost wince, thoughts that seemed to be never ending and had loose ends. Why wasn't she there? She had always thought to herself. Why didn't she stop you? Questions to be left unanswered now that you were gone and she had no one to turn to. She had gone to her mother, who she had never believed was a ghost whisperer or paranormal insighter as everyone saw her, practically begging to have her somehow see you, hear you, feel you. But, like every attempt, they were once again futile.
This had made her more angry with her mother. First, she couldn't see her father and now she can't see you. Why is that every time she needs her mother to see a certain ghost for her, she never can but for others she can? It all felt stupid to her, how could people believe her mother?
Astrid found herself visiting Winter River frequently despite not liking staying with her grandmother and mother, especially when that daft man her mother called a “boyfriend” was around. She saw right through his act of the ‘caring, loving, and supportive’ boyfriend. Yet, she felt like she was the only one who could see that. How could someone propose to someone on the day of their father's wake?! She disliked the town, even more the people who foolishly believed her mother “abilities” to see paranormal phenomenons.
Yet, there she had spent most of her free time at the town during spring, summer, and winter break. Her relationship with Winter River had always been horrible yet she couldn't bring herself to say that she hated it there. How could she say that when it was this very same town that she had met you?
Standing there once again, in front of a grave that she became all too familiar with. Yours. It was almost comical how your parents had practically milked your death with every ounce they could get from it. Parading around the town, almost as if making it an excuse to gain from. They had quickly became the family in which everyone had gone to support when you had died. People would constantly go to your home, try to show their support, bring gifts even. Your parents loved every second of the attention.
No surprise that your mother had gained popularity among the women of your neighborhood's community. They only pitied her but masked it with sympathy as your mother would say, “She would've loved to be here” whenever someone had invited her to some so-called ‘important’ event among the other dull rich women. Your father had gotten a raise from his job after your death, again, out of pity of the poor family who had lost their ‘precious’ daughter. Your sister had gotten annoyed about how much you had been the focus after your death. She had expect people to move on after months but now seeing that it has been one, almost two, years of your passing and you being the center of attention, it had made her a bit bitter.
As Astrid stood in front of your grave and the flowers that adorned it, a small half-hearted smile on her lips. Many of the times that she had found herself in front of your grave, though she thought that somehow talking to the dead and getting a response back was stupid, she had always found herself talking out-loud to your grave, hoping for a sign or response that never really came.
“I miss you. Iʼm sorry that I havenʼt visited recently. My grandfather passed away, guess heʼd be with you now, right? Sometimes I wonder if youʼre with my dad or talk to him over there. I know if you were to be listening to me, you'd be rubbing it in my face how I always thought these kinds of things were stupid and now iʼm standing here like an idiot talking to myself and expecting a response from you.”
She smiled to herself as she thought about how youʼd tease her for this. She missed the banter between the two of you, her smile somewhat fading at the empty ache in her heart.
“I wish I could say that I hate you for leaving me here by myself, knowing that life is hard. We were supposed to be going through this life together, though. I wonʼt, I canʼt. I love you and my chest is aching every single day at this back and forth in my mind of memories that we should be looking back at together, happily, and now I just get this bittersweet feeling with the horrible reminder of your death. As much as I don't like it or believe it, I wish I had somehow gained this stupid ability my mother thinks she has.”
Astrids voice had faltered as she felt a frown tugging at her lips and her tears begin to faintly blur her vision. She took a deep breath, pulling herself together as she spoke again.
“I just want you to come home. I know that I always thought it was stupid how you had said ʻhome is where the heart isʼ, but truly I had just felt so bashful to think that someone like me could possibly be someone's home. The statement itself, I had always thought was a bit corny. Now, I find myself saying that I want to go home even while being at home. Funny, huh? You were always such a sap..”
With that and a sad smile, Astrid backed away from your grave. A soft sigh escaping her lips as she once again hoped that you had somehow received her words.
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Hours later, Astrid found herself, once again, in your room. She sneaks in through the window because she hates the idea of having to knock on the front door and have a conversation with your parents. They had been supportive of your relationship, yes, but like everything else, it was for their own personal gain. They had seen how other families were inclusive so they thought if they were too, theyʼd fit in more. Astrid had already known that they wouldn't dare to go into your room.
Your family had always hated the way that you decorated your room with endless posters, music, records and vinyls here and there, you loved your music. It was drastically differently from your sister and parents which preferred a more elegant and clean look. Thatʼs why whenever there were visitors, theyʼd never introduce your room to them. Yet, it was your safe haven and Astrid knew that.
After your death, she had taken it upon herself to take care of your vinyls, CDʼs, record player, and plants, all taken cared of. She felt that it made her feel like you were still here. As if she was staying in your room while you were out and about in the town. Her imagination took her far when it came to making up excuses for your absence rather than accepting the fact that you were dead.
She hummed to herself as she finished watering the last plant in your room. Once she was finished, she had gone over to your records, flipping through each of them, trying to find a song to play. Thatʼs when she had heard a small noise in the room. It was unusual to say the least, no one had ever dared to come into your room, it was just her. She shrugged it off as nothing or simply a noise coming from your window.
Then again, a small noise. The noise of a shoe squeaking from across the room. Her eyebrows had furrowed before she whipped her head around towards the direction of the noise. Upon landing her eyes on your face. She felt as if she was dreaming but it had startled her so that she felt her vision suddenly blacking out. When falling back, all she could remember was the feeling of someoneʼs cold hands catching her.
When Astrid awoke, she found herself lying on your bed despite having passed out almost across the room near your records. She almost dreaded waking up, she could have sworn she had seen you. Was it a dream? Did she make it up in her head because she missed you so much? Her vision blurred a bit before finally focusing, the feeling of a dip in the bed and a cold hand holding hers had startled her.
Quickly, she had shot up and off of your bed. Her eyes finally landing on you who had also shot up on the other side of the bed when she did.
“Where are we going?-” You had began speaking before you were cut off by Astrids loud exclaim.
“What the fuck!”
Your eyes scanned the room, your eyebrows furrowed as you turned around to see if there had been anyone behind you which earned a scoff from the other girl.
“Wait, you can see me now?” You asked as your eyebrows raised and your eyes returned to Astrid across the bed.
“Can I see you? Yeah, the better question is can I believe it? Is this another dream?” Astrid climbed over the bed and flung herself onto you. She clung onto your, now, cold body, that hadnʼt bothered her right now.
“What's the matter? You look like youʼve seen a ghost.” Your arms wrapped around the girl almost protectively, a soft laugh escaping you.
“Not funny.” Her words were flat, but a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She almost didnʼt know what to say as she stared at you. She had dreamed of you before, sure, but never like this. This felt too real. Your skin was more pale and less live as she had usually dreamed, your body cold, your chest was stilled, as if not taking air in or out. She hadnʼt noticed her bottom lip quivering or the tears in the corner of her eyes that had began to form.
“Hey, hey... Donʼt get all sappy on me now, iʼve been watching you this whole time! I hope you know that I followed you literally everywhere.” Your hands had gone to cup her cheeks, gently wiping away any tears as they fell from Astrid's eyes.
“Youʼd better have.” She had joked which earned another soft laugh from you. The sound of your laugh - so familiar - seemed to set her off. Her arms tightened around your shoulders as all of the feelings she bottled up over the past few months seemed to just burst out of her.
“I literally watched over you for a whole year. Trust me, I heard every word you were saying to the sky or my grave, hoping I was near to hear you. I was and I canʼt believe you've gotten all sappy, Deetz. You always told me that I was the sap and there you were spilling your guts and hoping my ghost was near.” One of her hands unconsciously moving from her cheek to her back, gently rubbing it.
“They were never one-sided conversations, I was always replying you just couldnʼt hear or see me. I did have some one-sided conversations, though. Like when youʼd be listening to my music or watching a movie and laying on my bed, moping, Iʼd be laid next to you and talk to you. I was always geeking out anyway, you know how I am about my passions.” You added and a snort escaped Astrid.
Her grip on you seemed to tighten as your voice registered in her ears. You were here, you were real.
“I know I sounded like an absolute idiot - I sounded like a broken record begging for you.” Her voice said as she buried her face into your shoulder.
“Come on, I never really left your side, Astrid. I was just hoping the entire time that what you had said about your momʼs ability being fake was real and that you'd somehow gain her ghost whispering abilities. I just wanted you to see me, hear me, feel me. Iʼve been so lonely. Sure, I hang out and laugh with you all the time but I missed actually talking to you and you bantering with me.” A frown tugged at your lips involuntarily.
“You didnʼt sound like a broken record. every word youʼd hope I had heard was beautiful - sappy - but beautiful. Gosh, you donʼt know how horrible it has been watching you cry about me and not being able to do anything about it. My ghosted body was always reaching for you but you wouldn't feel a thing. I promise you, I always held you and trying to do anything I can to get you to seem me but nothing was working.” You added as you buried your face into her shoulder, trying to get impossibly closer to her.
“Iʼm not a ghost whisperer. Don't think youʼre on the loose. I am mad at you, for the record.” Her hands balling the fabric of your shirt between her fist. She inhaled and exhaled deeply - as if your presence was the only thing keeping her grounded at the moment.
“I know, I know. I promise to make it up for the rest of my afterlife. Though, you gotta to admit, you have to believe your momʼs abilities now that you can see me. I know you said you hated the attention that your mom receives for being... Well, her. But they weren't fake after all!” You shook your head with a small laugh.
“Ghost whisperer.” You mumbled with a small smile, her hand immediately smacking you in the back of the head. Which had earned a small, ʻowʼ, from you.
“I donʼt-” She had began saying before her protest had been interrupted by a shuddering breath and a few silent tears falling from her eyes as she held onto tightly.
“I donʼt hate them.” She mumbled before sighing.
“I just-” Again, cutting herself off with a scoff. She wiped her tears as she pulled away from your embrace to scan your face with a soft smile.
“Gosh, I canʼt even remember what I was about to say. Iʼm so happy to see you and i'm a bumbling idiot and-”
“Iʼm so sorry. I've been trying everything, I swear. I even read that stupid ʻHandbook for the Recently Deceasedʼ from cover to cover many times. Only the strange and unusual could ever see me and I tried to reach for your mom but I couldn't for some reason. Slow down, we have so much to talk about.” You said as a frown tugged at your lips again. If you had a beating heart, it would have ached at Astridʼs tears. All you could find yourself doing was trying to make up for the lost time of not being able to comfort her.
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A/N: Hey, guys! I hope you enjoyed it. Should I continue writing this story? There could be multiple parts to this if you guys do enjoy this! Thank you so much for reading! Reqs and or comments, even questions, are all open on my profile! Thank you again! Also, I'd like to add that I understand that in the movie, ghosts are not permitted to leave their area of death or change their clothes. But, for the sake of this fic, let's pretend!
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james-is-here · 7 months ago
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For @succubus-hansol 🫶🏼
⚠️‼️CW‼️The links in these little blurbs below the cut are literal sex twtr (X) links‼️Proceed at your own will, I've warned you‼️⚠️
These are also my picks. The members I picked are the ones I thought fit the best. There's a lot, might've gone overboard, sorry.
Would it be believable if I said I didn't get hard while looking through my bookmarks? No? Okay, I don't believe my own words either.
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Seungmin thinking you've been at the studio or away from him out of country too long and is really needy so he handles it himself, sending you a video and begging for you to just hurry back home cause his fingers or his toys aren't enough. Puppy needs his owner.
Hyunjin, at the beginning of your relationship, believed that only your cock could make him weak and noisy but you proved him wrong with a toy, pulling moans and begs for more out of him as he pushed further back onto the toy.
Jeongin's first time with you and he was super nervous, not sure if he can take you so you suggested at that time just simple, slow fingering while he jerked off to help him relax.
Jisung who made you pull over only minutes from getting home from a date night cause he couldn't wait anymore. You looked too good and his pants were uncomfortably and painfully tight and you squeezing his thigh wasn't helping whatsoever. He needed to be filled with you immediately.
Fucking Chan deep as a reward and stress reliever after returning from the studio. Praising him and making him whine and moan from how deep you are and how good he feels.
Did someone ask for boypuss? No? Too bad. Eating out and fingering Felix fast and hard, his small hands pulling your hair to pull you further into his cunt as he tenses and he's panting out whiny moans, cumming around your fingers when you harshly suck and lick his clit.
This one i've wanted to make something with, this link is tame. Making out with Jeongin, you carried him from the front door to the couch and he's needy, pulling you impossibly closer and cradling your face with sweater paws as he sucks on your tongue and tangles it with his, whining with need before pulling away and begging for more. Then that matches up with this, fucking him into the couch deeply and slowly.
Changbin wanted to ride you but his body was so tired, maybe he shouldn't have asked you to fuck him after the gym but he needed you so you took over, fucking up into him at a brutal pace as you grip and squeeze his hips and his ass, holding him in place as he rapidly abuse his hole to get him to his release.
THIS ONE IVE ALSO BEEN WANTING TO MAKE SOMETHING WITH!! On tour, waking up with Minho and it started with just morning cuddles and kisses but the kisses turned heated and you were rolling him onto his front as you got above him. Fucking him slow and deep, biting his skin wherever you could reach before moving to leave marks on his chest and bite his nipples. Then you move and lay fully on top of him, humping into him and pulling moans and whines out of him as you pick up speed and go harder, faster and deeper, eventually punching moans out of him that have you moving your hands up to cover his mouth. Then your moving him onto all fours and thrusting into him at a brutal pace, making him fall onto his front as he fucks back onto you. (I'm not obsessed, I might make a whole fic from this later.)
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These links are ones I found after posting this and wanted to add.
Jisung who fell asleep on your lap while you worked or did stuff on your computer before he's waking up needy from his dream and whines into your neck, squirming on your lap before he pulls back enough and asks if he could use your thigh, removing his sweats before straddling your thigh and immediately starting to hump your thigh at a quick pace, head resting on your shoulder as whiny moans and gaps slip past his lips.
Minho who tied you up, playing and teasing your cock head, driving you crazy with how good he his and how amazing it feels as he sucks and strokes you at a fast pace until your cumming all over his tongue and hand but he doesn't stop, smearing your release and his spit all over your tip and milking you of every drop and overstimulating you as he smears cum and spit all over your tip before he's licking up your cum from his hand and your tip.
Jeongin meaning to save this for just himself accidentally sends it to you and he's freaking out and apologizing but you don't answer, instead you join him in his room and help him out.
Fucking Felix after he presented himself to you in the lingerie set you bought for him.
Ignore the face (Highschool au) Seungmin meeting you after your student council meeting as the president of the council and riding you on the couch in the room student council meetings are held.
Literally any of them surprising you with a school girl outfit for your birthday or anniversary and you immediately have the need to fuck them in the skirt.
You couldn't go on tour with Felix and he's missing you.
Humping Hyunjin's thigh as you finger him and he's moving his hips to hump against your abs.
After math of you and Minho with Jisung
Helping Chan take a break when he's been in the studio for too long or vice versa with Chan helping you when you need a break
Using Jeongin's thighs before schedule starts cause you need him but you don't want him to possibly be in pain or uncomfortable all day.
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aethelwyneleigh27 · 1 year ago
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Little Ghost
Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader Drabble
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Thanks so much to @puff0o0 for drawing this and feeding me more ideas for GirlDad!Simon "Ghost" Riley.
(I didn't give the baby a name, I would've opt for Charlotte but idk what y'all want to name your children)
ꕥ HOPE YOU ENJOY! ꕥ
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Your little toddler asking you, her momma for help. She had several drawings of her dad, you and her. She's been pointing non-stop while babbling at her drawing of her dad, with his mask on.
"Yeah love, that's dada.." You said to her with your head tilted, trying to understand what she was telling you. The little one whined in frustration, she wanted so bad to communicate what she wanted but she was only able to say a few words.
She had to demonstrate to you what she was referring to in the means of actions, she took her baby blanket on the couch and placed it over her head, somewhat resembling a mask.
You further encouraged her later on by giving her one of Simon's older masks and it seemed to have cheered her up, even though her head was too small for it and the mask's eye hole goes through her head perfectly like a shirt.
That's when you had the bright idea to surprise Simon, taking inspiration from the baby carrier you and your husband bought for your baby (he couldn't do anything but grumble about the fact that it was pink), you decided to make her a mask tailored to her.
It wasn't hard finding the materials, you already had a pink stretchy fabric from your old shirt and that plastic skull decoration you got from last Halloween. Oddly enough you got it because it was similar to Ghost's mask, it was time you repurposed it.
• ──── ✦ Time Skip ✦ ──── •
Ghost finally found himself home after being on a mission for almost two months, he opened the door, prying his keys off them and gently nudge it closed.
He looked around throwing his duffle bag on the ground near the shoe rack, he found himself smiling at the two pairs of shoes there. Yours and what he thought was the tiniest pink shoes, a space unoccupied at the right side to be completed by his pair of combat boots.
"Dada!"
Simon turned his head, looking further in towards your shared home to see his little girl stumbling towards him. Only to his amusement, she was wearing a pink version of his mask. Simon let out a chuckle, a proud boisterous one.
"Lovie, did you make that for her..?" Simon asked you after seeing you turn the corner to almost tackle him in a hug, the amusement in his voice still quite clear. You nodded your head before replying "Well I only helped, our mini Ghostie did most of the work". That earned you a forehead kiss from your husband.
He lifted your little one up after she looked at him and said "Up-py dada, uppies please", her tiny arms gripping his shirt while he carried her. The little mask reminded him of the time you surprised him with baby mittens with skeleton hands printed on it.
You kissed both their cheeks sending your little one into a fit of giggles while she tried to kiss her momma back. Simon just stared at the sight, feeling happier that he's home to his family.
Yeah he's definitely going to bring that pink mask along when he takes the little one to see the Taskforce again..
(The Taskforce interacting with little baby Ghost...)
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lostintransist · 2 months ago
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Seamstress | Part 3
Check out part 1 here. AO3
Simon noticed first. Some of his pants, he only had five pairs he rotated between, had gone missing from the laundry. Not terribly unusual, things get mixed up all the time. But when they reappeared worn spots had been patched, his pockets had been fixed, and all the little annoying seams that didn’t lay flat had been tacked down.
Kyle put a hole in the armpit of his favorite shirt, it went missing the next day and reappeared better than before. Roach lost many of his hats to the laundry, but within a week they all reappeared, cleaner and fixed. It wasn’t until Johnny couldn’t find his favorite pair of pants, his lucky pants that he couldn’t take on a mission because they were missing, that they started to talk to each other about the matter.
John called them a bunch of muppets, rolled his eyes, and walked away when the conversation started up about their laundry going missing. First, they examined the schedule for any overlap of their clothes being put into the laundry and their clothes going missing. Nothing stands out, most of the people serving in the laundry are there on assignment and rotate out before clothes are returned.
With this avenue exhausted the guys sit around thinking, pondering.
“What if they aren’t getting picked up by the laundry?” Roach slowly voices his question, as if putting it together only as the words leave his mouth.
Simon picks up the thread next.
“Who has access to our rooms? Laundry obviously, but we have ruled them out. Who else?”
“Base commanders, cleaning staff, Price. I can’t think of anyone else,” Soap shifts, stretching the toe of his boot to sit against Ghost’s.
“Has anyone looked into where Price has been going when he is in late some mornings?” Gaz squints as he thinks.
“Now there’s a thought,” Ghost tilts his head to one side. “Question becomes, do we access his bank account or follow him?”
They all looked at him, waiting for his decision.
“Price guards his phone harder than nuclear codes, I vote we follow him,” Roach chimes in.
“Good point. Anyone have a requisitioned tracker we could tag him or his car with?” Ghost looks over each of his men.
Soap, and Roach both shake their heads. Gaz scrunches his nose and then sighs.
“I want it back when this is over. It was a hard one to get my hands on.”
Ghost nods, accepting the responsibility to get it back to him. They tagged Price’s car that same day. Waiting for any of their clothes to go missing they watched the tracker. Johnny got a tad impatient and ended up ripping off a belt loop off when it got caught on a door handle instead of walking back and getting unstuck. He made a big deal of it too.
“Christ on a cracker,” he growled at the annoyance. Johnny, being a smooth operator, made sure John saw it before he turned in for the night.
Sure enough, the next night the pants were missing from the laundry. Johnny checked the laundry room for them before confirming to the guys that John had taken the bait. The tracker placed John near the manufacturing district in a designated parking lot, but nothing specific.
Johnny’s pants reappeared, clean, the next day with the regular laundry delivery. But they had a starting point. Roach scoured the internet for any business that might fix clothes but found nothing within walking distance. Must be an unlisted or newer business they figured. The following morning, they all skived off morning training that, while encouraged, was not mandatory.
Parking in the same lot that John had the guys split up. Each man took one side of the street and started down a direction eyes scouring each storefront and entrance until Ghost sent out a shrill whistle. Barely checking for cars the men darted for their L.T. who stood in front of a small shop squished between a cobbler and a bakery. The front window simply read ‘Seamstress’.
🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡
You sang along to Disney music this morning. It seemed fitting, as you were stitching together a party dress for a small princess. Her birthday was coming, and she wanted a purple princess dress like Rapunzel but big like Cinderella. Gotta hand it to the kid, that made it easy to design with her dad. This would be the second version she stitched up. The first one fit, until kiddo woke up one morning an inch taller.
When the shop bell dinged you reached around your sewing machine to lower the volume of your music.
“One moment!” You called over the sound of the small engine working loudly. You remembered it was about time for a tune-up on the old thing.
The stitches completed you turn and stand. Four men of varying sizes and heights stand at your counter. Two of them are pretty, no other word for it, and the other two are covered up than some of your niqab-wearing customers.
“Hi, what can I help you with?”
One of the pretty ones, with a mohawk, spoke for the group.
“We were wondering if you could tell us what you do here.”
Leaning to one side you confirmed that your sign still clung to the window in paint. Standing straight again you cocked an eyebrow at the man.
“Pretty sure I’m a seamstress, window says so.”
The tall covered one snorts.
Mohawk sends a glare back at his companion.
“What does that mean? What do you do exactly?” The shorter covered one asks.
“Seamstresses typically create clothes, though I do a lot of repairs too. Why? Are any of you needing repairs done? I can work on suits however I would recommend you out to a local tailor for that, suits are something they specialize in.”
You weren’t nervous. They all had a deadly energy about them, but it wasn’t directed at you.
“How much for a kilt repair?” Mohawk asked, confirming the placement of the accent.
“That would depend on the damage and the cost of the cleaning. Any articles that stay with me overnight get sent to a dry cleaner, it’s built into the charge.”
Waking your tablet you pull up pricing.
“Restoration will run you more than run-of-the-mill repairs, but with the repairs, the kilt will be stored in acid-free paper to keep it from deteriorating.” Glancing up once again you find every pair of eyes on you.
You were starting to regret the lack of a panic button in your shop.
The other pretty one spoke up now.
“Can you tell us if a certain customer has been here? A John Price for example?”
“I am not in the habit of sharing my customer’s habits, no.”
Both pretty men lifted a brow.
“If I show you a picture, would you tell us if you’ve seen this man then, without confirming if he is a customer?” The tallest one asked.
“I think you should leave. Though feel free to call for a recommendation for a seamstress if you need any work done,” you give them your pretty, I’m a weak woman and don’t yell at me smile.
The breath between your words ending and their bodies moving drags into eternity. When their bodies edged through the door and down the sidewalk a way you flicked the lock shut on the front door.
🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡
“You have one new message.” The robotic voice droned at John. “First new message: Hi John, this is the owner of Your Local Seamstress calling. I have your repairs completed, feel free to come and pick them up during business hours, six am to one pm or four pm to seven pm Tuesday through Saturday.”
A lingering pause, John can tell the message hasn’t ended.
“I did want to mention I had a…weird interaction today with a group of men looking for you. Two pretty men and two men covered tip to toe, asked for you by name. Not sure if you might know who they are but I figured I would pass along the information. Please feel free to give me a call if you have any questions.” She gave the shop number as if he didn’t have it memorized at this point.
“To replay this message press one, to delete press seven, to save press nine, for more options press six.” The robot is speaking to him again.
Slamming his thumb into the end call button John missed corded phones and the satisfaction of slamming the phone into the cradle. His muppets had scared his girl.
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softmiso · 9 months ago
Text
warm ways | steve harrington x reader
summary: you and steve enjoy an afternoon together while on vacation in the south of france.
tags/warnings: smut (18+, mdni!), cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, squirting, unprotected piv sex, creampie, cock warming, established relationship, fem!reader
word count: ~1k
a/n: inspired by rohmer's a summer's tale. regular text size and capitalization under the cut.
cross-posted on ao3
Somewhere in the south of France, 1989
You woke up in a room illuminated only by the warm colours of the sunset. As you slowly roused from your slumber, you felt the trace of lips on your neck. Steve was still spooning you, just as he had been when the two of you laid down for what was meant to be a quick nap. You hummed in delight at the feeling of him mouthing at your neck, teeth grazing and tongue soothing the supple skin.
“Sleep well, honey?” He spoke quietly.
“Mhmm,” you replied sleepily, turning around to see him. You gently raised a hand to his face, thumb stroking his cheek. The sun had left his skin bronzed and starry with freckles. The two of you had spent the day roaming around the small seaside town, admiring the scenery, and taking in the salt-laden air. It was a beautiful day. However, nothing could compare to the view laid in front of you.
“So pretty, Stevie,” you said softly. At that, his eyes softened. The brown irises were almost golden in the sunlight.
“Says you,” he replied, giving you a quick peck on the lips. Before he could pull back fully, you chased the feeling. Your lips connected once again. Delicately, his tongue prodded at your lips, and you allowed him entry. Your tongues danced together, and you could still taste traces of the oranges you two had eaten earlier.
Steve moaned into the kiss, all the while moving his leg to fit between both of yours. A whimper escaped your throat at the feeling of his bare leg pressed against your clothed heat. Hands tangled in his hair, you tugged gently. It was a habit you had developed when you wanted more, and it didn’t go unnoticed. He pulled away, giving you a few more pecks as the kiss slowed.
“Feeling needy, huh?” A slight smile danced across his lips. You nodded, dazed. “Words.” He reminded you.
“Wanna feel you, Stevie,” you spoke, “need it so bad.”
“I got you, honey, don’t worry,” he said as he rolled over to lay between your legs. You could now feel his growing bulge, the feeling spurring you on even more.
He kissed you once more before beginning his descent down, down, down to where you needed him most. Slowly, he slid your bathing suit bottoms down your legs, discarding them somewhere you didn’t care to know.
Two fingers slid between your folds, presenting your clit to him. He leaned down, kitten licking experimentally at your bud before sucking more harshly. Your hands found purchase in his hair once again, and you brushed it back so that you could truly look at him. His eyes stayed trained on yours as he continued his ministrations, alternating between licking and sucking.
You felt your hole clench around nothing, and as if reading your mind, Steve slipped a long finger into you. He curled it up, reaching that spongey spot within you, and you could feel that familiar spark beginning to grow in you, along with something a bit less familiar.
“Steve, ngh,” you tried to get your words out when he suddenly added a second finger, “feels too good, I–”
“Just let go, baby,” he said quickly, “let go f’me.”
The spark grew into a flame that licked at your insides until you could no longer take it. Your orgasm engulfed you and you felt a strange, but not unwelcome, release. You looked down to see Steve, cheeks flushed, and chin drenched in your fluids.
“Fuck,” he gasped, looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky, “just squirted for me, baby.” You went to cover your face in your hands, but he caught your wrists softly.
“Don’t hide from me,” he said, “that was amazing.” He continued, pinning your hands above your head. He left a small kiss on the tip of your nose. As he pulled back, he searched your eyes, but you were still feeling hazy.
“Think you can take me after that?” He asked.
“Yes,” you whispered, “want you.” He let go of his hold on your wrists to slide his swim trunks down. He took his length into his hand, giving it a few strokes. A bead of precum glistening at the ruddy tip. Your mouth watered at the sight.
Soon enough, he lined himself up with your entrance, pushing himself in slowly. He stilled when he bottomed out, and you whined.
“God, you’re so tight after you cum,” he spoke, voice raspy, “can barely handle it.” Once he’d regained his composure, he set a delectable pace. His cock glided between your walls tenderly, accompanied by just the right amount of stretch.
The room was filled with pants, moans, and the sound of skin slapping. When you thought you couldn’t feel any better, Steve brought your leg up, hooking your ankle over his shoulder. At this angle, you felt everything so much more intensely, and you could feel that spark growing once more.
Steve could tell you were close, bringing a thumb down to circle your clit messily. A few more strokes, and you were cumming once again, walls clenching around him rhythmically. The flame, now dying down within you, sparked something in him. His strokes became sloppier, his arms trembling as he tried to hold himself up. You brought a hand up to the side of his face.
“Cum for me, Stevie,” you pleaded.
And he did.
He pushed his hips into yours as close as humanly possible, while rope after rope of his cum painted your insides.
Finally, he stilled, bringing your leg back down and resting his head on your shoulder. You stroked his back until he finally came to. He started to pull out, but you grabbed his bicep, stopping him.
“Can we just stay like this for a little bit?” You asked gingerly.
“Of course,” he said, “just wanna be full of me, yeah?” You nodded, biting your lip.
The moon slowly revealed itself, casting its gentle light across your forms. The sound of the waves from outside the window lulling you both back to sleep.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚
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