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peachesofteal · 1 year ago

Note

Can we please please please get some more Simon x single mother au? Possibly him helping in the garden/ keeping emmaline out of trouble while Mom works in the garden

Light on - single mom/neighbor fic Simon Riley/female reader 18+ mdni / mild sexual content

“Ow! fuck!”

Your hand jerks, drawing back to your mouth with a hiss.

“What is it?” He forces himself still, staring daggers at where the tip of your finger has started to leak blood, a thick drop dripping down the side before you bring it to your mouth, lush lips wrapping around your injury. “Are you alright?” His tone is tightly controlled, even keeled, nonchalant, but on the inside, worry gnaws away at his stomach, chewing through the organ until it’s spilling free and running rampant through his body.

“There’s a piece of glass in here.” In the garden bed? “Some of the other tenants, hang around up here at night. They usually leave bottles or cans behind.” The worry turns to anger, a simple plan slowly taking shape in his mind, a strategy to find the rooftop partiers, and ensure they never leave glass in your garden again.

Emmaline cries, nose and brows wrinkled in irritation, and you turn to coo at her, finger still half in your mouth.

“It’s okay, little pea. Just give me a second.” She continues to fuss, and you sigh, wilting like one of your own little flowers, left too long in the sun without water. You blink, and it’s like you’ve shed your sunlit skin for an exhausted shell. Oh, sweetheart. I know it’s hard, but you don’t have to do it on your own anymore.

I’m here now.

“Can I?” He asks softly, warming at how your face lights with relief.

“Yes, please.” You point to the bottle that’s tucked in the side of the backpack, and he unbuckles her from the bouncer that you lugged up the four flights of stairs earlier, even though he had texted you an hour before and politely suggested you wait for him to be finished his phone call, so he could help you.

You went up anyway, much to his displeasure. Displeasure, that he had to swallow, permanently.

You’re not his. Not yet. He can’t be disappointed by resistance or refusal when you don’t even know all the ways he can be there for you yet. He knows you’ll learn. You’re a smart girl. His smart girl.

Emmaline lays nestled in the crook of his elbow, slightly elevated on her back, and he pops the cap of the bottle easily, rubbing his index finger against her cheek to trigger the reflex that will open her mouth. When it does, he keeps it at the right angle to ensure the formula doesn’t flow too fast into her belly.

“You’ve done this before.” You murmur, reaching into the backpack for a band aid. You’re studying him, tracing over his face, his hands that are nearly the size of your baby, and he can feel the scrutiny, the curious intensity of your gaze.

“Had a nephew. I was around a lot, when he was this age.” He had a brother too. And a mother. A sister-in-law. A family.

Emmaline gurgles around the nipple, and he slips it free, sitting her mostly upright, giving her a gentle pat on the back amid her protestations, little grunts that he’s sure she means as ‘feed me’ and ‘more’. He waits for you to ask him the dreaded questions, the focus on the word had, the inevitable conversation about loss and family and pain, guilt and grief that can make a man feel like he’s been buried alive.

You don’t.

Instead, you simply say,

“Emmaline had a dad once, too.”

It’s nearly 2100 when you knock on his door later, baby monitor in one hand, two amber colored bottles in another.

“Hey. You busy?” His heart does a double tap inside his chest. Bad timing, the worst. Your sweet mouth is slightly open, hopeful, teeth parted just barely to reveal a flash of tongue, and his jaw clenches against the wild need that catapults through his veins to his cock. What do you taste like? What do you feel like? You motion to the monitor. “Just went down. Figure I have about an hour before I pass out myself and could use some adult time.” Shit. The duffel bag next to the door practically speaks for him, irritatingly reminding him he has a plane to catch in less than two hours.

“I can’t, I’m about to head out.” Your brow furrows, confusion churning into understanding within a moment, disappointment flickering across your expression before it smooths out.

“Right. Okay.”

“I want to.” He hurries the words. “But I travel… for work and I have to be on a flight in a few hours.” You’re already half turning away, slinking off to your apartment, giving him a soft agreement as you go.

“Sure, yeah.”

“Wait, sweetheart,” You startle at the pet name, eyes going wide at the inferred affection. “when I get back, let’s… have a drink.” You nod, and he smiles a real smile, barely tugging his lips upward, probably hardly visible to you. The kind of smile he’s been wearing around you these past two weeks, the kind of smile he tries to give Emmaline when she stares at him.

“Alright, sounds good then.” Your key finds your lock, and he steps out into the hallway, trapping your gaze with his own.

“You girls be good.” He says, a parting instruction, and a bashful, bewildered smile of your own curves across your mouth.

“We will.”

#light on #peaches asks #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #peaches writes

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trulyumai · 4 months ago

Text

Blinded by the Flame

Pairing: Messmer the Impaler x Reader

Warnings: Blood, Death.

Synopsis: Left bloodied and blinded, Messmer searched. Not for revenge, but for his wife.

A/N: So, this fucking sunflower boss is kicking my ass. Im cooked.

Enjoy the story!

“Ah! Mother, please!” In the middle of the room, sat the legend of the flames.

He balled up in agony, his fingers covered his face— his eyes entirely.

Blood seeped between the crevices of his digits, his eyes burned with an itch, a feeling he wanted to tear out.

“For how could I— your spawn, be subjected to such a monstrosity of an ending?” The man cried out, his deep wails echoed throughout the chambers around his being.

Messmer mumbled incessantly, begging and twitching as his vision blackened.

He had to gain control— before the chaotic numb feeling goes too far, before his mind slips away completely.

Think of the throne

Think of the order

Think of…

“Wife,”

He called out, saliva dripped down in a reddened pace between his lips.

Messmer reached out to nothing, to the blackness that surrounded him.

“Wife!” He wailed

“Don’t— don’t leave me alone!”

The lanky man keeled over, his hands beat against the wooden floor with fury.

“A-Answer me! Your husband— your Lord demands it!”

With a slurred speech, he crawled, began to move toward where he thought the door might be.

His hand met with a stone wall, it stood firm against his blood covered palms.

He couldn’t think- couldn’t remember the size of the room, the chamber at all for that matter.

The pain was piercing his mind, it left fire in its wake.

“Augh—“

The knight continued his mission, persisted onto finding the exit, the way to his home- his love.

Knees now scratched and molded over with scabs, he stopped his movement, as something cold came into contact with his dirtied palm.

Shakily a pale arm reached down once more and with his posture bent, he leered over the object.

It was fleshy, wet with a warming substance and–

“No,”

Firm hands acted, looked for proof that could refuse the perverse thoughts invading his mind.

“No, no, no!”

Shaky fingers guided their way to a hand, it was soft, so small that he could cover it whole with his own.

He came into contact with a cold metal, a band that had been wrapped around the person's finger.

His darling wife’s finger.

“—Ah! No, this— this is a warning- a vision, it's a farce!”

Not bothering to stop the blood from pouring down his chin, it fell atop of the bloodied woman.

Her eyes remained closed, the middle of her person laid into a deep maroon color.

As best as the weakened knight could, the woman was pulled towards him. She rested upon his lap like a deity.

Her head was angled towards him, it sagged into the man’s chest instantly.

He smelled the apples— the Elder flowers that clung onto her stilled skin.

There was no denying, it was his love that lay crumpled in his arms like a wilted lily.

Only his cries were heard through the chamber, bouncing off the walls with ease as his wails got louder and louder.

The cries were wet, uneven hiccups accompanied the tears.

As if nature mourned her loss; thunder boomed, rain seeped down to drench the land and the wind howled beneath the winking stars.

The man’s shoulders shook, he howled— it was too much, too far beneath the golden rays he was promised.

Burying his head into her neck the man refused to move.

His kin could walk through the gates now— with a cure for his blindness yet he would say put.

For his protective reign is over.

Now that his purpose lay still and quiet.

His grip tightened, wide knuckles turned white with pressure.

“Thy will bury it all in flame,”

His voice but a whisper among the pelting rain.

“I will offer it all; and join thee with the heads of the filthy accusers, who dare put thy to rest.”

Biting down on his cheeks, more crimson seeped down with unwanted reign.

“Rest, my wife,” his forehead met with hers, the surface sticky and wet.

“My love will hold me here—“

“—nnnghh,”

Thin red brows raised, with his mouth agape he let out a noise like no other.

“Darling, love, please!” He didn’t know what he was begging for, but it came out in unseen repetition

Her mind was foggy, vision even more so as her arm raised above her being.

It felt as if daggers pierced through her chest, and needles laid about her arms like unseen birthmarks.

“–mer, Messm—“

“I’m here! Gods, I’m— lovely, hear thy cries, please!”

The voice sounded like it was under rubble, or even perhaps miles of sand and dirt.

She felt the light touches, how they guided their way on her cheeks, her jaw.

It was a loving, soft touch made by roughened hands.

Familiar hands.

Tears struck her bloodied cheeks, a sloppy smile graced her expression.

He hadn’t left her afterall— after the fall, the oncoming of soldiers, he was here, by her side.

Grunting out a low groan, words fled her cut lips in a rush.

The woman’s words slurred together, and the man tried to make sense of them.

“Slow down, my wife, slow—“

“Es, mess, yo— your eyes!”

On queue, the blackened holes throbbed. Dark pits of ash wobbled down the crevices and met the material of his armor.

“Shhh, Darling, it will be alright, it will be alright.”

Her lips shook with a new level of fear, of total shock.

“I will take care of it— mother will help. I— it will be alright.”

“She is the cause of such damnation, how will she help?” Taking her hand in his larger one, Messmer placed kisses upon each finger.

The woman gaped up at him.

“Why are you so calm, aren’t you angry— hurt?”

“I… was,” He replied. Still distracted by the kisses he laid upon her skin.

“But thy are here to calm such a flame, hm?”

The red knight pushed his woman closer, till the cheek of her face mushed against his dirtied armor.

“Let us get fixed, then such a discussion can be demanded.”

Ignoring the woman's constant worried touches, a smile adorned his face.

He wasn't alone, his wife lay huddled between his arms. The unspoken horror lay hushed beneath his heel, stomped and winded.

Although he was blinded, left to die on his own, he could continue his push to the capital.

For the prophecy has already been foretold.

The kingdom will be left in ash; with only his wife and him to huddle in the flames of ambition.

#messmer x reader #messmer the impaler #messmer elden ring #elden ring x you #elden ring x reader #elden ring dlc #Messmer the impaler x reader #video game x reader #Spotify

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1800titz · 6 months ago

Text

WOOO second part to the pornstar!au (Tiger Harry). Find the first part here

If you'd like to read more goodies from me (including a RIDETHET!GER threesome, already up!), my patreon is HERE :)

CONTENT/WARNINGS: p-in-v, anal sex, Sir kink, choking-ish, light dom-sub dynamics

WC: 4K

“They’re both just such pretty holes,” Harry coos, and he thumbs apart her lips before folding over her to reach for his priorly discarded smartphone. His confession is mottled by a sigh, “…I simply cannot decide.”

Tiger has perfected the art of edging.

Not even in a literal, tethered-from-the-sweet-peak-of-precipice with an iron hand wrenching backwards sense — though, she’s seen plenty of that through his camera work. It’s a finely formulated craft, making her skin itchy and her cunt weepy before he’s even really touched her. And he hasn’t. She thinks, maybe he’ll nip at her clit with the pads of a forefinger and thumb, but he doesn’t even do that. Instead, he takes a step back. The phone pings. Action.

“Spread,” Harry tells her. Light. Easy. Pats at one cheek, “Here.”

Y/N obliges. She rolls onto her shoulders and tucks her arms behind her, splaying her fingers and pulling the flesh apart there. There’s a hiss like a breath coming in through little nooks between his bare teeth. It feels absolutely glorious.

And lewd. A torrid kind of heat climbs up her neck. Lingers in the apples of her cheeks when Tiger pets at her thigh — probably taping a close-up vista of her oozing pussy — and comments, “Look at that pretty, little cunt.”

Her digits jolt over her flesh, squeezing it apart almost desperately when he traces the back of a finger beside her clit, and then meanders up to her leaky entrance, prodding with the tips of two fingers. Not quite breaching. Tiger slinks one — a forefinger— up the short trail of her taint and nudges at the hilt of her plug, tracing the petals. Stuffed with silicone flora. Pretty.

“Fuck. Fucking gorgeous.”

He sighs all soft behind her, and trails lower.

“I think—“

Harry scopes the hood of her clit with a thumb and then pulls it back to scrape with the pad of his middle finger — a motion that makes her jerk and wrests a soft sound from the back of her throat. A deviously mirthy hum comes from behind.

“I’ll fuck you here—“

The tip of a finger brushes her weepy, pulsing seam.

“—first. Stretch you out a bit before. Sound good?”

She hums against the sheets. Please. Tiger traces the rim and sinks in to the second knuckle with paltry notice. His fingers are long, fill up more space than her own. Lengthier than hers. Girthier. They prod at the nooks and crannies that yearn to be grazed with little effort on his part, and by the time he’s sunk to the base of his chilled ring bands and added a third digit, Y/N is nearly drooling into the sheets.

“You are such a tight, little thing, sweetheart,” Harry hums. Enunciates his speech with the wet squelch of his fingers plunging, cradled warm and wet by her sloppy pussy.

A mewl gets muffled in linen when he scissors the pair, stretching the seam taut, and rolls his thumb in slippery circles where her slick has trickled. There’s heat swelling in the trench of her tummy; a warm tide pool sloshing in waves that crest. Higher and higher. Building. It overcomes her — this tsunami, blighting her ataraxy until she’s a slobbering mess at the foot of his bed, keeled over.

“Gonna—“ Y/N warns, brows pleated and mouth pried apart, tongue brushing bunched fabric with little couth.

Tiger milks her through it, rigid fingers pumping and thumb swirling clusters of spheres into her pulsing flesh, until all that’s left of her are melty shambles with a weakly fluttering cunt. And it does flutter, throbbing emptily as his digits withdraw. Sucks onto them like it doesn’t want to let go, and then spasms around bare atoms like it needs to be corked back up.

“Good girl,” Tiger praises. He sounds soft and pleased. Concentrated as his cockhead prods at her hole— “Got my fingers all wet, too. That’s two for two.”

He swipes them at the back of her thigh, so she feels how slick. The pink border of his mouth is probably twitchy. Traces of a smile scratch at his dialogue the way something claws in the pit of her tummy as he nudges with the fat tip. She feels melty. Frozen fudge on a summer day dribbling down the handle. She thinks, for a moment, with her knees and her shoulders seeping into the mattress, that English has slipped her mind. Nothing plucks at her vocal cords, almost as if they’ve been snipped entirely. A high sound crawls from the back of her mouth, though, when Harry tucks his cock into her.

He’d been big in her palms — the pads of her digits hadn’t quite kissed around his shaft when she was kneeling, sweeping her tongue at the slit of his ruddy head, and her jaw had strained wide apart to fit him in and swallow him down. Even still, Y/N hadn’t anticipated the stretch. He bullies his cock into her — just about halfway — forcing against her spongy walls in a way that’s nearly too much. Like a paw wriggling into a glove that’s two sizes too small. She feels him in her belly, deep, as he sinks in, inch by inch (hisses escaping the cracks of his bared teeth and scraping at the edges), and bottoms out. She tastes clean cotton on her tongue, mouth wide and muted dumb, eyes screwed.

A gasp shatters the lull, like one sucked in bobbing to the surface of a sea that’s going to ripple and kick her back under. It thaws in her achy lungs as a soft, dreamy moan when Harry fetters her wrists with one hand at the small of her back, rocks out, and pumps back in.

“There you go, little bird. Nice and—“

She cries out as his hips snap.

“Full?”

He rolls out slow, and her fingers twitch when he pummels in to the hilt. Ragged, little noises scarper from her mouth like he’s punched them from her from the inside. The ping of the phone sundering its video doesn’t register, but she realizes he’s tossed the phone again when he pets his free hand over her ass and stamps a sharp, stinging blow to it. Harry sets a brutal pace, then. Soft strokes that strain her rim taut and give her room to adjust simmer off when something scathing boils in the trench of his belly. He grapples her joints in his palm firmly, and the tempo of his hips smacking into her morphs merciless. Used and abused.

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” Y/N whines when his thumb presses at the hilt of petals stretching her littlest hole.

“Fuck, yeah,” He mirrors, snarling, and twists at the plug to siphon a whimper.

Inferno spumes her arteries when he wriggles the plug out, groaning, and replaces it with two wet, blunt fingertips. Three. They stuff her fuller than the plug had and have her wheezing for oxygen to mingle with the scorch that permeates her veins.

Her knees shuffle over the sheets, she squirms when he drills into her again and again and again, and he grapples at a love handle to keep her tight in place, “You asked for this— and you’re gonna take it, baby.”

Y/N does. There’s not any alternative when he hammers into her and burrows half-moons into her flesh with the ends of his short nails, but she doesn’t want there to be. She scrapes at the side of his palm with crooked fingers — the one that cuffs her wrists together and pants into the sheets.

She’s seen Tiger fuck. She’s watched the videos — a little redhead clawing at the stair-railing with wet eyes as he coiled her hair tight over his knuckles from behind, or a brunette keening under his frame as he tucked her calves over his shoulders, pounding in from the tip to the hilt and all the way back out. The ones with a curvy blonde clawing at the sheets, whimpering as he pummeled between her thighs, and the one where the woman with the pixie juddered helplessly over his lap, crying out as he stippled a slick trail of open-mouthed kisses up her jugular and manually bounced her over his cock with a firm grip at her hips that dwarfed her size. Y/N has seen so much of the impact in screen captures — slobbered chins, streaming eyes with mucked kohl and smudged liner. Tips of noses hued cerise or pinky and lips swollen and sloppy with spit. Still, she’s somewhat surprised to feel mirrored evidence over her own face as tears drip in rivulets over the apples of her cheeks, as she gnaws at her bottom lip and drools onto his expensive mattress. It’s not the aftermath yet, and Y/N is sure she’s going to be a disheveled mess by the time the camera on the dresser shuts off.

His cock spits ribbon after ribbon into her with little warning. He pounds into her, something cruel and brutal, husking growls. A groan slides up from the depths of his chest, and he slurs a string of curses, fingers twitching in her other hole when he empties into her pulsing cunt. Y/N absolutely milks him through it. Her slick walls spasm over his cock, and she whines like the same effects curdle her bloodstream and erupt across neurons.

When Harry pulls out, fisting at the base and gruffing a hum, he thumbs a bead of cum that leaks out to coat her clit. She absolutely sings, at that.

He lets go of her wrists. Twisting his fingers gently from between her cheeks, Harry blows out a breath and—

Y/N keens like he’s slapped her when Tiger splays his palms over the globes of her ass, spreads, and spits where he’d been fingering her apart. It’s glorious. Harry presses his cockhead to the glob of saliva smearing, still manhandling apart one cheek, and tells her, “Spread,” voice worn and mottled with pants like his heartbeat is thundering ichor in his ears.

She does. Her own heart hammers behind the caging of her ribs when he makes a lewd sound, breathy and awed as he smacks over her asshole with the head. He slides against her perineum when she jolts, spine zagging, and hums.

“Is it gonna fit?” Y/N beckons. Her cheek smushes to the wet spot she’s made against the sheets. It’s the most gloriously humiliating revelation.

He winds around the room to the nightstand, where, through tear smeared peripherals (like a bleary windshield coated with condensation), she watches him cull a bottle of lube. The cap clicks. Harry sets a knee up, and the bed creaks, meshing with a sound of amusement and a slick hand working lubricant over his shaft. Her lashes flutter as Tiger works two wet fingers into her, to the hilt, unceremoniously, scissoring. He pulls them out.

“F’course—“

Y/N gnaws into the smooth, slicky flesh beside her molars.

Tiger grunts. She’s forced to arch at the palm over the dimples at the base of her spine. As if to test the theory, the slippery head of his cock nudges to the puckering seam.

“…We’ll make it fit.”

Taking anal from Tiger, Y/N learns, is a feat.

A pornographically debauched sort of rite of passage. She’s seen the pictures, too. The teasers he’ll post on X with only the pink tip of his cock in frame, a ringed, vibrantly lacquered hand cradling the back of his partner’s thigh to tuck up and showcase an asshole oozing cum. And the videos; the ones where the girls rake their nails into his tri’s, knuckles bleached, necks strained as garbled moans climb up their throats as he burrows in. They’re always blissed out, after; their visages melty and the lines where their foreheads and hair meet teemed with sweat. She has to wonder, though, as he prods in, how they quite make it fit.

A high sound and a tight squeeze part-way over the tip has him petting his fingertips over the metacarpals spiking through the skin at the back of her hand.

“Just breathe for me, baby,” Harry tells her, soft unlike the seat of his jawbone and the grit of his ivory teeth, after, “I’ll go— slow.”

Y/N inhales. It’s stolen from her lungs in the form of a long, low groan when he stuffs the tip past and the rim rides over the ridge.

“Is that too much, baby? Yeah?”

She suckles a bit of the sheet between her teeth when he mends the stretch of his sloppy, wet cockhead with a thumb that swipes from her leaky slit and meshes cum against his cock and the taut rim of her other hole.

“…That’s okay, we’ll get you there,” Harry coos, “That’s the hard bit all done, yeah?”

It’s all hard. Hard, vascular flesh like a rock spearing her open, sinking in, sedate and measured. Viciously careful and slick, accompanied by a vicious stretch, despite the lengthy preparation. He’s measured in the way he stuffs in, nearly centimeter by centimeter, pausing along the way down his shaft. Even still, it’s an ache that settles deep the further he sheathes — the kind she feels down to the marrow in the little bones constructing her spine, her pelvis, her ribs when they refuse to expand for her lungs.

“Relax, sweetheart, relax. Squeezing me so snug.”

It’s just advice, but it’s strained; filthy. It makes her cunt twitch.

“Push out a little for me. It’ll— yeah, slide in nice an’ easy if you do,” Harry coaxes, pausing the leisure roll forward of his hips. Her hole flutters over him. He makes it another inch.

“Just like that, little bird.”

She’s been holding her breath for twenty-three seconds by the time Harry pats at one of her hands and instructs, “Play with your pretty clit.”

It’s sore, but not in the way that it aches as he presses into her. The pads of her fingers brush milky cum that’s managed to seep out with the flex of her muscles, and they draw a circle over the sensitively overstimulated bud that droplets have leaked over. Her lips pry apart that way her fingertips pry bliss into the outstretched palms of her neurons, grappling for pleasure.

“Oh.”

“S’it sore?”

“Mm-Mhm.”

“But it feels good,” Harry states.

It’s just that — a statement, no inquiry to the borderline prideful cadence of his words when he sinks in three-quarters of the way. It’s enough to have her breathlessly wheezing over her noises, digits stuttering in their shapes as she pinches at the hood.

“Breathe,” Tiger chastises.

For the first time, his voice is whetted, like the edge of a cutlass, and she imagines his dark eyebrows creasing. The tattoo of a ruddy handprint — a smack — gleans a loud cry enmeshed from the sheer sting of it and the way Y/N jolts, bouncing forward and back on unanticipated inches. It’s cruel. Mean with his peal of laughter.

He’s soft again. Mirthy. “You did that, not me.”

“You startled me,” she argues. Her chortles flux into another, blunt, “Oh,” when Harry rocks out a little and back in, cooing in feigned ruth.

“Oh, did I?” Harry murmurs, trailing a wide palm up the indent of her arched spine with shallow plunges, “Poor baby.”

She squirms when his fingertips wind to the vale of her waist, scrabbling up the ladder of her ribcage lightly. It’s only for a split second, but it draws a squawk and a string of giggles; in turn, a low hiss from him.

“Fuck,” Harry grapples onto her hips, craning his neck, a grin lining his syllables when he admits, “Every time you laugh, s’like, squeezing me.”

It’s devious — the way his palm scopes the cinched flesh in the same area it had the first time, reveling in the squeal the wriggling pads pry. Her jaw clinches and she nearly bites through her tongue when her teeth latch together. Despite the stretch, her hips lurch forward on their own volition and her knees shamber towards the headboard, the circles over her clit all but forgotten as her arms outstretch for freedom. It only gives him a wider canvas.

A soft huff seeps from his nostrils, like the view of her hectically sprawling is entertainment. He pins her bones in place by the hips and lugs her back, sharply enough for her to groan at the pump into her.

“No,” Harry scolds, tacking an ankle with his hand. He bends one of her knees back and keeps a grip over a love handle on the opposite side. “Where d’you think you’re going? I wasn’t done.”

He’s polite enough to cease the tickle torture. Considerate, on his part, she supposes, since he’s got the sole of her foot aimed to the Rough sawn oak beamed ceiling. The gunge of kindling lust spumes, and it clogs the sharp anticipation of his thumb pressing to the tender spot between her heel and the ball of her foot, like cruor. Instead, Tiger hones on jabbing into her fluttery asshole, drawing a slew of progressively humiliating sounds. Her top teeth seal over the sheet and she gnaws the fabric in between her incisors like a feral dog.

She doesn’t really get it until his balls are slapping against her flesh with the fervor of his tempo; what it’s like to be used and abused by Tiger. Mostly, it entails being glazed with cum, inside and out; utilizing the same loads to swipe over her clit that leaks from her sloppy cunt as he pounds into her ass with little mercy. No intent to give. And still, he gives plenty. She feels him deep, spearing somewhere between the knobs of her spine and the soft flesh sheathing her tummy. She can’t recall a time she’s felt so full, vena thrumming something sanguine mottled by him. The ache spurs the bliss building at her pulsing clit, and she retires to chew at the back of her free hand, tucked under her wet face.

Just up until the point when he yanks at her hair from behind, spiking tingles at the crown of her head, and directs through husky breaths, “Sit up. Up. On your hands.”

Y/N clambers. An inky forearm hitches over the column of her throat from behind. A sharper arch, a muscular bind over her neck, a palm that dwarfs the knob of her shoulder, and hammering at her backside with no remorse. His nails claw into her love handle, and in turn, Y/N scrapes at the tits of his mermaid, her flowy tendrils, her tail.

“You really— are a little anal whore, aren’t you, little bird?”

She slobbers over his forearm, “Yes, Sir— oh— shit, oh, fuck,” so he spiles her mouth with a couple of his fingers. She nips at his knuckles, and he digs green into her deltoid.

“Fhuh—“ Y/N slurs around the digits.

He strokes a stuttery whimper from her taste buds.

She keens, shrill, when Tiger slips his fingers out and smears her own spit over her cheek, “Oh, fuck— you’re so deep—“

Her eyes are screwed, and even still she feels the pant of his grin against the opposite cheek. The way his lips ghost and graze her skin wetly with a low murmur, “Fuck, yeah.”

He twists his head and siphons the same fingers to his own mouth, gets them wetter, and bats the hand between her legs away to pinch at her clit. To fuse saliva, and cum, and desperation, working ardent over her bud.

“Such a fucking mess. S’leaking all over my balls, you know that?” Harry purrs, nipping at her earlobe when she whines, trembling, “M’gonna fuck it back into you, after.”

Y/N erupts. It spalls into flinders with sharp borders, somewhere between his cockhead burrowing deep in her tummy, the stretch around him, the pads swiping at her clit, and the filth he muzzles into her hair. She shakes like a waving bract, torn apart in his palms, spewing cries. The tight spasm over his cock has Harry chasing his own release, shuddering behind her and doubling down in a brutal tempo that draws soft whimpers from her mouth. The sharpest one comes when his chest rumbles flush with her back on a long groan, and he twitches in her as he presses deep and empties every bit that he can manage.

Rough sex, even with a borderline stranger, merits a soft touch to meld the jagged edges of the shards back together. When he seeps out, hissing softly and bobbing, slicked with cum and lubricant, Y/N crumples into the sheets like the junctions of her joints have unfused, slipping from their sockets to melt away into a puddle. It provides an optimal view of her abused holes, one puckering at the air and dripping fresh cum. Just as he’d promised, Harry spoons a rill that trickles out with the pad of his thumb and brushes it back over the slick hole he’d just been tucked into. Feeds it back in to coax a mewl.

“Two for two,” Tiger parrots, dragging the backs of his knuckles up her thigh. It’s an obvious reference to two orgasms each, now, and wears a smile.

If Y/N wasn’t so melty, she’d probably snort. She manages something like a grunt with her face planted to the mattress. She’s probably losing brain cells. The bed doesn’t feel breathable.

Harry nudges at her hips until her pelvis sinks flush against the sheets and her feet dangle over the edge of the mattress. Then, he crawls up over her, cock brushing her clean skin soiled along the way. She rolls over against her will. Gets bracketed by his arms as he looms over, mussed, damp coils of his hair pendulous.

“Hello.”

She swallows. Her ass is going to absolutely ache tomorrow. Y/N finds she doesn’t mind.

“…Hello.”

“You took that well,” Harry tells her, head cocked and talc glinting.

The boundaries of his ruddy mouth tick upwards into a lax smile, and even still, there’s an eagerly …awake mien to his composition. She wonders how, after that, and how his cock hasn’t gone down, a plurry in shade and sloppily oiled. It prods against the bone at the side of her pelvis.

“You …gave it well,” she responds, forming the words despite the way they feel garbled in her mouth, between her parted teeth, off her lips like the crevices of her gums have been numbed with lidocaine.

He ducks his chin and laughs.

Y/N ends up lodged by his armpit, tangled by the firm muscle of his arms, thighs flush together, with her cheek squished to the plush of his pec; a cushion over where his heartbeat is clattering.

“I’m all sticky.”

“You like it,” Tiger sighs, raking a palm back through his tendrils, off his forehead, and musses the tousled curls there further.

It feels nice when his fingertips graze up her nape, sliding into the forestry of her roots. They tug lightly at the follicles at the back of her skull in a way that makes euphoria seep down her nape. It settles in the first knob of her spine and slink through to the next. She rolls her shoulders.

“D’you wanna shower? I’ve got one of those rain showerheads on the ceiling.”

If her inner thighs weren’t crusting over, the suggestion would probably feel like a much more intimate dyadic. Especially because she’s well aware he’ll slide in alongside her, slippery. Soapy froth sluicing down his abdomen, sudsy palms cupping at her backside, trailing between her thighs, and rinsing the evidence of their collaboration down the drain. It tastes like another sex tape altogether.

Harry has grapefruit musk body wash and a citrusy shampoo in his shower. They’re the same ones she’ll lather into her own matted bird’s nest.

He notes, from the sink, twisting the silvery band and thumbing over the center, where a tetragonal, incarnadine stone is seated, “You got my rings all sticky.”

Y/N stretches her arms over her head. There’s semen spilling down the insides of her legs. She twists her head and meets him in the mirror just in time to see his eyes crest, his mouth purse and carve into a simper.

“D’you wanna polish them off with your tongue?”

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cherry-romper · 5 months ago

Text

Realising they like you

+ Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Marco, Jean, Connie, Sasha, Levi, Erwin, Hange, Reiner, Bertholdt, Annie, Porco, Pieck, Zeke

Warning; alcohol consumption

Eren; It was while you played in the ocean. You were messing around with Sasha when a piece of seaweed touched your foot. Having never seen seaweed before, you panicked and threw yourself at the nearest person for safety - that person was Eren Jeager. Taken aback by the sudden weight, he fell into the ocean, you along with him. You apologised profusely while helping him out of the water, but he just stood there. You watched him carefully as he moved the hair out his face. You worried that you might have hurt him during the fall, so you asked if he were alright. Again, you were met with silence. You looked back at the others for support, but were cut off by Eren laughing. He let out the most genuine belly-laugh you had ever heard. He was smiling like an idiot, keeling over as he clutched his stomach. Your heart squeezed, as did the others. Eren hadn't laughed, nor smiled, in months. You soon giggled along with him. You even held onto his arm for support. Once he'd calmed down, he looked at you, from your eyes to your lips. He uttered a small "thank you," before pulling you into a deep hug.

Mikasa; It was just a normal day. You had been doing your chores around the garrison and were now eating your fill, along side Connie and Sasha, in the mess hall. The two you were sat with were, once again, arguing over food. They bickered like children, throwing food and hurling insults at one another. You laughed at them, dodging the occasional piece of bread that came flying your way. Mikasa was stood at the door, staring at you in awe. The way the sun fell over your hair and framed you face was like something out of a renaissance paining. She admired your every crevice. From the way your nose curved to the shape of your lips as you smiled. She saw how your uniform draped over your shoulders as they bounced while you laughed. She was stood far away but could still see your eyes as the shone in the light. As far as she could tell, you were glowing. You were radiating serenity - the kind she'd been looking for her whole life. She'd never seen you in this light before, it caught her off guard. The more she watched on the darker her blush got.

Armin; He'd liked you since you were kids but fell head over heals for you when you saved him from a titan. He had been assigned a separate group from you during a mission beyond the walls and you were leading a rescue squad to his distress signal. You found him being cornered into a tree by two small titans. He was waving his swords at them helplessly, begging for them to not eat him. You made quick work of the two titans, cutting them both down in the same motion. He watched you wipe off your blades as you asked if he was alright. He was so thankful you'd saved him, he started babbling on about him repaying you. You shushed him and told him that if he were to make it out alive, that would be payment enough. He knew then he'd marry you.

Marco; When you were injured while on a mission beyond the walls. He'd never felt so strongly for someone before. He sat with you on the ride back into the walls, the whole time he was gawking at your injuries. He held onto your hand tightly while he cried into his sleeve. Jean, who was riding a horse next to the cart the two of you were in, asked why he was so upset, you'd survived hadn't you? Marco just shrugged, unsure how to answer, but the aching in his heart answered for him. He stared at Jean, a broken expression on his face. Jean knew, just from that look, that Marco loved you.

Jean; On a day off you'd gone to the market place. There was a band playing in the square. Some people were drinking and laughing, others were just passing through. There was a group of people dancing to the music. You and Jean watched on in awe. You were mesmerised by the way the women's dresses flowed as they danced and Jean watch as the men moved freely as they sways their partners around. While you watched on, someone pulled you in. You were a little shocked, but took to it straight away and started dancing with the others. Jean eyes gazed over your dancing figure. You were beautiful. Truly beautiful. He was so entranced by you he hadn't notice you nearing him. You stood in front of him and gave him a mischievous smile. He cocked a brow at your expression, but before he could ask you pulled him into the circle. His hand naturally glided to your waist and yours to his shoulder, your bodies held close. The two of you swayed together in rhythm with the music. His chest tightened as he stared at your smile. There was no doubt in his mind, he loved you.

Connie; You'd both been drinking. While it wasn't illegal to drink at your age, but it wasn't smart. You both knew you had training in the morning but you drank anyways. Connie had convinced you, or vice versa, at this point you couldn't remember. Neither of you were light-weights but between you, you'd had gone through nearly a barrel of ale. You didn't feel as drunk as you were but still you ended up throwing up really badly. Maybe it was the fact that this was your first time drinking in months or the fact you and the ale tasted like shit, either way, you were hacking up as much as your body would let you. Connie panicked a little, you were both in no fit state and it was hard too see in the dark, but you were his first priority. He comforted you, moving any hair out of the way as you threw up. After a while, you'd appeared to have finished, or at least calmed down. The two of you slumped down against a tree. You tried to say sorry but the soreness of your throat wouldn't let you. He shushed you, pulling your head against his shoulder. He told you to rest, he explained that he'd take responsibility for the two of you being late in the morning. While you rested, he could hear you softly snoring to yourself, a sting of dribble hanging from your mouth. He thought you were so cute. And even though you were in a vulnerable position, you trusted him to take care of you and that meant the whole world to him.

Sasha; You'd gone hunting with her and finally managed to kill the boar you'd wanted to for weeks. In celebration, you flung your arms around her nuzzling your face into her neck as you squealed with joy. She felt so warm and fuzzy, she hadn't felt that way before. It was new, refreshing even; like a breath of fresh air. She held you there, close to her chest, for a few moments more before she began jumping for joy with you. On the way back to camp, you both gushed over what dish you were going to cook with all the meat you now had.

Levi; You left him a note one day when you were sent on a mission. It read: while I am gone, remember to stay healthy. Asshole. Notes were your thing, but for some reason this one made Levi's heart skip a beat, a rare smile found it way across his cheeks.He replied to the note in his head: as long as you promise to come back to me, dumbass. He wouldn't admit it aloud but he was giddy with excitement waiting for you to return.

Hange; You brought them a Titan back from one of your missions. It was one that they'd had a hard time capturing, an abnormal beyond the walls that Hange desperately wanted to study; they'd already named it Alexander. When they realised you'd risked your life to help their studies and free humanity, they knew you meant more to them than they could fathom.

Erwin; You'd been gone for nearly a month. Your convoy had been spilt up from the main unit and everything had gone horrible wrong. You were outside the walls for 3 and a half weeks before you found your way back. You and one other in your unit had survived, out of the 28 that been split. When he saw your face he nearly fainted. Your whole unit had been presumed dead, the probability of your survival was less than 0.067%. You and your other comrade were malnourished and dehydrated, they had lost an arm in the carnage. You only survived because of the sacrifices made by the other members of your unit, who'd unknowing donated their gas and gear through their deaths. No one could believe it, you both became legends, both being awarded medals for your bravery. It wasn't like Erwin to loose his composer but you seemed like an angel in that moment, as you were brought to the safety of the walls. He stared through you, like you weren't real, his legs moving on their own as he stumbled to you, slumping his arms around you, pulling you in for an embrace he swore he'd never release.

Reiner; You followed him. After he betrayed everyone and left with Bertholdt and Ymir. You followed him on your own volition. He was at a loss for words, he betrayed you, as if he'd murdered your friends and family with his own hands. Still you were soft with him, asking if he was okay, telling him you'd be fine no matter what happened, you'd stay with him. You knew he didn't want to do the things he was forced to do, and you were willing to hear him out. He just listen to you talk, slack-jawed, that someone as kind as you had come into his life to guide him down the right path. He was in awe of you and he knew he'd do whatever it takes to keep you safe in Marley.

Bertholdt; You knew his secret and confronted him about it. You told him after everything you still loved him and that if he needed saving you'd be right there to do it. They were the words he'd wanted to hear his whole life and he was so happy they'd come from you. He sought comfort in you from then on and invited you to talk with Reiner about going back with them.

Annie;

It was while she was in her crystal, you had visited her any chance you got, explaining the situation to her. You'd known she was the female titan before her reveal, and you confessed that too her crystal. You cried as you explained that you wish you could have stopped her, or at least found a way to help her. You been talking to Reiner about it all, as you figured out their secret to. He'd agreed to take you to Liberio with them, as long as you pledged allegiance to Marley. They were empty words, but you did so anyways, and conjured up a plan to rescue her.

Porco;

He'd known for a while that he liked you but being the stubborn ass he is, he denied and denied his feelings until it was you who confessed to him. He had convinced himself that relations like that were pointless, given his limited lifespan. During your confession, you mentioned that even though he didn't have long to live you were happy with any amount of time with him because your forever could be even better than nothing at all. He was at a loss for words, in disbelief that you'd be willing to go through that for him.

Pieck;

She'd liked you for years, but never really found the time to talk about it with you because she'd been deployed to Paradis. The most casual confession known to man. You were sure she hadn't realised what she'd said. She'd finished reading a book she'd recommended a millennium ago and were talking to her over how the characters had fallen for one another. She simply replied with "yeah, I think he fell for her the same way I fell for you, Y/N". You eyed her cautiously, she wasn't even looking at you, she was just sorting through her papers. A gargled string of flustered sounds made it way out of you mouth in response, unable to form a real sentence. Finally she looked up from her work, smiling at you knowing, she had no doubts that you liked her back so she felt no need to tip-toe around the subject.

Zeke;

He knew when you were walking along the docs with him. He was having a smoke, basking in the sunset, it was the calmest he'd felt in months. Looking to you, he saw that you were messing around with a piece of seaweed that had found its way to the waters surface. He saw how you absentmindedly played with it, it brought him peace that you could still find joy in the little things, despite what you had witnessed. Seeing you lit by the setting sun, finding solace in his company was enough to solidify the rising emotions in his heart.

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