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charliemwrites · 1 year ago

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Part 9 of Charmed Slasher Simon

(CW: this is all basically noncon. Like, yeah they had a “deal” but it’s not like it was agreed on in good faith ya know? Stay safe while reading, please, and let me know if this warning needs to be more descriptive)

You shake as Simon trails his fingers absently along your tummy, amused by the way it twitches, tickling and frightened in equal measures. So much he wants to do to you, but only so much you’ll be able to take for this first little triste.

Besides, though not long for this world, there’s only so much he wants that little worm to see of you.

“You ever spend so long fantasizing about something that when the moment finally comes, you’re just spoiled for options?” he muses aloud, pinching your nipples through your thin shirt. He can hear the high pitched noises trapped in the back of your throat, tsks at the denial.

“I’m usually a decisive man, you know that, sunshine. But all the things I want to do to you…”

You squirm when he pinches a bit harder, adding a little twist. He shuffles his knee between your thighs and pulls you back, making you grind against his thigh with every involuntary twitch and shudder.

“Could bruise this pretty ass for running out into the snow like that, reckless thing.” You jolt when he palms the plush fat of one cheek. “Or I could just torture your tight little hole. Leave that pretty pussy aching…”

You make a noise like a sob as his thumb rubs through the layers of your pants and underwear. You try to lean away but he’s got such a tight grip on your wrists that all it does is arch your back.

He inches his fingers over the crest of your hip again, dips back to your swollen clit and soaked cunt. Hell, you’re even wetter than before, a sticky line running down your thigh, fabric clinging to overheated skin. He groans against your throat, has to see it for himself.

You try to protest as he yanks your waistbands down to mid thigh, but he quiets you with those same two fingers stuff in your mouth, teeth scraping his knuckles. You nearly gag as he pets the back of your tongue, imagines how it’ll feel against the fat head of his cock.

In the firelight, you’re gleaming, something out of a fever dream. He leans you back farther and forces your legs wider with his own, lets the heat caress at the insides of your thighs, the creamy slick webbing between your lips.

“Fuck, maybe I should just play with this, huh?” He rasps. “Watched you do it so many times. You don’t know how to edge yourself properly, luv. Always let yourself give in too soon.”

You make a startled noise, huge, watery eyes finding his. He chuckles at the mortified question in them, teases his fingertips over your slit.

“Yeah, sunshine. I watched you fuck this pretty pussy, cryin’ ‘n pleadin’ for me,” he purrs in your ear. “Took everythin’ in me to let you have your fun, to keep from showin’ you how it’s done…”

He circles a finger over your clit, a barely-there brush that makes your pretty wet lashes flutter. Over and over, watches that flush bloom steadily over your face, down your neck. The haze glossing over your eyes.

“How about that, hm? We’ll start from the beginning and work our way through my list.”

He slips his fingers from your mouth, watches you lick unconsciously at the taste of him lingering on your lips.

“Y-you’re not gonna…?”

He tilts his head, narrows his eyes. Fills in the blanks and can’t help growling.

“Oh, you want me to hurt you, is that it?” he asks. “You want - no, you need an excuse to hate me. You’re hoping I tear you up so that you have an easy out for all these confusing feelings.”

You try to babble out a denial but the shock in your eyes is all the confirmation he needs. He tamps down his anger by dragging his teeth along your neck, working a dark mark into the skin.

You don’t know any better, he reminds himself. But you will.

“Don’t you worry, luv, there will be plenty of punishment for you,” he rumbles. “But you’re going to beg me for it.”

You open your mouth, maybe to deny it, but he pinches your sensitive little clit between two fingers and revels in the way you squeal.

He instantly soothes the ache with gentle circles, trailing kisses along your jaw. Tastes fresh salt on your skin.

“Best save your tears, precious,” he warns, smirking. “You’ll need them.”

He parts your lips with two fingers, leaving you open and exposed, groaning through his teeth at the sight of you. Wet and swollen, so needy for him. You try to buck away when he rubs a finger over your clit, firm strokes up and down.

“If you don’t stay still and take it like a good girl, I’ll tie you down and make you be a good girl.”

You duck your chin, eyes squeezed miserably shut as you try to lock down your body. It’s ridiculously endearing, how you wiggle and then catch yourself, breath hitching as you wait for him to lose patience. He hums whenever you start getting to squirmy, delights in the way you shiver and sink your teeth into your lip. Settle down only for him to change the tempo or the pattern and ruin all your self control.

He amuses himself drawing patterns all over your pulsing clit - circles and stars. Hearts that make your eyes roll back in your head. Zig zags from your weeping hole up to the very top of your slit.

It takes a while for you to truly approach your orgasm with the way he denies you a proper rhythm to build on. But he notices the moment you finally start to reach that peak, not even his reminder to hold still can keep you from twitching and rocking, helpless little jolts of your hips.

He coos. “So desperate to finish. Is it because you think I’ll be done with you once you do?”

You don’t answer, too busy trying to get more friction, more pressure. He lets you rush right up to the edge and then stops, skipping down to circle your hole. Luxuriates in the fresh flood of wetness coating your thighs. It yanks you back like a dog on a leash, your orgasm right there but just out of reach.

You don’t even seem to realize what’s happened for a second, mouth hanging open and a cute little furrow between your brow. When he chuckles, teasing up to that sensitive bundle of nerves again, it seems to click. You shoot him a dismayed look, the most precious hint of betrayal lurking in your glassy irises.

“N-no…” you nearly beg.

He smirks, nips at your puffy bottom lip. “You can say no if you like. Or even stop. We had a deal, though, didn’t we?”

“R-Riley…”

You scream when he spanks your pussy. Not nearly as hard as he craves, but it sends pretty streamers of tears down your hot cheeks. Another, two fingers directly to your clit. You nearly crumple, only his hold on your wrists keeping you upright.

“My real name, sunshine, or I’ll give you a reason to say no,” he warns.

“S-Simon,” you whimper, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

He shushes you, petting apologetically at your throbbing core.

“I know, luv, I know. But you’ll never learn if I don’t teach you right.”

The tears don’t stop as he drags you right up to the edge again, bullying through the lingering sting of getting spanked with overwhelming pleasure. When he pulls back a second time, you start up the “no’s” again, voice shattered into pathetic little pieces.

“That’s alright,” he murmurs, “say whatever you need to get you through, I won’t be mad.”

He gets you so so close once again, cock twitching against your ass as it grinds back against him. But he lightens his touch, not stopping but not letting you fall, easing the pressure up and up and up until even the slightest graze would break you.

Instead, he pulls away entirely to squeeze at the plush of your thighs and hips, cooing over the way they shake for him.

“Simon,” you sob, tucking into his chest. He slows his touches, watching you try to curl into him, chest burning with something bloodier than love. “Simon, please. It hurts.”

He hums, sliding his hand back up to your pussy, massaging your labia. Careful not to touch your needy clit.

“It hurts, hm?” he croons, unable to keep the mean pleasure from his voice. “It wasn’t supposed to. Where does it hurt?”

You hiccup, sniffle. “M-my… my…”

“Tell me, sunshine, or I can’t make it better.”

You fold a bit, bounce, almost like a tantrum. So out of control on sensation and emotion that you can’t keep it together as you form the words.

“M-my pussy. It — I need…”

He hums again, fingers trailing down to your hole. Teases his finger at your entrance and feels it spasming around nothing.

“So empty,” he breathes. “Is that it, luv? Your little cunt is aching to be filled?”

You shudder on a cry but nod, face hidden against his neck. He lets you, far too endeared by your attempts to find comfort from the man torturing you in the first place.

“Hurts,” you repeat.

“Do you hate me yet?” he mocks.

You keen softly. “Y-yes.”

A tap to your clit again. If you weren’t so strung out you’d probably even find it pleasurable but right now it makes you writhe and beg him to stop.

“Dont lie,” he warns, voice low, “where are my good girl’s manners?”

“‘M sorry,” you whine.

“One more time now - do you hate me yet?”

Your words seem to get caught up in your throat so you shake your head. Hes tempted - so, so tempted - to make you admit it aloud. But he doesn’t want to be too mean, not yet.

“Good girl,” he whispers, “that’s my girl. You want me to make you feel better now?”

You sniffle again, lean back into him a bit more. “Please.”

“There we go,” he praises, “nice and polite. I’ll take care of you, luv.”

Your body is so ready that it’s nothing for him to slide a finger into you, slick already running down his palm.

“N-no no,” you mumble.

“No what? I’m making you feel better.”

“‘S not — need more. Please, please, Simon.”

It’s hearing his real name in your small, reedy voice that finally appeals to what little mercy he has. He fits two fingers into your cunt and curves them to rub your silky walls.

“Fuck, you’re tight, sunshine,” he groans through his teeth. “You’re gonna choke my cock.”

You squeal as he starts rocking his hand, fucking you at an easy pace, getting you accustomed to the new stimulation. Starts building up your orgasm again, piece by moaning piece, finding every spot that makes your back bow with pleasure.

“Please, please, lemme cum this time Simon, I’ll be good, I promise.”

He huffs in amusement, caressing his thumb over your crossed wrists.

“Oh baby, you don’t have a choice.”

He flattens his palm against your core and pumps his fingers faster, harder. The heel of his hand grinds against your clit with each twitch of his wrist. You get tighter and tighter, voice pitching up and up, until your entire body goes taut, walls clamping down almost painfully.

He strokes you through it, brutal and relentless until you’re screaming at him to stop. That it’s too much. He releases your wrists to wrap his hand around your throat, obsessed with how delicate it feels in his palm. Just the slightest squeeze of his fingers and your eyes roll back. The second orgasm gushes from your abused cunt, all over his wrist and your thighs, dripping puddles onto the carpet.

He loosens his hold slowly, work you over through it, feeling you squeeze and pulse with aftershocks.

When he glances at your pretty, flushed, and tear-stained face, your eyes are shut. Out cold.

He chuckles and gently lays you out closer to the fire, grabs a pillow from a nearby chair to set under your head. Lingers for a moment, rubbing over your back, massaging gently at your shoulders. Your wrists are already bruising.

Then a muffled noise calls his attention.

Brandon.

“Now the second half of the deal.”

First | Previous | TBC

Masterlist

#thoughts™️#cod #my writing #fanfiction #dark fic #reader fic #charmed slasher ghost #final girl reader #non con #dub con

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superblysubpar · 2 months ago

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series masterlist | chapter two

chapter summary: Steve brings his daughter to her first day of Kindergarten.

the song: My Girl by The Temptations

6,251 words | please see the masterlist for warnings! | my blog is 18+

Steve can’t be sure if the sigh that escapes his lips and clouds up in front of him is due to the anticipation of the inevitable sticky situation that’s about to occur or annoyance in himself for continuing to provide her the jam. He supposes it could just be a sigh of acceptance, finally coming to terms with the new and almost constant state of his hair lately. Most likely though, it’s just a content, tiny burst of affection.

Because that’s the overwhelming feeling that blooms in his chest when sticky, sweet strawberry smelling fingers land in his freshly styled hair. His eyes flit up from the green sparkly laces between his fingers to see her tiny lips forming her patented pout.

Hair a bit lighter than his, curls slightly in a mind of its own kind of way beneath little pig tails, bouncing just above shoulders that are tucked up to her ears as she tilts her head to look around his. Big, curious eyes that he claims are like her mom’s, but everyone is adamant are also a carbon copy of his too - just like her nose that scrunches all too familiarly, dotted with tiny freckles that seem to multiple every day.

Steve taps the side of Charlie’s ankle as he finishes the first bow, and she sticks her other foot out for him, yellow lights at the center of daisies flashing as she stomps it down on the gravel. He glances back up to find her eyes still trained on the playground behind him, the furrow between her eyebrows only growing deeper as her fingers tug in his hair - either for his full attention like it isn’t already on her, or the aforementioned jam predicament, he isn’t sure.

“Daddy?”

He finishes the second bow, and removes her hands from his hair gently, running his thumb over the back of her knuckles and he sighs again. She is so sticky.

Steve shakes his head at his own thoughts and releases her hands to search his pockets, the other chucks the side of his knuckle under her chin.

“Talk to me, Goose.”

Her pout disappears, a giggle slips past her lips just like always, but it’s not long lasting when a shriek comes from the playground behind him. Her voice lowers as she asks in a wobbly tone, “Who will do the underdogs?”

“Well, uh, I’m sure your teacher knows how to do them, cutie,” he reassures while his forehead wrinkles and he tries to determine if she’s looking for some reason not to go suddenly or if she’s just genuinely curious. She does take her swings seriously, so it’s not an out of the ordinary question.

Steve finds a napkin, and decides it’ll have to do for now, grimacing as the paper material hits his tongue.

“But what if she can’t, daddy?” Her voice whines as he continues his stand off with the sticky residue.

That’s it. He’s suing Smuckers.

He hums, squeezing her fingers that wiggle between his and the napkin doing absolutely shit all.

“Then we’ll just have to teach her, right? Everyone’s gotta know how to do the underdogs.”

Charlie huffs, but she shrugs her shoulders in some sort of agreement it seems. He wonders how someone so tiny can be full of such complicated emotions, curious thoughts, and brains that he absolutely can’t keep up with, yet still need her shoes tied and someone on jam removal duty most mornings.

Steve stares at her tiny hand in his palm, green sparkles on clear nails that make him swallow down something stuck in his throat, make his free hand run down his nose and swipe underneath it.

Don’t you dare cry, you fucking loser.

But he can’t help but feed the worm that’s been digging deeper and deeper inside of him for months: What if she’s not ready?

And he knows, he really knows, after all the long talks and preparation for this very moment, that it’s him who’s not ready, not her.

She’s so ready, and going to wow the socks off of every teacher with her brilliant and funny little brain and she is the greatest, most precious thing in the world and nothing bad is going to happen to her, dingus.

He recites it to himself over and over, verbatim what Robin told him as he tries to move on to her second hand. But as the gold heart shaped locket dangling from her neck hits his forehead, all he can think is, that starting today, the room full of people he trusts with her safety is expanding. And the problem with opening that door to the room is not Charlie exploring beyond the safe wall’s he’s built, it’s who can get in when he’s not there 24/7 to guard that door.

Visions of flashing Christmas lights, baseball bats meeting gray flesh, Russian guard’s hands and their beady eyes, potentially rabid bats and, you know, just the earth cracking in half and the world almost ending multiple times, while losing people he really cares about, threaten to overtake his mind and he huffs in then out, a quick and calming breath.

Steve wets the napkin with his tongue once more, but pieces of it stick to it this time and he sputters and blows a raspberry, and Charlie’s giggles soothe any worry that was climbing over him like writhing vines.

He let’s go of her hands and makes a bigger show of removing the wet clumps of cardboard tasting napkin from his tongue and coughs loudly. She laughs harder and his eyes widen and his mouth drops in a dramatic gasp.

“Are you laughing at your dad?” He jabs at her sides lightly, tickling and poking her while the napkin falls to the ground and she giggles harder. “Huh? That’s not very nice!”

Steve picks up Charlie, squeezing at her wiggling and gasping body as she laughs so loud he can’t even remember what he was so worried about. He blows a raspberry into her neck so she shrieks in a laughing protest, “Daddy! Too much…” she laughs and wiggles more, gasping around her words, “Too much happy!”

He’ll take the sticky fingers and messed up hair and cardboard taste in his mouth and worrying about another human more than he ever could about himself every day if it means he gets to hear that every once in awhile.

“Mr. Harrington?”

Steve spins at the sound of his name, slowing his tickling. As his body turns and he’s met with your smile, he nearly drops his kid.

You are so pretty.

His mouth goes dry, like the entire napkin is balled up inside of it. He’s sure his cheeks are turning pink from how warm he feels while staring at you. Your fingers wrapped around a bright yellow thermos tap at it while a clipboard rests wedged between your side and elbow. Your light gray tshirt is decorated with sparkly planets and the slogan “Kindergarten is out of this world!” and is tucked into a bright green skirt that he can sense Charlie eyeing appreciatively, though apprehensively from her new residence tucked into his neck.

He runs a palm down Charlie’s spine, reassuring her as you tilt your head and smile wider at her, your nose scrunching up when you do. It takes your kind eyes turning their gaze to him again for him to realize you’ve never met and you were asking if he was Mr. Harrington.

“H-hi. Yeah, I mean yes. I’m Mr. Harrington. I mean, I don’t, kids at school call me that, and I guess parents, but I mean that is my name. I’m Steve, Steve Harrington.”

He squeezes his eyes closed shut as if to erase that moment from existence forever. He can practically see Robin drawing a line on a whiteboard in the ‘You Suck’ column.

Your laugh drags his eyelids open, and it tugs at something inside of his chest that he thought disappeared a long time ago. Your hand extends and he bites his cheek, cursing all jelly and jam brands. He raises his hands up almost in surrender and Charlie clings to his neck harder, her face hidden in his shoulder as the back of her thighs balance in the crook of his elbow.

“I’m afraid we had a bit of a sticky jam situation this morning, so I don’t know if you want to proceed with a handshake.”

Proceed? With a handshake? Dude, you’re killing me here.

Your shoulders shrug, your voice all soft and smooth and a little sleepy as you joke, “They literally make us Kindergarten teachers take a class where they simply throw sticky substances at us, and if you flinch or grimace, you’ll never graduate. It’s all a part of the job.” Your hand clasps around his gently, but in a firm shake, as you introduce yourself, “I’m Miss Honey.”

He can’t help but notice the Miss not a Mrs.

Charlie perks up at your name, her forehead knocks his chin and he blinks rapidly from the sensation and her shout directly in his ear, “You’re my teacher!”

“I am?” You gasp, excited and smiling at her when you do and he thinks he might already be in love with you.

Charlie nods and then exclaims, “Daddy calls me honey!”

Steve fights a smile and his arm wrapped around her waist squeezes as he whispers, “How do we introduce ourselves?”

Charlie beams at him and slides down his front, foot pushing off of his thigh for leverage. She jumps to the ground forcefully, and almost trips and falls face first into the cement.

Steve’s already moving forward in anticipation of big crocodile tears, but stops himself when he sees you don’t move a muscle and simply watch her find her balance. He watches as you bite your lip in a way that tells him you’re hiding a smile as Charlie sticks her hand out towards you.

When you take it, she shakes it and takes a deep breath before slowly reciting, “My name is Charlotte Maxine Harrington. I live at six eight two Poppy Lane and my daddy’s phone number is seven six five four two…five-“

“Woah cutie,” he stops her, hands resting on her shoulders, and kisses the top of her head. “We don’t have to give her the whole speech, how about just the name?”

Crouched down to Charlie’s level now, you tilt your head at her, eyes widening as the tone of your voice turns to something syrupy sweet that he recognizes in the way he talks to her himself sometimes as you ask, “You memorized all of that Charlotte? That’s amazing! And there’s more? A whole speech?!”

She nods, eyes big and wide and voice excited as she hums, “Mhm. For policemans like Mr. Jim and firesmens like Uncle Eddie and teachers like Auntie Robin. Cause every-eveybody calls me Charlie, but if I’m scared and I need help they need my whole name and daddy’s phone number and if any food makes me itchy.”

Steve knows without a shadow of a doubt that not only are his cheeks pink, the tips of his ears are now too when you look up at him with raised eyebrows and something twinkling in your gaze. He clears his throat and focuses on his hand running through Charlie’s curls instead of you.

“Daddy’s gotta make sure his right hand gal’s got all the facts, right?” He kisses the top of her head again, inhaling her L’Oreal mangoes and strawberry and something distinctly his daughter that he is certain would be what the sun smells like if it could be bottled.

She tilts her head back, resting against his dark Levi’s so she can see him. Her grin is wide, showing off dimples she didn’t get from him as she nods again. “Right. Always be pepared.”

Steve brushes his thumb down her nose, and something stings behind his eyes again. He looks back over at you, slowly standing from your crouch with a fond gaze staring back at him. He swallows before his lips part, prepared to tell you that it’s all wrong. He’s not Steve Harrington, this is not Charlie Harrington, and no way is anyone starting Kindergarten today, but Charlie’s shriek never lets the words leave his mouth.

It’s like a bucket of ice cold water dumps over his head as he spins to watch Charlie race towards the parking lot, about to yell far too loud from fear, when she comes to halt right at the curb. Impatiently bouncing as her favorite person waves and runs towards her.

The familiar honey tinged red waves bounce as Robin scoops Charlie up in a hug that can only be comfortable for the two of them, all squeezing and no grace, kissing all over her face as she gushes and fawns over her like she literally didn’t see her last night.

“Hey babe! You look splendidly spectacular this morning! Did you do something different with your hair?”

“No!” Charlie giggles and spins once back on the ground, as if to show off her outfit. Which is pretty cute, if he does say so himself. Robin taps a finger to her chin. She holds up curls and circles Charlie, inspecting.

“Not the hair, not the hair…aha! Your nails! Green nail polish!”

Charlie shakes her head and puts her hands on her hips, and Steve relaxes as she tells her that Auntie Robin you painted them last night and how could she forget already, no it’s not that.

You’re watching him closely when he turns to look back at you, rubbing the back of his neck under your appraisal. Your smile all knowing as you reassure, “She’s gonna be fine, Mr. Harrington. Stopping to look both ways and being aware of cars is first week stuff, she’s a natural. And that speech? Time for you to relax.”

He knows he was never one for hiding how he felt from his facial features, but after having a kid and becoming a teacher, he’s had to learn to keep himself fairly composed. So he’s not sure if you can already read him that well or this is just the speech you give to all the parents. Nonetheless, he smiles back at you.

“I’ve never heard of that word before, what does it mean? Relax?”

Your laughter at his terrible joke makes something in his chest swell, almost as sweet of a sound as Charlie’s. He glances over to see Robin smacking her forehead and exclaiming that oh of course it’s the fabulous new green overalls.

“Also, call me Steve, please,” you smile politely and he knows you won’t, because he does the same thing to parents who tell him the same thing, “And I think it’s in that packet we had to fill out, but I’m a teacher over at the middle school, um, art, and so I’m only like ten minutes away if something happens, and she should be really good, she’s a great listener, but I know how she can be so please tell me. Seriously. And I know she didn’t do pre-school, but she’s so smart, she’s just struggling with her R’s and H’s sometimes, but I honestly think it’s because she talks so fast she just doesn’t care to slow down-“

Your fingers touch his wrist, catching it as he talks with his hands and he stops immediately, blinking at you with a held breath.

It’s like touching his skin shocks you and your fingers release from around his wrist quickly before you take a step back, shaking your head while biting your lip.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“No, it’s oka-“

“Dingus!” Wing woman extraordinare interrupts, “Why on earth did cutiepie here just tell me she did not get a picture in this fabulous first day of school outfit?”

He focus’ on the pair walking towards him hand in hand with a scowl he quickly hides, rolling his eyes at Robin when Charlie quips, “Yeah, dad!”

Steve rubs the side of his cheek, glaring at Robin as you make yourself busy with your clipboard. “Because, we were gonna be late after we were so focused on finding the green overalls, and the green hair ties, and the green shoelaces and the green-“

“Because green is the best,” Charlie interrupts while putting her hands on her hips as if it weren’t clear how exasperated she was with him from her tone.

Robin snorts from behind her and mirrors her pose before sticking her tongue out at him. “Yeah, dad!”

Your laughter reminds Charlie of your presence and she tugs Robin’s matching polished fingers with her own forward.

“Miss Honey, this is Auntie Robin. She lives at…um…oh yeah…four one three-“

“Woah kiddo!” Robin whispers and crouches down, looking around dramatically like a spy. “Does Miss Honey know the super secret password? ‘Cause, remember, only the friends who know the super secret password get to know where Aunt Robin lives.”

Charlie gasps like she’s just recalled this important fact and nods, face seriouos. Robin mimes zipping her lips, locking, then throws the invisible key over her shoulder. Charlie copies her, then promptly steps towards you and loudly whispers: “Pickles.”

Steve bites his cheek and Robin laughs, running a hand over her curls. “We’ll keep practicing the whole locking of lips thing, huh?”

“Kay,” Charlie shrugs before she tugs on Steve’s pant leg. “Daddy?”

“Yeah?” He watches her grip the side of jeans in her little fist and stare at the swings with that pout on her lips again.

“Can I swing?”

A lump in his throat forms when he looks up at you, you glance at your watch and nod with a smile.

“Sure, cutie.” He starts to take off her back pack straps and she’s already racing across the gravel and he calls out loudly, “Don’t forget to be nice to new friends! Take turns! Say please!”

“Tank you!” She shouts back over her shoulder.

Steve groans at it all, her racing away, her forgotten H. He watches her slow down as she reaches the swings and point to an empty one next to a boy already pumping his legs. He nods eagerly and Charlie talks animatedly with her hands as she climbs into the swing.

He lets all of his weight drop against Robin, Charlie’s backpack limp in his fingers when his temple knocks hers and he whispers, “I can’t fucking do this.”

Robin sniffles and his head whips up.

“Are you crying?”

She swats at his chest and avoids his gaze, “No. I have something in my eye. Both eyes. Like a branch or something. Just…” she holds out her hand and blinks blue eyes that have turned a little more shiny, “Give me your keys so I can go get the polaroid, ‘cause I know you brought it, you sentimental idiot.”

He drops the car keys into her palm and she quickly turns away from him before he can catch the tears slipping down her cheeks. When he turns back around you’re hiding a smile behind your thermos again.

Steve clears his throat and runs his thumb and forefinger down his nose, squinting at the playground.

“It’s okay to cry you know, most parents do.”

“I’m not,” he clarifies, words thick in his throat and a struggle to get out.

“Okay, I believe you,” yours easy and tinged with laughter.

“I’m not,” he begs, pleading with someone in the universe so the burn behind his eyes doesn’t fully form and fall.

You must hear it, and decide to give him an out, because you pull up your clipboard. “I actually did need to ask you a few questions, you were my last parent to snag before we all go inside. We never got your authorized pick up list? Just if you can’t ever pick up Charlie, who we’re allowed to send her home with? We tend to also use this as an emergency contact list if there was ever some reason we couldn’t get a hold of you.”

The word emergency makes his heart beat harder and he looks over at Charlie swinging to make sure he can still see her.

“Oh,” he nods, licking his lips as he thinks through it. “How many people can I put?”

“As many as you want,” you shrug before adjusting your coffee thermos in the crook of your elbow so you can write on the clipboard.

“Here,” he grabs the thermos, “Let me. I feel like if I let you spill coffee on that skirt, Charlie might actually never forgive me, as you heard, we’re in a green phase.”

He’s awarded that laugh of yours again before you whisper a quiet thank you. Your lashes kiss as you blink at him, pen poised on the paper. It’s when your eyebrows lift expectantly that he realizes you’re waiting for him to say something still.

“Oh! Um…honestly…” he looks at Charlie who’s smiling at Robin holding up the camera now and nods towards her. “Robin Buckley,” he lists her phone number before adding on, “She’s a teacher here, music, um, honestly she might be picking her up most days. I coach soccer here in the fall after school, so I should make it, but in the spring I’m over at the high school for baseball.”

“Okay great,” you smile as you finish writing her number and look up at him, “Anyone else?”

“I guess Eddie Munson?”

“The ‘firesmens’?” You ask as you write the name.

Steve laughs, fiddling with Charlie’s backpack in his hands, “Yeah, and I guess I should do Nancy too…”

He gives you both of their numbers along with Hopper and Joyce and he doesn’t even want to imagine what would be going on that you couldn’t get a hold of him, Robin, Eddie, or Nancy and had to resort to calling them. And what’s worse, if you couldn’t get a hold of them either.

“We almost never have to call even the second person on the list Mr. Harrington, she’s gonna be just fine.”

“Right,” he nods, but doesn’t really believe you.

“For relationship, Robin is Charlie’s Aunt is what I gathered?”

“Oh,” he laughs and rubs at his temple, “Um by blood? No. She’s just my best friend, but I mean, I guess, to Charlie, yeah. Closest person to having a real one I think.”

“Oh, okay, gotcha” you nod, glancing down at the list and writing.

Steve feels the need to clarify when you hover over Eddie and Nancy, and he isn’t sure why. “They’re married, shouldn’t have said that. And again, family friends I guess, but Charlie calls them Aunt and Uncle. And Jim and Joyce, do you know Hopper? The chief? Anyways, they’re just Mr. Jim and Mrs. Joyce, but they’re essentially her grandparents I guess? I don’t really know…”

Your face does that thing that he hates, the look like you wanna tell him you’re sorry, or you want to comfort him but don’t know how. And it’s not like he doesn’t appreciate where it comes from, he just hates anyone thinking he can’t handle it, can’t handle her, all by himself, or feeling sorry for him in any way. Because there’s nothing to be sorry for, not when he has her.

Your mouth parts, but before you can speak, thunder rumbles loudly overhead.

“Oh, shit,” Steve groans, looking up at the angry clouds. The clear morning sky slowly turning gray without him noticing and he looks over to see Charlie already running for Robin’s legs.

“Not a fan of thunderstorms?” You ask as you watch her and several other kiddos get scooped up by parents.

Steve shakes his head, lips turning down in a frown as Robin whispers in her ear and starts back towards him. “No, she really doesn’t. No matter what I say or do, nothing helps. I honestly don’t know where it came from, I don’t think it’s the loud noises of the thunder, we’ve never lost power…I feel so helpless. Or useless. Like I can’t fix it for her. ”

The smile you offer attempts to reassure, but Charlie’s eyes fill with tears and Robin rubs a hand down her back, looking over her head at Steve with worried eyes.

“Sorry, I gotta…” he apologizes but he’s already moving towards her and he hopes you understand.

Charlie’s sniffles grow louder as another rumble cracks overhead, burrowing her head into Robin’s sternum and kicking her shoes against her thighs so hard, the little daisies light up.

Robin grimaces at the rough kick, and Steve gives her a mouthed apology as he relieves her of her comforting duties. “Hey, calm down honey. I’m right here. It’s just the rain being a little loud, announcing it’s coming soon, remember?”

He watches you and Robin and some of the other teachers start to gently guide parents and kids inside, smiling and distracting from the incoming rain, and he starts to follow but Charlie wails in his ear as he gets further away from the car.

“Dad-dy, nooo,” she sobs, shaking her head, “I don’t wanna go.”

His eyes blur as he sets her down in the entryway, kids running past as parents give him kind smiles when they walk around them.

“What?!” He tries to sound excited, but he’s wavering, throat too tight and eyes burning, “Why don’t you wanna go now? You get to color, and meet new friends! You get to go play music with Robin!”

“But,” she hiccups around a big sob and his thumb catches a new fat tear trying to trail down her pink cheeks. “You-you leaving and and I don’t like the storm and-“

“I don’t have to leave yet! We get to go put your backpack away, and see your new classroom together. Can we do that? I was so excited to see where you get to sit and draw me pictures every day.”

He’s grasping at straws as she shakes her head no and tries to climb into his lap. And he doesn’t even care if he shouldn’t, he lets her. And he squeezes her and kisses the top of her head as he cradles her, walking deeper inside.

Steve whispers in her ear about how Miss Honey must be magic cause guess what? Char, your cubbie is green. How’d she know? And oh my gosh, no way, someone has a sleeping beauty lunchbox. All the while humming her favorite lullaby between the exciting things he hopes grab her attention. And soon she’s not crying anymore, wet lashes tickling his neck as she peeks at the things he’s pointing out. Soon she’s climbing off of his lap as he forces his voice to sound happy about her hanging up her power rangers backpack she just had to have, and holding his hand as she walks to the doorway of the classroom.

All the parents are gone, aside from a few taking last peeks at their kids drawing or playing and Charlie clings to his knee as he hesitates in the doorway himself.

You’re knelt on the ground pointing at some books with two kids when you spot them. He’s not sure what you say to them, but then you’re walking over to them and not even looking at Steve as you crouch in front of Charlie hiding behind his leg, your sole focus on her and making her feel better.

“Thank goodness you’re here, Charlie!” You tell her, thoroughly relieved, “I have the biggest hugest favor to ask you, will you help me?”

Charlie looks at you, and takes a step forward as she quietly asks, “Help?”

Your nod is so enthusiastic, and you reach out your hand for hers, waiting until she rests her fingers in yours to lace them together. “I heard you are your dad’s best helper, and I need help finding all of the green crayons, can you do that with me? There’s so many in this bin! We need them for a special project we’re going to do later.”

She’s about to nod, he knows she is, when lighting flashes outside, and despite the blinds being closed, she knows. Charlie flinches and starts to retreat but you sigh, and nod your head, smiling still. “I know, rain can be scary sometimes. Do you know what I like to do when it rains?”

Charlie shakes her head no, and you smile encouragingly at her as she gets closer and places both of her hands on your arm instead of holding your hand, squeezing close to your side. “I love to bake cookies. They make my house smell so good. What’s your favorite kind of cookie?”

“Um…” Charlie swipes at her cheek and looks around the room at kids playing and laughing. “Monstermashes.”

“Monstermashes? What are those? I’ve never heard of them, can you tell me what all goes in them while we find all the green crayons?”

She let’s you lead her to the table with the bin where two other kids coloring smile at her and say hi. She sits and you squeeze her shoulder as she tells you all about the cookies. It’s when you risk a glance at the door that Steve realizes he’s just standing there, crying.

Your smile is kind, but your head tilts ever so subtly, telling him to slip out while he can and he knows he should, but the fact that he doesn’t get to hug her goodbye or say have a great first day or I love you is ripping him apart and he squeezes his eyes closed.

He’s not sure how he makes it out to his car with how clouded his vision is, but he does. Thankfully he doesn’t have a sob leave his lips until the maroon door is slammed and his forehead presses to the leather wheel. He notices a little stack of polaroids under an orange post it that says “You sentimental idiot” on the passenger seat. He cries more when he sees the curled fingers around his. He cups his cheeks and slaps them, clearing his throat while muttering under his breath to get a grip.

And he does, eventually.

He goes to teacher workshop and sets up his own classroom and lesson plans and catches up with his co-workers. The thunder only lasts about a half hour, and then it’s just a normal rainy day, which he hopes you’ve managed alright with her. He only calls Robin once but that’s only because she yells at him that of course she’s fine, you think she’d let anything happen to that sweet angel? And he only grabs his keys to go early three times, but never makes it fully out to the car. He does have to take something from his little orange bottle when his breath isn’t quite right when lights flicker for no reason, but turns out it was just the custodian doing some checks. And then finally, it’s already time to go pick her up, and he’s not proud of this, but he speeds at least ten over the whole way there.

So maybe he’s a little early.

He’s slow to approach the classroom, and leans against the wall on the other side of the doorway, just out of sight. He hears your voice singing some sort of clean up song and the kids responding, he closes his eyes and tries to focus on if he can hear her. When the song is over, he opens his eyes to find you smiling at him from the doorway. Your shirt is stained, your hair messier than it was this morning. You’re clearly exhausted but absolutely overjoyed that this is your job as you call for anyone who’s favorite color is green to come grab their back pack. Charlie races towards the door with a few other kids and waves excitedly at him from her place in line.

When you tell them to grab their backpacks, she exits the room and leaps into his arms when he crouches down, expecting the hug. He squeezes her tightly, “Hey cutie, did you have a good day? I missed you so much!”

“So so so so good daddy, we played with cars and colored planets and Auntie Robin taught us a new song and and oh my gosh there’s too much happy to tell you.”

He gets a little choked up at that, a sob threatens to hiccup out of him that he tries to cover up with a laugh, kissing her cheek. “That’s so great! Go get your backpack, I think Miss Honey is waiting.”

“Oh!” She jumps out of his arms and skips to her cubbie, and brings it to you where you slip some papers into a folder, notably sparkly and green, into her backpack after you do the same with three other kids and three different colored folders. The others go sit down on a rug and you smile at him.

“Hi Mr. Harrington, Charlie had such a great first day! She was my awesome helper and she has some art projects to show you that I think you’re really gonna like. There’s also a note about what we did today for you in there, that also has some dates to keep in mind and it’ll always have announcements for things like snack rotations.”

Charlie tugs at his pant leg as Steve smiles at you, “Hold on, sweetie.” He runs a hand over her curls before turning back to you and lowering his voice, “Thank you. For this morning, but also, you know, the whole day.”

“It’s literally my job,” you joke, but you smile warmly at him, “But, you’re welcome. You just need to sign Charlie out and then you’re all set!”

You grab a binder from it’s place by the door and flip to the H’s, and hold it open for him. Typed up information about Charlie on top, and the dates of the month in a calendar for signatures, and at the bottom, the list of names. He gets a little emotional seeing: ‘Robin Buckley - Aunt’ and all the other relationships you’ve given instead of family friend.

Charlie tugs harder, this time on his belt loop and he laughs, picking her up. “Hey, I said hold on, what’s got ants in your pants, huh?”

She taps at his cheek, big eyes blinking at him as she whines, “Daddy, this is so impotant, I promise. No ants.”

“Okay,” he laughs, signing his name in the today’s box, “What’s up?”

“What are the crunchies?”

She asks it so seriously and he has no idea what she’s talking about, he looks to you for help.

You’re thanking the kids for the calm and listening bodies before you’re calling up kids who’s favorite animal is a penguin, so he looks at Charlie who’s waiting expectantly. “What are what?”

“The crunchies daddy. What are they? Miss Honey doesn’t know them.”

“Cutie, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What are crunchies?” He bends down with her to grab her backpack that’s still on the floor and he hears you laugh.

“Daddy the monstermashes,” Charlie whines, like he should know this.

“Oh,” he draws it out, “The M&M’s? The chocolate candy I put in?”

“No,” Charlie whines, and she turns to you with a pout. “Daddy doesn’t know too. It’s no use! Hopeless!”

He doesn’t know how or where she learns these phrases so quickly and how she uses them so correctly but he does know that he’s not alone in thinking it’s the cutest thing ever when you smile at her.

“Hold on, I bet we can figure it out together!” You tick off on your fingers as kids who love potato chips go to their cubbies and get their equally different folders and a second parent enters the hallway. He starts to wonder how many folders you bought to be prepared for all their different interests. Colors, animals, shapes, characters, sparkles and no sparkles. He wonders what else you did today.

“Let’s see, we have peanut butter…” Charlie nods and you gasp, “Is it crunchy peanut butter? Peanuts?”

She makes a face, much to his dismay they’re a creamy peanut butter household, so Steve shakes his head no and you tap your chin. “Okay, and it’s not the m&m’s or…” you smile at Steve, emphasizing the R’s in a way that tells him the very important letters were left out of the word, “Butterscotch.”

Charlie nods and the two of you are silent so he chimes in with, “Rice Krispies? The cereal?”

You smile and Charlie nods, “That’s it! Krispies!”

Crunchies, krispies, he has to give it to her, that’s pretty close. And from the way you react, he knows you knew all day, you just wanted to keep her distracted.

“I’m so glad we figured it out! I had such a great time learning with you today, Charlie, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Charlie nods and waves, shouting in his ear, “Bye Miss Honey!”

You wave back, smiling at the two as the next parent takes his place and you call up a boy named Matt.

Steve heads down the hallway, looping her backpack over his shoulder as he whispers, “Should we make Miss Honey some Monstermash cookies tonight? You can bring them tomorrow?”

Charlie shouts yes directly in his ear again and his hair gets trapped under her hand in her excitement and all he can do is sigh.

A content, tiny burst of affection, for sure.

#superbly subpar's writing #My Girl universe #steve harrington #singledad!steve harrington #teacher!steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington series #steve harrington fic

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ddejavvu · 1 year ago

Text

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: spencer really likes your perfume

requested: any of our core 3 bau men (aaron, spence, or derek) reacting to gf!reader wearing that pheromone perfume stuff. you can make it smutty if you’d like since from what i’ve seen, guys tend to have ✨that✨ kind of reaction to it.

this post is 18+, minors dni.

Spencer's not very good at telling what he wants. Sometimes you can tell; his eyes drop low to your cleavage and he adjusts the way he's sitting. But more often than not he controls his behavior so that you can't profile it out of him, and you wish he'd feel a little more comfortable telling you that he wants to get his dick wet.

Today you're forcing his hand. He never gives himself what he really wants, and you just need to give him a little guiding push into admitting that he's turned on at 9:30 on a Tuesday morning. Then, once he sees it's not something to be ashamed of, you two will get it on day and night. A foolproof plan with an excellent reward.

Two spritzes of the perfume do it, and you head off to the living room where he's occupied with coffee and a novel.

"Spencer," You call, worming your way onto his lap like you're just trying to snuggle up beneath the blanket, "Do you have any plans for today?"

If he's surprised by your forwardness, he doesn't show it. He smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead, "No. I was just thinking-" He takes a pause, just barely too long to be natural, "Uh- I wanted to just finish this book."

"That'll take five minutes," You scoff, pressing your face into his neck so that your scent surely envelops him. You dot chaste, sticky kisses there, and you feel a slight movement from Spencer's lap.

"Yeah. Not that long," Is all he can muster in a feeble voice, "Uh- are you- do you want to stay here?"

"On the couch?" You verify, and when he nods, so do you. "Yeah. Thought we could cuddle. That alright with you, Spence?"

"Alright," He echoes warily, and you feel more movement, this time the presence of something half-hard, "But I- um, if you want, you can move like- there."

He shifts your thighs over with a quick hand, so that you can't feel his bulge anymore. You feign offence, dragging your face out of his neck to look at him, "What, you don't want me close to you?"

"No," He shakes his head, hair flying with it, "That's not- I didn't mean it like that, I just-"

"Spencer," You hum, lowering your voice to the edge of sultry, "You're a grown man. You can't say it? Be honest with me. I feel you, Spencer."

A whimper comes out of his throat that's so quiet you're surprised you actually hear it. He parts his pretty pink lips, exhaling shakily as your irresistible scent consumes him, "I just- it's kind of early, and I didn't want to inconvenience you or anything. I can wait, or something, or- y'know, you might be tired, or-"

"I'm not tired, and you're not an inconvenience," You promise, reaching over with a slow hand to palm over his bulge. He whimpers again, louder this time, and you bump your nose against his jawline to kiss it.

"You want this? Now?" You confirm, and he nods, once more messing up his hair.

"Next time just ask," You chide him, eagerly straddling his hips while he leans his cheek against your own, desperately dragging in more lungfuls of your intoxicating scent, "You can have me any time, pretty boy."

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barleyo · 5 months ago

Note

BARELYYYYY write another daddy Leon fic, AND MY LIFE WILL BE YOURSSS

867-5309.

Real Dad! Leon Kennedy X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: this fic is shitty and short, sorry ^_^ i literally have no drive or desire to write anymore, idk what's going on with me. probably some type of brain worm! but i thought i should at least try to get something written :3 (ily whoever knows what song the title is referencing)

Tags: incest (daddy-daughter), phone sex, age gap (21 and 50-ish), mutual masturbation, no actual sex, idk dude i'm not sure what i was going for with this

Wordcount: 719

!!! DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT/DARK CONTENT !!!

"Little note wasn't lying," Leon said into his phone, sitting in his car near the back of the bar's mostly empty parking lot. "What's this about a good time, doll?"

It was too late for him to be out like this. Too late for him to be this far from sober. Too late for him to be calling some random number that was stuck to the urinal partition. And, of course, it was much too late for him to be this horny.

"Depends," a voice, your voice, spoke on the line. "What kinda night is it, mister?"

Thank god he was drunk, or else he would've heard right through your overly sensual, fake tone. Thank god you were stupid, or else you would've known it was him right from the sleazy nicknames he used.

"Tonight?"

Dirty fucking man. His hands were practically already in his pants. Roughly palming at himself over his tented jeans to the sound of some mystery broad's voice.

"It's a real good night, babydoll. I think you could make it better though." He pulled his zipper down, cock pulsating desperately.

You giggled on the other line, absolutely drowning in the sudden flush of attention. That's why you slipped the damn sticky note with your burner's number into the men's room all those nights ago, hoping some horned up man old enough to be your dad would ring your line and validate you. Little did you know, that man would truly be your dad.

"Sounds like you could use it. I don't mind 'chatting' for a bit," you said, hand finding its way all over your body. "Tell me, y'touching yourself already?"

"To a voice like yours? Of course I am."

Leon freed himself from the confines of his pants, eyes shifting anxiously as he looked around the sparse parking lot. He was a grown man, he'd jerked off to hotlines and voices on the phone all the time. In public, though? New territory completely.

He squeezed his shaft, feeling it pulse in his hand. Thing had a heartbeat of its own at that point as it practically begging to catch some friction and relief.

"Glad you called," you said, sliding your panties off while you spoke. You tossed them in the corner of your room mindlessly. "I've been waiting for someone to find that little note."

Leon opened his mouth to respond when he heard a soft moan escape your mouth. That was enough for him to start. He wanted to take it slow, to enjoy himself, but who was he kidding? He was a needy fucker and he wanted to cum ASAP.

"What'cha doing right now?" he was finally able to ask, swallowing thickly as he pumped his length. "Using those cute fingers, doll?"

You hummed through an over exaggerated moan, dramatizing and putting on a show for your 'mystery man.'

"Sure am," you said, finger curled, reaching your g-spot the best you could with the limited length it had. "But it's not as good as the real thing."

He could practically hear the pout in your voice, and it drove him crazy. You sounded like a bratty little baby, just his type.

"Awh, aren't you a poor thing? Bet some older cock would do you good, huh?"

He heard the squelch of your cunt through the phone speaker. It picked up the sound of your palm hitting your clit, and the little gasps of air you let out each time you slammed your fingers in.

"Guess so." You bit your bottom lip, holding back an excited squeal at his words. "You offering?"

Leon chuckled dryly, watching the tip of his cock weep with pre as he stroked himself. "Oh, someone's eager. Sure," he said, amused smirk on his face as he started to near his climax, hand still working furiously over his cock. "I'm offering. I could use a cute thing like you, anyway. It'll be much better than just hearing ya through the phone."

"We'll see about that," you teased, phone clicking off of the line just as he started to cum.

(XXX)-867-5309: *sent location*

(XXX)-867-5309: pull up ;)

Wait, that address? That was his house...

"Fuck."

Leon's head fell back on the car seat headrest, brain going a mile a minute. Hand still covered in stray spurts of cum.

"Fuck!"

#dead dove fic #tw: incest #cw incest #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy smut #dad x daughter #resident evil x reader #resident evil #smutfic #smut #x reader #fanfic #leon s kennedy x reader #gross kink #fucked up fic

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brightest-stars-if · 3 months ago

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MC was stabbed and Lux has to take out the knife to stitch the wound back up... but it's going to hurt a lot. How would Lux react if MC was scared and begging them to not take the knife out and leave them?

This was a fun one, anon! Answer beneath the cut. TW for slight violence?

You're bleeding, and Lux's world is spinning. They watch as you writhe in pain on the bed, your face gaunt and your lips chapped. Blood pools from your stab wound, thick and sticky and crimson. The knife that was stuck in you remains embedded in your side. It gleams in the torchlight, as if taunting the both of you.

Lux sits at your bedside, holding your hand. They press a kiss to the back of your knuckles, ignoring the blood on their own hands. It's not theirs, but that of the worm who decided it would be a good idea to stab you. His battered head sits on a spike atop the palace gates now. Lux cleaved it from his shoulders, but not before bashing his face in.

They push aside the fury that overtakes them, instead offering you a soothing smile. The royal physician stands a ways away, preparing a needle and thread.

"Lux," you cry, pressing your face into the crook of their neck, "it hurts. It hurts so much."

Lux's heart breaks at the pain in your voice. They squeeze your hand tighter as if that could take your pain away. As if that would make you better. "I know, love," they say, "you're so strong for putting up with it."

You shake your head weakly, your eyes glazed with pain. "Don't let him take the knife out," you plead, looking to the physician. "It'll hurt even worse, I don't want that, please--"

(If High!Corrptuon Lux: Darkly, Lux thinks that if the man who stabbed you wasn't already dead, they would have tortured him some more.)

"We need to remove the blade to treat the room, love," they tell you gently, "it's for the better, I promise."

Judging by the panicked look on your face, you aren't convinced. "Don't let him hurt me," you beg.

Their lips draw into a thin, tight line. They rise from the bed, murmuring soothing words when you grow alarmed, and approach the physician.

"Give me the needle and thread," they say, "I'll do this myself."

The man startles, his eyes narrowing. "With all due respect, Your Highness," he hedges, "I'm not sure that's wise--"

The look Lux sends them could cut through stone. "Are you deaf?" they snap. "I said I'd do it. You'll stand there, in case anything should go awry."

They extend an open palm. With great reluctance, the physician acquiesces. Prize in hand, they return to you, twirling the needle between their fingers.

"He's not going to hurt you," Lux assures you, settling back to your side. Their hand floats to grasp the hilt of the knife. "But this will cause you pain nevertheless. Can you be strong for me, love?"

Your eyes meet. They try to channel all of the love they hold for you, all of the adoration, into their gaze. After a moment's hesitation, you nod.

Lux smiles grimly, and gently, and presses a light kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then, in tandem with their lips meeting your skin, they draw the knife from your flesh.

When you scream, it takes everything they have not to scream along with you.

#the brightest stars #lux #reaction #ask #anon #tw blood

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transformers-spike · 16 days ago

Note

Yeah separately because that is. A whole can of continuity-hopping-worms that I’m not ready to open. I just want to bang the old men!!!!!!

As the pole dictates, I'm going for Alpha Trion in his alt mode. Consider this a prequel to Solitude. Will I ever do the TFA Ultra Magnus soft femdom? Probably someday, I already started writing it.

“Okay?” he asks, muzzle pressed against your cheek. There’s a slight mechanical warble to his words, but the English is nigh impeccable. It’s been a few months and he’s already grasped more than you did studying German for three years. His pronunciation has rapidly evolved, going from techno dial up noises to something almost human if not for the digitized waver in his voice. For someone so huge, let alone made of metal, he’s awfully gentle with your squishy human body. You kiss his snout, sending a wave of crackling energy to his horn and tail. “Yeah, I’m good, no need to fuss over me,” you say with a smile on your face.

You climb the last steps of the human-sized stairs up to his bed. The fabric is notably similar to a non-sticky gym mat, uncomfortable to sleep on, sure, but manageable when your goal is to get your rocks off. There’s no time for a strip-tease when he’s been insistently brushing his muzzle against your sex for half an hour, purring poorly translated but no less sweet praises. Naked on all fours, feeling all kinds of vulnerable in this new position, you brace yourself on your arms, arching your back to show your ass in what you hope to be an attractive display of your goods. Your heart is pounding in your chest like you're teenager waiting for "dessert" after a date , and no matter how many times you do this, he makes you feel like an utter virgin. He props himself over you, half standing on the bed, half on the ground; his hands (or paws if you want to get technical) pressing into the soft mesh of the mattress. Yes, he could fall down and crush you. But you trust him not to, because if none of the Primes have, there's no way in hell the chillest member is going to put an end to your life when he has the focus and self-control to create near-perfect sand replicas of your ships.

“Ready?” he asks to be sure, to which you reply with a quick “Yep!” and push against his panel. The feeling of his snug cock brushing over your sex and stomach sends a fire to your loins. The pace is slow and passionate, member languidly (and carefully) stroking sensitive nerves that make you shudder with delight. The blue fluid coating your thighs is warm and welcome next to the chilly air. His vents breathe excess heat onto your back, and you barely get the chance to thank him between moans when he finds the perfect angle to make you lose it. You grip onto the bed, ass up, face down, bucking against him pathetically. Ah, dignity. It’s been months since you lost her. “Like this?” he asks again, angling his head to catch an awkward glimpse of you under his frame. You give him a thumbs up and cheekily reply “I need you to fuck me like I owe you money.” A bit too jokey of an answer, because now he’s looking at you like you just spontaneously grew an extra head. “Yes,” you confirm, “like this.” He complies immediately, maintaining the perfect (and probably uncomfortable in his case) angle, pressing against your sex so pleasantly your knees are shaking. It doesn’t take long for you to cum, crying out his name as you’ve done many times before, legs buckling underneath you. He doesn’t seem to mind having you rest on his member, and he leaves you a few minutes to collect yourself before he pulls away and transforms back into his normal form. You roll over and spread your arms out welcomingly when he reaches over and takes you into his hand. Then, he sits back down on the mattress with you in his palm. “May I?” he inquires for the final time, gesturing at his hardon, terribly polite for someone who sounds like he’s on the brink of losing it from sexual frustration. “Please do,” you answer with proverbial popcorn in your lap, stroking your sex as he starts pumping his member.

#transformers x human #transformers x reader #transformers one #tf one alpha trion #tf one alpha trion x reader #alpha trion x reader #alt mode interfacing #valveplug #finding good gifs for him is a pain in the ass #i wish i had the energy to make gifs on my own

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silaslich · 22 days ago

Text

The heat of imposition | part 2

Simon “Ghost Riley x f!reader x John “Soap” Mactavish

Summary - Rugby AU. While watching a rugby match with Kyle you happen to catch the attention of not one, but two of the players.

Neither of them like the fact that the other wants you too. [part 2/2]

Wc - 7k

Cw - smut, 18+, oral (f!receiving), unsafe sex, male masturbation, brawling, blood, Johnny is a shit stirrer lmao

Taglist - @blushingskulls

There’s an ache in his jaw, a noticeable twinge of pain when he talks. Simon’s felt worse, a lot worse actually, but he knows exactly what this is.

It’s the same reason he has to get another mouthguard, the indents of his teeth had almost pierced right through his old one. It’s a result of his anger; his inability to think rationally, there’s an itch in his bones that he can’t scratch.

Yet, you keep coming back, time and time again. He’ll look up at the stands and see you sitting there, nursing a bottle of cider or a styrofoam cup of coffee, sometimes Kyle is there and sometimes he isn’t- that had been a surprise. Because only days after he’d first met you, sitting slumped at the bar as you work behind it, with Johnny at his side trying his luck with you- You’d said something that completely contradicted your actions.

“I’m not a huge rugby fan” you’d said it with such conviction, Simon knew you weren’t bluffing, you weren’t just saying it to get a reaction.

He’d felt Johnny stir beside him, his palms slapping against the wood of the bar loudly.

“What’re ya talkin’ aboot?” His voice grew louder as he leant over the bar, close to your face, you didn’t even flinch.

You’d shrugged, completely bored, and continued polishing the glass in your hand. Simon’s gaze had shifted then, placated with a few whiskeys, making him heavy- his blood sticky and slow in his veins. His eyes had fallen to your hands as they worked, deftly, then lower to your hips- or whatever his eyes could actually see from his side of the bar. Then they had trailed up and up and up until they landed on your chest, his stare unashamed, his tongue felt like lead in his mouth and he could barely tune out the sound of Johnny as he shrieked like a banshee about everything wrong with what you’d just said.

Then Simon’s eyes had lifted to your face, and that’s when the realisation had hit him, you were looking right at him. Pointedly. You didn’t say anything- but you didn’t have to, enough was said with your eyes, better still- he couldn’t tear his eyes from yours.

Johnny had been none the wiser to this wordless exchange, blind to it all with his fingers pressed into his eyes, vexed over the fact you kept shrugging at every point he was trying to make to counter your honest opinion on his favourite sport.

_____________________________________________

Today will be different, he thinks, because as training starts and the sweat begins to slick his skin- you’re nowhere to be seen. Perhaps that means that he’ll keep his head, his ability to be level and think will shift back into gear, business as usual. He can’t exactly explain it, that look you’d given him, it’s burned into his retinas. He can’t shake it, no matter how much he trains or how fast he runs or how much whiskey he drinks- it just won’t go away.

You- all narrow eyed and serious, watching him watch you, that little glint in your eyes had told him more than words would. The game was set, but Simon now realised that it wasn’t just himself and Johnny playing- you were too.

Despite the fact that you’re not even there, Simon still finds himself checking the stands, looking towards your usual seat. Still as distracted as he would be with you there. It stirs in his chest, an annoyance he wants to rip out, like a ball of worms at his core. It squirms and burrows in his chest, he can’t shift it. He thought without you there he’d feel better, a weight lifted, one less pair of eyes scrutinising- you’re not the type.

There’s a sharp thwack to the back of his head. He bristles.

“Quit yer daydreamin’” Johnny passes him, a sly smirk curling his lips. Simon can’t stand it.

These bets, these little games, these challenges they put on one another- they’ve never quite matched this. It’s usually something trivial and stupid, things that equate to bragging rights at the end of it all. This? This isn’t the same and Simon is just now noticing that he doesn’t like it, but Johnny is loving every second of it.

Simon resumes his drills and for the remainder of the session his head is still elsewhere. There’s a cog that’s turning in his mind, perhaps it’s foolish to think any more on it. He should instead play up to this game of Johnny’s and let it be over with, let him get what he wants out of it, out of you, and then everything will return to normal again.

Training is brutal, to no one’s surprise. Their coach, John Price, had taken notice of Simon’s attention issues and made sure that the whole team was punished for it. An extra hundred sit ups and push ups on top of an extra ten laps of the whole field. Safe to say that Simon isn’t in anyone’s good books.

As everyone is showering and changing Johnny sticks close, too close to Simon, muttering about something or other- Simon tries to tune him out. It’s as he’s getting dressed and Johnny’s getting ready to shower that he hears it clearly, it’s pressed into the ear of another teammate.

“Big lad was too busy thinkin’ about our lassie’s pretty pussy y’see” Johnny’s grin reaches and Simon doesn’t stick around to hear anything more.

He storms outside, the cool air hitting his lungs and his wet hair as it drips down his neck. He needs space and he needs air. His thoughts are racing around his head, for no reason at all, it seems. He doesn’t know you, and you don’t know him, so he doesn’t understand why he’s looking for you- seeking you out in a half-empty crowd like there’s been more then just a shared glance passed between the two of you.

Maybe it’s Johnny’s influence, the constant battle for dominance between the two of them, no matter how much it goes unsaid. Simon doesn’t want Johnny to ever have something that he can’t also have, whether it’s a trophy or bragging rights- or you. He wouldn’t stomach that, no, not deep down where that possessiveness in him festers and broods like an infected wound. Weeping and sore.

Simon takes a minute, breathing in the air, staring out into the car park- ultimately weighing up his options, does he go home to lick his wounds and drown out the thought of you with a beer or two or does he do something about all of this. Once and for all. He can tell you about this bet they’ve got going on, he can be honest and make sure that you don’t give either of them the time of day anymore-

“Think this is the first time I’ve seen you alone” your voice cuts through his thoughts, “Johnny’s usually hanging off your arm”.

Simon whirls around in the direction your voice emerges from, then he sees you sitting there, perched on a bench just outside the gates of the stadium. Seemingly minding your own business, had you been here all along? Somewhere he hadn’t seen you- surely not.

“Where’av you been hidin’?” Simon arches a brow, moving to step closer toward you, your smile jabs him right in the chest. He watches as you shake your head.

“Just got here, Kyle dropped me off” your eyes follow him as he comes close, you have to angle your neck to meet his eyes- he’s just so tall. As you sit there your mind immediately realises you’re in the perfect position to-

“How come? No game today” Simon tilts his head, thinking for a split second before he decides to come sit beside you, he knows Johnny will be walking out any second now.

The angle of your body follows Simon as he sits, turning to face him, one arm slung over the back of the bench- comfortable.

“I agreed to a date with Johnny the other week didn’t I, to get him out of my hair at the bar” you half-laugh, recalling that night. Remembering the glasses smashing and the way Simon’s hand had fit so well against your waist, so warm and ever-reaching.

Simon nods, humming in acknowledgment, he thinks about that night alot too. For the same reasons.

There’s a moment of silence, and as it stretches you both realise how comfortable it is. You’re looking at Simon but he isn’t exactly looking at you, his eyes flit to you a few times but he breaks the eye contact almost instantly, looking back toward where he’d come from- watching for Johnny.

“You single, Simon?” Your voice pulls him back, now he looks at you, meeting your eyes firmly. He nods.

“Yeah, f’some time now. Too scared to settle and too old to be messin’ around” he smiles but you can see it isn’t genuine, his admission hits home for you too. It’s the way things go for people like you and him, wanting to meet the one but too scared they’ll want more than you can give.

The fact that you’ve even asked him that question gives him something to think about, if you were so sweet on Johnny, why would you care if he’s single or not? Unless you’re just being polite, making conversation, yeah that’ll be it.

“I know how that feels” a breathy laugh falls from your lips, “the dating pool isn’t what it used to be”. You fold your arm against the back of the bench, resting your cheek in your hand. Simon hums once again.

You hadn’t really had a chance to speak to Simon since the incident, yeah you’d seen him plenty since then, but Johnny had always been there too. Demanding the attention like he does, perhaps he stands out more because Simon is so quiet. He’s more than happy to blend into the background and sip on his drink, only putting his ten pence in when he really needs to. It peaks your interest, it draws you to him in a way you don’t really get. It’s the way his dark eyes watch you, the way he looms in the corner of the booth and acknowledges you with the tilt of his head. He makes a heat rush over your skin when he looks at you like that, like he’d pull your clothes off with his teeth if you’d just let him.

“Simon” you test his name, you’ve said it plenty over the last few weeks, but the weight of it in your mouth feels different.

He dips his chin, dark eyes lowering to yours as he turns to look at you. Your name falls from his mouth too nicely, you wish he’d whisper it in your ear.

“I didn’t get a chance to say a proper thank you the other week, would have been picking glass out of my face for days if it weren’t for you” the heat of his stare makes your skin prickle and you suddenly feel the need to look away, but he holds you there, you can’t break away.

“No need to thank-“

“There she is” Johnny’s voice cuts through Simons, breaking off the conversation mid sentence, maybe he didn’t hear the two of you talking before he shouted over. Maybe.

Both you and Simon turn to look at him, watching as he storms over, pulling the attention to himself with that wide smile and those bright blue eyes that shine with the autumn sun.

“Ready to go?” He asks, eyes raking over you, you’re not as scantily dressed as he prefers but he’s hoping that it won’t matter for long anyway.

Your smile widens and you nod, moving to stand up, your hand reaches over to pat Simon’s knee as you go.

“I’ll see you soon, yeah? Enjoy the rest of your day” you wink at him and make a gesture with your eyes toward Johnny, who can’t see you do it, so he’s none the wiser.

Simon smiles at you and you’re sure it’s the most genuine one you’ve seen from him since you’d met him. He raises his hand and mirrors your little wave as you step toward Johnny, who’s looking at Simon with narrowed eyes, already wondering what he’s missed out on while he was showering.

“See y’around darlin’” Simon watches Johnny as he speaks, the way Johnny’s smirk curls leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He knows that Johnny still has the upper hand right now, but he won’t take this lying down.

_____________________________________________

Simon can’t find it in himself to relax. Not as the day drags on and he’s still yet to hear anything from Johnny. He’s sent three text messages and he’s checked and double checked to see if Johnny has read any messages in the group chat for all the rugby lads, just to see if it’s only Simon he’s choosing to ignore. Johnny hasn’t read anything, nothing at all.

He eats to see if that’ll make him feel better, it does a piss poor job. He tries to watch something to distract himself but that doesn’t work for very long. All he can think about is you, and in particular what you’re doing right now, with Johnny instead of him. If this goes the same way that Johnny’s ‘dates’ usually go then Simon knows that you’re probably bent over his kitchen counter top right about now, or your face will be buried in Johnny’s pillows- the Swiss ones he makes a comment about every time.

Simon isn’t the jealous type, he tries to tell himself. Not when it comes to women at least. Johnny’s appetite is ferocious, he’s unapologetic about it all the same, Simon sometimes wonders if he’d be the same way if he wasn’t the sit back and watch type. Women try to talk to him in the bars and at the pub, but Simon doesn’t usually take the bait. Again, he’s after something more, he’s had his fair share of bedmates who come and go with the rising sun. He’s passed that now. Instead he’d rather be alone, rather than pretend to be something he’s not for someone who expects too much from him.

His feelings toward you have only further shifted now after what you’d said today, talking about understanding him, you both want the same thing. It sates the guilt that sits in his chest, if he were to pursue you, it wouldn’t be for the sake of dragging you to his bed to prove a point to Johnny. It would be something more, only if you wanted to, of course. After tonight it might not matter, not if Johnny has sank his poison in your ear, telling you what you want to hear, like he does.

His thoughts follow him to bed that night, he can’t rid himself of it. He tries to think of something else, anything else, but it’s no use. Everything circles back around to you. The look in your eyes and the sharp of your smile, he thinks he knows you, just by the wordless exchanges. He wants to think you’re on the same page. That night in the bar, slipping his arm around you to stop you from falling, it had felt too natural. He’d felt the way you’d stiffened against him, holding your breath, leaning back into his chest as you steadied yourself with your hand on his- reading the tattoos on his knuckles from between your own fingers.

It ignites something in his blood, a burning lust, an itch he can’t scratch but he’ll try his best.

Simon rests his left arm over his forehead, eyes pressed into the crook of it. He doesn’t hesitate as his right hand pushes his boxers down, following the line of his hips, feeling the way his cock stiffens further in the open air. He hisses through his teeth. The circle of his fist is incomparable to anything he’s imagined about you, the softness of your hands or how wet he could get you for him- ready to take his tongue and his cock and his fingers. Still, Simon perseveres, jutting his hips into the wait of his hand. There’s enough precum leaking from the head of his cock to stop the friction of his callused hand, further solidifying his image of you- it’s you instead of his rough hand.

He jerks faster, angling his wrist, hips pressing up to follow the speed in which he wanks his own cock. His breath stutters and his chest aches with the effort of it, he’s never been one to fantasise, not this vividly, this is a whole new thing for him. You’re the one to solidify it, on his mind day and night, following him into his dreams with a whisper in his ear and a hand on his cock.

Simon cums loudly, making a mess, painting his stomach with his own spend. He watches as it runs down his skin, the swell of his laboured breathing making it skate faster and faster. There’s sweat beading at his forehead and there’s a dryness that sticks in his throat. He’s blinded by this intrigue, by the idea of you alone. He can’t shift it out of the forefront of his mind.

He begrudges leaving his bed to shower, but he hopes the relief of rubbing one out and cleaning himself up might let him sleep. If he can’t sort his head out before the game tomorrow then he’s sure he’s got no chance at winning this against Johnny, at this point, he’s sure he’s already lost. Pipped to the post because Johnny is louder, bolder in his endeavours, sauntering right up to you and asking you to go out with him just like that. Simon never stood a chance.

He’s convinced he’ll jog out onto that pitch tomorrow and see you sat in your usual seat, scarf tucked up high on your neck to hide the sting of Johnny’s teeth. Shifting in your seat because he’s fucked your pussy good and raw like he should have, he’d have no doubt soothed you with his mouth till the morning broke through in orange and purple streaks outside the window.

Simon falls asleep with his jaw grit tight, knowing it’ll hurt tomorrow.

_____________________________________________

The rain is blinding. It heaves from the sky in a sideways assault, stinging eyes and battering against their skin. The heavens had opened about halfway into the game, they may as well finish, not that far to go now.

They lead by ten points, it’s enough that if they can just maintain it they’ll be good to go. Through the rain and the mud all they need to do is stop the opposing team from scoring, it sounds easy enough. It’s the point of the game, but right now, Simon can’t focus on anything.

He’s done well so far. He hasn’t looked into the stands, he doesn’t want to bother himself with it. He’d rather not meet your eyes, seeing the satisfaction in yours, unknowing that he wishes it were him- knowing that it should have been him and not Johnny. Not because Johnny is a bad person, but because Johnny isn’t exactly doing it for the right reasons. While Johnny has wooed you and will now leave you for dust, Simon wouldn’t have done that, he wouldn’t have done that at all.

Simon lets someone slip past him, he misses him by the skin of his teeth, and he can already feel eyes on him before he turns around. As Simon turns, he’s met with those stupid blue eyes, Johnny takes out his gum shield and throws his arms in the air.

“What the fuck are ya playin’ at? Ay?” The malice is misplaced, Johnny knows Simon is one of their top players, he knows he can do better than this. Simon shrugs him off, speaking around the shield in his mouth.

“Don’t fuckin’ start” his eyes narrow and he brushes Johnny’s shoulder, pushing past him, it’s instant in the way Johnny’s palms connect with Simon’s shoulders- shoving him forward.

Simon is taken aback, unsure if that actually just happened, he turns on his heel, fully expecting to see that a member of the opposing team had shoved Johnny and that meant that Johnny had in turn shoved him. He’s sorely mistaken.

“Don’t start what?” Johnny’s smile is gone, as if it’s evaporated into thin air entirely. His eyes are narrow as he moves around Simon, circling around him to keep out of his way. “Is this about her?” Johnny nods his head in the direction of where you’re sitting but Simon fights the urge to look.

Simon doesn’t think before he acts, it’s muscle memory, when someone puts their hands on him- he reacts. The only difference is that this isn’t a pub brawl or a player from the opposite side- this is Johnny. Simon’s got his jersey fisted between his fingers, tightly, pulling Johnny’s face close to his. Simon seethes, they’re so close their noses touch, Simon’s eyes cut deep.

“It’s got nothin’ to do with her” Simon’s voice dips low, he can hear as the coaches and the teams react to what’s happening but he doesn’t release his hold on Johnny.

He feels Johnny’s hands tugging at the neck line of his jersey now, getting his own leverage, the height difference leaves Johnny reaching on the balls of his feet to match Simon’s cutthroat stare. Johnny smirks.

“S’that right? got nothin’ to do with me fuckin’ her last night?” His accent catches and Simon yanks him, shaking him almost off his feet. “She tastes too good Si, surprised y’cannae smell ��er on ma breath”.

Simon isn’t one to back down, not when his mind has been in tatters like this. Whatever shred of patience he’d had is washed away when Johnny knees him in the stomach, forcing him to let go of his jersey. It doesn’t exactly hurt, but Simon is surprised and winded enough that it takes him a second to register Johnny striding back towards him.

“Fucked tha’ pretty mouth too, she takes it so well” Johnny jabs his tongue into the side of his cheek, a lewd demonstration of what he’s referring to.

Johnny is quicker than Simon, but Simon is bigger, stronger- and he punches a hell of a lot harder. Blood gushes from Johnnys nose instantly, as soon as Simon’s fist connects, but Johnny isn’t slowed by it. His eyes water and he can taste the blood as it runs down and over his lips- but he’s quick to get his own hit in, catching Simon on the jaw. It slows Simon down enough that Johnny can get some leverage, he grabs Simon by the back of his jersey and uses all of his weight to pull him down, kicking his legs out from underneath him at the same time.

It’s audible when Simon hits the ground, through the rain as it pelts down against the grass. He lands on his side and Johnny is on him in an instant, straddling his thighs, aiming his fist right for his face. The force of Johnny’s hits dislodges Simon’s gum shield from his mouth, not without cutting its way through his gums first. But again, Simon is bigger, it takes little effort on his part to unseat Johnny, he sits up and drives his elbow into Johnny’s face- catching the apple of his cheek.

“Stop fuckin’ talkin’” Simon’s chest tightens, heaving as he speaks.

He shoves Johnny away and is quick to get to his feet, already weighing Johnny up as he watches him get to his knees. Blood slides down his face, washing away in the rain, Johnny wipes it away with the back of his hand. Simon’s face is just as battered, his lip is split and there’s a lump already rising at the bridge of his nose, swelling up beneath the gash Johnny’s left there. Their chests heave in tandem, breathless, before they can get their hands on each other again they’re pulled in opposite directions entirely. Price is shouting and their team mates hands are tugging at them even as they try and root themselves to the ground.

Everything becomes a blur. Price is in Simon’s face, screaming, waving his arms. Simon shrugs off the hands that are yanking and pushing him, he storms away, even as Price follows- his insults and threats to get rid of him fall on deaf ears. Simon heads straight for the locker room, he needs space, he needs somewhere to think- he can’t do this right now. He disappears behind the doors and he doesn’t look back.

Johnny is next, Price gets in his face, spit landing on his cheeks. The game is stilled and the crowd roars in a mixture of anticipation and excitement- this hasn’t happened in a long time. All the while Price is chewing out Johnny, he isn’t listening, instead his eyes land on you. He watches as you fight to clamber over Kyle’s knees, he watches your lips move in apology to the people you push your way past as you bolt down the steps. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes watch Simon as he retreats, even as you trip down the steps, slipping in the rain- you don’t tear your eyes away from Simon.

_____________________________________________

He comes extremely close to slamming his head in his locker. Instead, he stares at himself in the cracked mirror that sits on the locker door. Blood drips from the cut in his eyebrow and from his bust lip, he can smell it in his nose. The swelling on the bridge of his nose is growing by the second, the gash is weeping blood too.

Simon can’t pinpoint the moment that things changed, he was pissed off before Johnny even opened his mouth, so Johnny telling him exactly what he didn’t want to know was the last nail in the coffin. The straw that broke the camels back, and Simon is the camel apparently.

He hears the door open, but he doesn’t bother looking to see who it is. The steps are hurried, he assumes it’s Price, coming to finish what he started- he’s solid in that assumption right up until the locker door he’s standing on the other side of is slammed into his face. It catches him in the temple and for a split second it warps his vision, he’s already got a headache brewing as is. Simon slams the locker the rest of the way as soon as he’s out the way of it and he opens his mouth to go back at Price- but it isn’t Price, it’s you.

Standing there, fists balled, nostrils flared and eyes narrowed. He’s not ready for this, either, for you to come and tear chunks out of him for fighting with Johnny. Because now Johnny has you in his corner, ready to fight tooth and neck.

For a minute, you just stand there, wordless. As if you’re thinking of what to say, of what insult holds the most weight. He searches your face, for any of those soft lines that he knows are there, none of this harshness you’re wearing now. He looks away, letting his eyes fall back to the locker, focusing on the loose screw in the door hinge- waiting for you to just say something. Then, he hears your shoes scuff against the tiles, squeaking as you step closer, he readies himself for you to strike him, getting even for Johnny’s sake.

There’s none of that, instead your palm slides carefully across his cheek, you’re almost chest to chest. His eyes snap to yours, watching as you scan his face, noting every cut and bruise and swelling. Your lips twist, there’s something in your eyes he hasn’t seen before.

“Why would you do that?” Your voice is small, yet assertive, it echoes around the empty room.

Simon can’t answer truthfully, not if what Johnny was saying was honest, he doesn’t want you to know what was said. Instead he shrugs you off, trying to be impassive.

“I don’t know” his lip curls and you catch it immediately, the lie is told but you don’t believe it, your brows furrow.

“What was he saying to you?” You angle his cheek with your hand, making him look at you. The way he stares down at you through his lashes makes something in your knees knock loose. Simon shakes his head.

“Nothing important” Simon tries to look away but you hold him there, both with your hand and your eyes. He brings up his hand to curl his fingers around your wrist as you caress his cheek, he doesn’t even notice he’s done it.

“Simon, none of it’s true” he tightens his fingers on your wrist, blinking at you, not quite understanding. “I had a friend who was deaf when I was younger, she taught me how to lip read. Johnny lied”.

The weight of your words knocks something out of Simon’s chest, he feels it swing in the empty space, inevitably knocking him forwards until he connects his lips to yours. His palm cups the side of your neck, the kiss starts as it means to go on, it’s everything all at once. You gasp into his mouth and it gives him more leverage, more room to manipulate you how he wants to. He tastes of old copper pennies, you can feel the notch of ruptured flesh on his lip as it tries to clot.

His free hand brings you closer by your hip, reeling you close. Pulling you flush to him as your other hand comes up to cup the other side of his face. He’s met with no resistance when he curls his tongue over your bottom lip, you welcome the challenge, smiling against his lips and into the kiss.

Simon doesn’t have restraint, not after what’s just happened, not after everything he’s been thinking about. This, this exactly is what he’s been thinking about none stop for weeks since laying eyes on you. You’ve plagued his dreams and his nightmares and his waking thoughts, he’s caught off guard by it, and knocked even further off kilter.

His hands roam and you squirm in his grip, ultimately breaking the kiss to speak. Your lips are gaped and your breath rushes past them in quick succession, trying to steady your lungs.

“Can we? Here?” You can’t look him in the eye, palms sliding from his neck and down his chest, nails scraping against his jersey. It seems he’s not the only one who can’t wait, who’s perhaps been thinking about this for a while.

Simon’s lips creep up, a filthy smirk. You see his hand dart into his locker, fishing something out and digging it into his pocket. You don’t get a chance to see it before your wrist is in his hand, tugged further into the locker room, heading straight for the cubicles of showers. He pulls you with him, kept tight against him as he locks the door behind you. You don’t have time to catch your bearings before his lips are at your neck, teeth sinking, pulling your scarf away and letting it fall to the floor.

“Thought about this” it’s murmured against your skin, your hands skate up his back, feeling as his muscles move underneath his jersey.

Your heart jumps in your chest, you can’t tell if it’s the wet of his tongue or if it’s his blood, but there’s something warm and wet against your skin.

“So did I” it’s an admission he wasn’t ready for, he assumed it was just him, how wrong he was. He smiles against your skin.

Simon pushes you back against the wall, his hands roaming, skating up your sides, cupping your ribcage in his wide palms. He pushes your coat off of your shoulders, shedding another layer, in turn he lets you tug his jersey over his head, your hands immediately flattening to the muscles you find. Fingers gliding through every ridge and divot in his flesh.

You capture his lips again, letting your tongue slip past his lips as he fiddles with the button and zipper on your jeans, feeling as he uses both hands to tug them down till they’re low enough that he can slot his thigh between your legs- opening you up. Your hands reach around to his shoulders, sliding up until they’re looped around his neck, pulling him closer. Your teeth catch the tip of his tongue when he presses his fingers against the lips of your pussy, feeling the wetness there. Soaked already, and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

“Fuck” it’s sighed out of his chest as he breaks the kiss, looking down between your bodies, watching the tips of his fingers tease your lips apart. You moan in his ear.

Simon’s compelled to fix Johnny’s lie, he wants to taste you himself, then he can be the one to know exactly how you taste on his tongue. He’ll have you cum on his mouth to solidify it, to prove a point.

He kisses you again, letting his lips trail from your jaw and down your neck as he begins to get to his knees. Your hands slide up as he descends, ultimately landing in his hair, fisting the strands between your fingers as he teasingly blows air on your cunt. You moan his name, stuttering nonsense, little noises escaping through the seams of your lips as you try to swallow them down.

Simon pulls at your jeans as he kisses the mound of your pussy, signalling you to step out of them, you do as you’re instructed- not fighting when Simon then lifts one of your legs till it’s hooked over his shoulder. He doesn’t hesitate to taste you then, letting his tongue part your folds, feeling how wet you really are against his lips and the tip of his nose. You fuss at him, briefly, worrying about him.

“Simon your face- careful” your voice jumps, reacting when Simon plunges his tongue into your hole, wanting you to give it up, nothing is going to pull him from this now.

You’re practically gushing, squelching against his lips as they move, it’s lewd in your own ears, your cheeks are red beyond belief. Yet, he doesn’t let up. Even as your hips squirm and your fingers tug at his hair, Simon doesn’t stop. Not now he’s got you here, right where he wants you. So close to cumming on his tongue, painting his mouth, the very thing that’s kept him up at night.

“F-fuck” your chest stutters, punching out the words, “so good Si” your voice drifts and Simon hears you knock the back of your head against the tile.

His fingers press into the backs of your thighs, holding you steady, not letting you press away from him. You’ll have bruises in the shapes of his finger tips, branded spots as a reminder of this, he hopes you wear a short skirt to the bar tomorrow- he’ll bring Johnny along for an apology drink.

Simon can feel it, the pulsing of your walls, the way your hips are meeting the friction of his mouth, practically rubbing yourself all over his face. Where’s the concern for his injuries now?

It does catch him off guard, when you finally cum, loudly. Shrieking his name, letting it reverberate off the tile, rubbing yourself on his nose, like you’re scenting him with your juices. Claiming territory. Simon laps it all up, every last bit, lathing at you with his tongue- he wants you pliant for what comes next.

You meet him half away as he comes to stand, making him still for a moment, needing your lips on his. You follow his movement as he stands fully, standing on the balls of your feet, wrapping your arms around his neck. The taste of yourself on his tongue is something new, something you’d never thought of, your filthy mind says you’ll get used to it.

He lets you kiss him, but he guides your hands down from around his neck, using your fingers like puppets and pulling his shorts and boxers down to his knees. You break the kiss, unapologetic in the way your eyes snap downward toward his cock, watching as it springs free- wagging between your bodies. Your hands need no guidance now, Simon watches you gather your own juices against your fingers and smear them onto his cock, pumping him tightly in your fist.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but this is everything and more.

Simon lets you do this, lets you sink your teeth into his pec as you jerk his cock, flitting between slow and fast movement, adjusting your pace. He could cum just like this, but he wants the first time to be different. He takes your chin between his fingers, cupped in his hand, pressing his lips to yours, clashing teeth- desperate for more despite already having everything you have to offer.

He digs his hand into his pocket and you watch, curious, when he pulls out his gum shield- you raise a brow.

“Trust me love, walls are thin” he slants his mouth to yours a final time, he watches you open your mouth, not questioning as he slots his gum shield over your teeth. You try it for size, running your tongue along it.

Simon kisses you, it’s not as tricky as you thought it’d be, if anything, it’s more filthy. He presses harder, making sure you can feel the pressure of his tongue still.

Your neck dips, observing as Simon does the same, spitting against his cock as he takes it into his hand. Pumping it a few quick times, gathering his spit before he arches forward and presses into you. The burn is there, splitting you, he’s girthier than anything you’ve had before. Yet, as he slides deeper, nothing has ever felt more right. Your nails scrape against his shoulders and you grit your teeth against his mouth guard, but this is better than you’d imagined. Better than you thought it would be as you fingered yourself between the safety of your bedsheets, wishing it were Simon’s fingers- this doesn’t even hold a candle.

Your breaths twine into one as he bottoms out, pressing impossibly deep, chest to chest with you. His rhythm evens and you find yourself keen to meet it, ass pressed to the cold tile, almost lifted off your feet entirely- you feel drunk off it.

Simon takes the opportunity when you toss your head back, moans quieted by the mouth guard, sinking his teeth into the open plain of your neck. He sucks your skin into his mouth and you keen, arching into him, pressing yourself into the pressure of his thrusts as he fucks you harshly. You fight to say something but he can’t understand you, he laughs into your skin.

He can feel himself rising closer, right at the edge, close to the precipice of all of this. He’ll be damned if he’s not dragging you there with him. He frees up one of his hands, bringing his fingers to your lips. Eyes narrowing when he watches you suck his fingers into your mouth, tongue licking each crevice of his skin, lathing him up. He presses his fingers to your clit afterwards, watching your face, gaging your reactions. He watches you come apart, pushed over that edge until you’re free falling for what feels like forever. Your teeth are grit tight against the rubber, strained as he hears it creak in your mouth.

Your cunt squeezes him impossibly tight as you cum, thrown over that arc, hands reaching out for him and pulling him with you in the process.

Simon cums inside of you, his hips continuing to thrust, fucking into your poor sopping pussy. The sound reaches his ears, between your whines and his own breaths he hears as he’s fucking his cum back into you. It’s obscene, really, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He fixes his teeth into your flesh, into any he can reach, your neck and your shoulder- still stuttering his hips into your sore overstimulated pussy. You whine and cry, something that sounds like his name, he soothes you, holding your face in his hands as he presses his lips to your lashes.

Everything grows stationary. You both catch your breath, needing to allow your racing hearts to return to their normal pace before they break free from the gaps in your ribs. Simon grows soft inside you and you hold him close, fingers rooted into the flesh of his lower back. His thumb strokes across your cheek and his other hand smooths over your hair. He presses his thumb into the mouth guard, popping it loose before he fits his mouth to yours once more. The lingering taste of yourself and his blood is present on his lips when he kisses you, it makes you pull him closer- then the peace is shattered.

“Si? Ya in ‘ere? Can we talk?”

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sweetums0kitty · 6 months ago

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1, 9, 16, and 23 for the ask game you reblogged :3

Oh my god if I could marry one fictional charterer, my heart says Edward Nashton but that would be a really unstable relationship. So for security and cause he's hot AF it's Burt Fablemen.

9: My weirdest pet peeve... Honestly it's people who loudly suck or lick their fingers after eating something like Cheetos. Can't stand that shit!

16. Oh man if I could have any job I think I would love to play Nick Bottom in a revival of the musical Something Rotten. Because it's my favorite show or I would be Batman.

23. Having only one superpower is hard so I would pick teleportation so I could go anywhere without the use of a car or plane.

#tumblr gold #my asks #asks #ask game #answered asks #sticky-palmed-worm #friends #friends being friends #besties #moots #lovely moots 💕#i love my mutuals #i love my moots #my moots #beloved mutuals #mutuals #edward nashton

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bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky · 1 year ago

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Scared Half to Death | Bucky Barnes x reader

Hi! I haven't posted a fic in forever. School has been a nightmare.

I literally wrote this in under an hour lol it's very short and not my best. But I just wanted to get something kinda Halloween-y out there in time to celebrate!

🎃👻🎃👻🎃Happy Halloween! 👻🎃👻🎃👻

Warnings: blood, Bucky's anxiety, injury

Bucky pulled his hand from the doorknob with a disgusted expression. A thick, sticky substance coated his palm and dotted his fingers. He rolled his eyes at whichever small child had covered his door handle in candy residue while he was gone. But just as he tried to wipe the syrupy remnants on his jeans, the color caught his eye. The flash of dark red sent shockwaves through his system.

He’d stepped away from the apartment for just a few minutes, only long enough to replenish his candy supply for the next wave of trick-or-treaters. But in the short time that he was gone, something terrible- something violent- must’ve taken place.

He dropped the candy to the floor and struggled to yank his keys from the lock, his hands shaking with anxiety. And when he finally burst through the door of the apartment he shared with you, he only found more carnage.

Droplets of blood dotted the floor. They coagulated against the tile and wormed their way into the grout, staining it red. Bucky’s stomach turned. A leaden knot formed in his gut and weighed him down like an anchor. Where were you? Was this your blood? Were you hurt- were you dead?

He followed the gruesome path like a trail of breadcrumbs, fearing what he’d find at their end. Only a few hours ago, everything was perfect. He’d sat with you as you got dressed for your best friend’s Halloween party. He rested on the bed you shared and delighted in watching you dance around the room as you did your make up and put on your costume.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come?” you asked as you shimmied into your costume.

“I’m sure, baby. It’s not really my thing,” he shrugged. “You know how I am with big crowds. Plus, Halloween is a little weird for me. People dress as my friends-” He swallowed hard, “People dress as a version of me that I try not to think about… it’s just not for me.”

“Yeah…”

Silence filled the room. Guilt coursed through your body with each beat of your heart. Part of you itched to change out of your costume and forget the whole thing.

“You know, I don’t have to go-”

Bucky stood from the bed and made his way to your side, “Yes, you do.”

A stern expression crossed your face, “I really don’t. And I shouldn’t ditch you for a stupid party-”

“You’re not ditching me,” he said. “You love this party! You look forward to Kelly’s-” he paused, struggling to remember the name of the shindig. “What does she call it again? Her Creep-Tastic?”

You laughed, “Spook-tacular!”

“Right!” Bucky rolled his eyes at his attempt. “You look forward to her Spook-Tacular every year! And I’m not gonna let you miss it just because I don’t wanna go.”

He took your face in his hands, careful not to mess up your make up. Never had anyone made him felt so loved, so cared for. You put him first at every turn, prioritizing his wellbeing and his mental health above all else. You sacrificed so much for him in the early stages of your relationship; the last thing he wanted was for you to miss out on the party you’d looked forward to for the last eleven months.

“Seriously, doll, I’m gonna be fine. I’ll hand out candy to the kids and watch some tv,” he shrugged. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

It wasn’t a trick or a test; Bucky didn’t secretly hope you’d choose him instead of the party. He only wanted you to be happy. And you knew he meant every word he said.

“Okay. Then tell me…” you did a quick spin, “how do I look?”

Bucky eyed you up and down, drinking in the neon pink and highlighter yellow leotard. The electric yellow kneepads. The pink visor. The bright yellow high-top sneakers.

“You look amazing, Barbie. You belong in the Dream House!”

Not soon after that, you left. He’d walked you to your Uber and made you promise to be safe. He’d told you that he loved you. And that was the last time he saw you.

Until now.

The trail of blood ended with you. Bucky discovered you sprawled on your back on the living room rug, your body soaked with blood. Smears of red coated your neck and stained your arms. Your clothes were saturated with gore. This Barbie didn’t belong in the Dream House; she belonged in a nightmare.

“Oh, god-” Bucky made his way to your side and sunk to his knees, breathless. “Baby, hey- can you hear me? Open your eyes, look at me.” His fingers traced your neck in search of a pulse, desperately scrounging for even a flutter of life.

And there it was- your pulse. You were still alive; your heart still managed to beat despite the blood loss.

But Bucky’s gratitude only lasted a moment. He still had to find your wound and stop the bleeding. He had to call 911. He had to keep your heart beating.

His hands scrounged across your abdomen in search of a stab wound or evidence of a gunshot. But just as he reached for your side, you made a sound.

Did he heard that right? Did you… giggle?

“Whaaaaaaat’re you doin’, Barnes?” you laughed. “Don’t tickle meeeee!”

Bucky’s gaze shot from your blood-soaked clothes to your face. “Baby?”

“Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, Barbie!” you slurred, your face plastered with a smile. “Oh, nooooo- wait, you’re just Ken!” A fit of laughter exploded from your chest as you sang, “I’mmm juuuuust KEN! Anywhere elssssse, I’d beeee a TEN-” A sudden contemplative look banished your lighthearted spirit. “But you reeeeally are a ten, Buck… and I mean that.”

Bucky remained frozen. He was lost, confused. Were you woozy from blood loss? Or alcohol? Were you even hurt? Did you need an ambulance or a cold shower?

“Baby, are you hurt? Are you okay?” He took your face in his hands, “Why are you covered in blood?”

“Because this Barbie hugged her friend!”

A befuddled expression took over Bucky's face. "What?"

The room spun as you struggled to sit up. Bucky’s heart leapt into his throat; if you were hurt, you needed to lie down. You needed to stop moving and let him dress your wound. But you moved without wincing, without crying out in pain. Sure, you swayed from side to side just a little in your intoxicated state. But that was the worst of it.

“I hugged Kelly! But Kelly was aaactually Carrie! Y’know, the girl covered in pig’s blood,” you laughed. “It kiiiinda ruined my costume a little. Buut, now I look like Scary Barbie! So s’okay.”

A deep sigh of relief filled Bucky’s lungs. He rocked back off of his knees and plopped down onto his butt. His bloody hands covered his face. “Then what are you doing on the floor, sweetheart?”

“Sometiiiiimes… sometimes ya just gotta lay on the floor. Y’know?” You shrugged, “And I didn’t wanna get allllll the blood on the couch.”

He nodded.

"I guess I fell asleep for a hot sec," you shrugged. "I was just waiting on ya to get home."

Bucky did his best to regulate his breathing, to calm the aggressive tsunami of anxiety that drowned his every cell. His entire world came crashing down the moment he found you on the floor, and now, he had to put it back together.

“You okay, Buck? I came home early cause I missed yooou- I missed you sooooo much,” you placed a bloodied hand on his face. “But I didn’t mean to ruin your night to yourself. I’m sorry…”

“No, you didn’t ruin anything. It’s not that at all. It’s- baby, I thought…” he shook his head. His heart still pounded against his ribcage, and his breathing hadn't quite evened out. “I thought you were hurt. I thought you were…” He didn’t want to finish his sentence.

“Ohhhhh, no, I’m fine! I’m okay! I’m drunk…” you laughed, “But I’m okay!”

Bucky pulled you close, grateful that the blood clinging to your skin came out of a bottle. "I know that now, I'm just..." he took a deep breath. "It's just gonna take a minute for my body to catch up with my brain."

His hand roamed up and down your spine. He needed to feel you breathe, to feel your voice vibrate against his palm. Seeing you like that- bloody and unresponsive- on the floor of the home you shared nearly scared him to death.

This wasn't the kind of Halloween scare that flooded his system with pins and needles and left him laughing. No, this stripped him of all breath, of all ability to think. It cut him to the bone.

He never wanted to imagine you getting hurt, getting killed. For him, losing you was a fate worse than death.

The two of you sat there together in the quiet calm as Bucky remembered how to breathe. He held onto you as tightly as he could without leaving bruises, and didn't care than you'd stained his white shirt with your gory mess.

“I’m glad you’re home, doll. And that you’re okay," he said after his heart returned to its normal pacing. "I just- I didn’t expect Bloody Barbie.”

You shrugged, “No one ever does.”

Bucky let out a loud laugh that echoed off the walls and made your heart flutter. “Alright, we need to clean you up and get you to bed, baby. I think we’ve both had enough Halloween shenanigans for the year.”

You allowed him to help you to your feet and guide you to the bathroom for a much needed shower. He was always there for you when you needed him, even without you asking. You knew he'd protect you, do anything for you- he'd even scrub fake blood from your nail beds.

"Buck?" you whispered as he helped you into bed.

"Yeah, baby?"

"You're soooo much better than Ken."

He knew it was a genuine, drunken compliment, but it nearly made him burst out laughing. "Thank you, doll. Yeah, I prefer Allan anyway."

"Saaaaaaame," you sighed, melting into your pillow.

Bucky tucked the covers around you and made sure your water was within reach. He placed a kiss to your forehead, once again thanking his lucky stars that you were home safe.

"Goodnight, Barbie."

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@beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @lonewolf471 @dreamerglassesgirl @the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned @purpleshallot @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine @evangeliamerryll @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @barnesselo @juvellian @samanthacookieone @frombkjar @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat

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charles-smith-pillow-princess · 9 days ago

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Charles was an hour into digging Lenny’s grave when it hit him: He was never going to see Arthur Morgan again.

For twenty-seven years, careful restraint of his emotions had allowed Charles to survive. He’d never had the luxury of anger, of rage. An outburst from most members of the gang meant getting kicked out of the saloon, a fine, or a night in jail at worst.

For Charles, a length of rope looped over a tree branch was never far. America hated nothing more than a mutt, and to her people Charles was a rabid dog best put down at the first snarl.

So Charles learned control and calm. He learned to bury, to smother, to take everything burning in him and shove it somewhere safe. To put his feelings aside until he was alone and could take them out and look them over with no nervous trigger fingers or hateful eyes waiting for the first excuse—the first bitter word, sharp gesture, first hateful look.

Charles didn’t know what did it, what final burning hurt snuck into the tinderbox of his chest and sparked the blaze. If it was the seventh rock his shovel struck in the soft, sucking dirt, forcing him to fumble in the dark until he could haul it free and cast it out. If it was the heat, the chafe of sticky cotton on his damp skin. Could be it was the flies buzzing in his ears, or the way the sweat from his brow stung his eyes.

Maybe it was the sickly smell of rotting meat already coming from the sacks wrapped around Lenny and Hosea’s corpses, or the way there was no money for coffins to bury them in.

One moment Charles was digging side by side with Sadie, knee deep in the grave that would hold just one body of the second family that fate had torn from him.

And then he was kneeling in the sucking mud, hands fisted uselessly in the torn roots and crawling worms. Anguish tore howling from his throat, muffled against gritted teeth. Charles could taste copper coating the backs of his gums as he hunched in the dirt. His eyes clenched tight as his heart did its level best to tear itself from his chest, to strike out for a life less riddled with bullets, one that didn’t bleed loss like a butchered carcass or burn everything good up to ashes.

Charles was dimly aware, under the pounding of his own pulse in his ears, of Sadie’s soft cursing as she threw down her own shovel and climbed into Lenny’s half-dug grave beside him. The darkness behind his eyes became complete as she shuttered the lamp, plunging them into night. He flinched away as Sadie’s firm hand gripped his shoulder. “Don’t,” he growled. He didn’t want comfort. He wanted exorcism.

Sadie just gripped him tighter, blunt nails digging hard into the hunched muscle of his shoulder. “I know,” she rasped, kneeling before him, sharp knees pressed to his own. A choked cry strangled in Charles’s chest as her skinny, whipcord arms wrapped around him, pressing him to her chest.

“They’re gone,” he managed, gasping through the tightness in his lungs. He couldn’t get any air. “Lenny, Javier, Hosea—Arthur.” Charles made a fist, pounding senselessly at the dirt. “He, we—” Charles cut himself off, dug his nails deep into the flesh of his knee, and tried to claw the pain into his own skin.

A beat passed. One of Sadie’s palms gripped Charles at the back of his neck, cupped the back of his head gently. “Charles,” she said, voice rough and small, gentle. “Charles, I know.”

And it’s possible she did. She was one of the more observant folks in the camp. He and Arthur hadn’t really been very careful. Nothing too blatant, no. But anyone could have read into the casual ease with which Arthur touched his shoulder, the way their knees almost touched as they sat by the fire. The way Charles would return from guard duty with his hair mussed, leaves of grass clinging to the back of his shirt, the trailing ends of his hair. How Arthur would sit on a stump, failing utterly to conceal that he was sketching Charles as he chopped wood or hauled water.

Arthur was not a cautious man by nature. He often made Charles foolish.

More important than any of their thousand tiny, dangerous indiscretions was the fact that Arthur had trusted Sadie. It was possible the big, soft-hearted idiot told her about them. Maybe one day Charles would have it in him to be angry about that, at Arthur for putting them both at risk without asking him first. Reckless, impulsive, trusting.

Gone.

(excerpt from the stars are not wanted now, my first RDR2 fic and the unwitting precursor to the 'what if they made it' CanadianShack!AU)

#its nice comment weekend on the writing server i'm in #and i was going through old fics for a clip #i'm actually still really proud of this one #and it influences a lot of how is see sadie and charles' relationship #charles smith #sadie adler #arthur morgan #charthur #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #writing zoomies

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dollwritesarchive · 2 years ago

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𝐧𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐨 — 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 & 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!gojo’s student!reader, dark fic, noncon, spit roasting, face fucking, deep throating, squirting, bukakke, all characters featured are 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ commissioned!! part two of pretty when you cry; you probably should read part one first. do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading <; 3

you knew you were fucked.

the curses under Geto’s command had all dissipated; Gojo was no longer trying to fight them or their master, because he was too concerned with getting your mouth open and on him. for the first time, you were trying to disobey him; keeping your tiers sealed tight, you shook your head when he smeared the thick tip over your mouth. you could feel the glaze of precum on your lips, and you whine in protest.

the worst part was that it wasn’t as if you didn’t want it. if it were under any other circumstances; if it were just you and Gojo and he asked, you would’ve dropped to your knees for him in a heart beat. who wouldn’t? but this? this was wrong. he wasn’t asking— he was panting ragged, trying to pry your lips apart, and you could tell by the force behind the way he rotated his hips to press against them, he was going to be tougher than he’d promised.

Gojo frowns, and mutters, “‘s okay. Open up, it’s me.” you were distinctly convinced that he wanted to tack ‘trust me’ on to that plea, but he must’ve thought better of it. he must’ve realized that he was in no position to ask you for trust.

“She needs a little extra encouragement,” Geto hums, pressing the tip of his cock between your folds until they split and he can prod at your hole, “I can help with that.” his hand inches up between your shoulder blades, to grab a fistful of your hair at the back of your head, angle it straight ahead, and keep it there. Gojo releases your face, and instead rests his palm against your crown, applying enough pressure that you knew he was going to force it down when given the right opportunity. you feel a knot in your stomach, and your thighs quiver, your feet inching closer to Gojo’s, but you weren’t quick enough to prepare. Geto pushes forward and plunges deep without warning, forcing a yelp to break the sticky seal of your lips, and in that split second, both his fist and Gojo’s palm pushed down on your head. your cry is garbled by just how much cock you’re fed at once, eyes widening as you stare up at Gojo. you want to scream around him, and you do, to try and expel some of the pressure Geto has shoved into your core. but when you do, your mentor shudders with delight; your shrieking has translated into fierce vibrations that reverberate deep within him.

“Good girl,” Gojo was barely speaking, his breath shaky and littered with moans. Geto was grunting, too, gripping your hair and using it to bob your head up and down on his rival, as deep as he could force you to take it, while he fucked you savagely from behind. “Suck for me… good…”

pushing your tongue against the back of your throat, you try to stop him from reaching your gag reflex, your hands balling into tight fists against Gojo’s abdomen. you could feel the muscles contracting underneath your hands as he bucked his hips, but your brows were furrowed, your muffled sounds indignant and full of protest.

you considered biting down on the thick cock trying to worm its way into your throat, and the edge of your teeth graze the muscle.

Geto must’ve read your body language, because he slams his powerful hips against yours, and pushed your head down on Gojo with so much force that your tongue is pinned underneath Gojo’s cock and he slides all the way to the back of your throat, jabbing against your uvula. “Don’t get any wild ideas, cutie,” Geto hisses, while you scramble to accommodate all of him and all of Gojo simultaneously. “You bite, and Gojo’s going to let me get real mean. That right, Satoru?”

Gojo bit down on his lip, hips oscillating to feel every inch of your cavern stuffed full, bulging from one of your cheeks before rocking forward, poking at your throat. he groans, and pets the top of your head. “As long as you’re sweet, we won’t hurt you.” now, you noticed, it was no longer Geto won’t hurt you, but the two of them together. it made your skin crawl. sure, you knew they had history, but as far as you were aware, that’s all that it was. you didn’t know that Gojo could turn just as wicked so easily, and although he was still crooning to you, still trying to convince you that he wanted to be nice about this, you were choking on him. you were impaled between them, breathless and stretched beyond what you could handle. “I told you that, didn’t I? Just give it up, sweetheart, and we’ll be done before you know it. Tell me you understand, tell me you’ll be good.”

you couldn’t speak, but you clicked in pathetic submission, giving a partial nod with tears pricking in your eyes. Gojo runs his fingers up to shove Geto’s hand out of your hair so he could hold both sides of your head. “Say ahh, let me fuck your throat.”

Geto scoffs, both hands gripping your hips tight as he pounds you relentless, now focused on just how tight your walls spasmed around him, and he stares down at your ass. it was so easy to watch the ripples when he pulled you back to meet his violent thrusting, and see his girth disappear, inch by inch, into your body. “She takes cock like a pro,” he mutters, incredulous, tilting his head and letting out a euphoric sigh when you grip him, “whether she wants to or not.” he’s smirking when he says it, bringing a palm down quick to swat at your ass and watch you jump and mewl.

and you were trying not to listen to him.

eyes big and watery, you look up at Gojo and allow your jaw to hang slack, tongue oozing drool as you begrudgingly give him the gargling sound he’d asked for. “Ahh—!”

Gojo’s hips snap quick, fucking your face as he holds it steady, and that moan trails off into clucking, each time his tip batters the back of your throat. with every thrust, it reaches a new depth until you would gag and your eyes would roll back. spit bubbles out from the corners of your mouth, leaving webs as it rolls down on to your breasts and the floor below you.

both of your hands try to splay flat against Gojo’s belly, but he’s gyrating much too quick for you to stay steady, your forehead bouncing against his abdomen. and then there was Geto, who’d only gotten rougher, fucking you hard and fast until your knees turn in against each other just to keep from buckling. “Fuck,” he rasps when you tremble, struggling to stay standing, “am I already hitting that off button in your brain, slut? Is it right here?” punctuating his question, he pounds into the same spot until you can nearly feel the thoughts melting away, your nails biting at Gojo in a scrambling attempt to stay upright and fully coherent, but with one, excruciatingly calculated thrust, Geto bullies a knot of hyper sensitive nerves and you squeal, stumbling forward and sliding off of his cock into a shaking heap on the floor. “There she goes.” he whistles, wickedly, grabbing hold of his cock to pump a couple of furious strokes off of it, watching you squirm and cough and whine on the floor.

“I’d stick it in now, Satoru,” Geto teased, pressing the sole of his foot against your ass, claiming your defeat, “I tenderized the little whore just for you. She should cum like a fountain when you fuck her.”

it’s a sickening feeling, the emptiness, the nerves contracting wildly inside you, your ass quivering and bouncing up and down as you try to regain control over your own body, and the cold, hard ground you’d landed on with your belly. Gojo follows your descent, hitting his knees on the ground, holding your head up with one fist full of your hair.

“No— more—“ you pant, shaking your head, drool and precum soaking your chin. “Can’t— breathe—“

but, Gojo wasn’t trying to shove himself back into your slack lips. oh no, your teacher was pulling you closer to him by your hair, and he was moaning before you even touched him again, just pushing you into the right position was enough to elicit those sordid moans. “C’mere, baby…” he was muttering, pulling you up on to his lap, “come sit on my cock.”

but you were so sensitive, you shook your head, breathlessly trying to protest. you couldn’t imagine another round like the gauntlet you’d been put through already. “Sensei… I can’t…”

but Gojo was already positioning you on his lap, allowing you a moment to hover over his erection, and he grabs your face with both hands, nodding fervently. “Just bounce up and down. It doesn’t have to be perfect. I just need to feel that sensitive, little pussy clench. You can take it.” you were still shaking your head, whining in hapless protest, when he pushes you down. your back arches, only allowing him deeper entry, and your head falls back. hands falling from your face, down the length of your torso and finally resting on the flare of your hips, Gojo grunts when your walls spasm against the intrusion. “You’re still so fucking tight…” he’s thicker than Geto, but not quite as long. you stretch further, your walls wrapping around him like an elastic band.

“Even though she’s sloppy wet?” Geto asks, impishly, as he too kneels down. from behind, his hand snakes around to rub at your swollen clit, and you cry for him not to. “Is it too much?” he asks, mocking your pout, nuzzling against your tear-stained cheek, “Are you going to break?” you nod, wrapping nothing hands weakly around his wrist, but Gojo is already bouncing you up and down, grinding your body into his each time. you were in sensory overload— you knew that much; with your head falling back to loll against Geto’s shoulder, your muscles hardly strong enough to coax your nails to scratch at his wrist, your mouth hangs open, allowing a weak and broken string of yowling to erupt from within you. Geto growls against your ear, pumping his cock with his free hand, getting off to the sound of you losing yourself. “That’s too bad.”

Gojo moans your name, blissed out and grabbing handfuls of your ass to keep your body grinding against him. “Don’t black out yet, baby, just a little longer…” he grinds his teeth, wildly bucking his hips to fill you to the point of bursting with cock over and over again. your breasts swing to the beat of his assault, “cum for me… come on, I know you’re close.”

you were so fucking close.

you felt like you were about to explode, and, even as you tried to hold it in, you erupt like a geyser with little but his begging for it, the hard cock in your guts, and Geto strumming you mercilessly.

the whiniest, protesting shriek is what you let out before you gush, drenching Gojo’s groin, and shake, helpless. Geto’s howling happily, rubbing you fierce until you slump forward against your mentor, and Gojo is grunting in awe-filled lust, stilling your body so that he can drive himself home with a handful of maddening, hard thrusts before shoving you off of him.

sliding back on to the floor, you sag against it like a sack of potatoes, babbling incoherent. you were sticky and wet all over, from saliva to sweat to cum, you couldn’t tell which mixed with what, and you couldn’t keep your eyes open. fucked out, used to the very limit.

but they still weren’t done.

“Look here,” Gojo coaxes, taking your hair up again to pull your head up. you squint against the light in your eyes, trying to find the strength. you could smell yourself on both of the cocks that now rub against your cheeks, and you want to turn away from the humiliation. “Look at us.”

but you obey, batting sticky eyelashes.

the two decimaters tower over you, both stroking themselves with one hand, the other holding on to you— Gojo with his hand wrapping a fist in your knotted hair, and Geto grabs your face to keep it angled upwards. and they both moan, snort through their nostrils and curse under their ragged breathing like wild beasts.

you tremble, watching the display with one eye closed, squinting against the release Geto spurts over your face.

but Gojo isn’t far behind— in a moment’s time, he’d painted the other cheek, splattered your lips with it, smearing the cocktail of tears, spit, and both of their cum together with a breathy whine. “I’ve… never seen you look so pretty.”

Geto arches a brow, giving your swollen lips a couple of taps with the throbbing tip of his manhood, before letting go, allowing your head to drop forward. “See now, that was easy enough, wasn’t it?” he looks to Gojo, before giving him a hard pat on the shoulder. “Now, she can be your personal set of holes. Always cockhungry and brainless. Hell, she’s going to be addicted to the abuse. She’ll beg you for it.” he grins, gripping Gojo’s collar to pull him close so that he may growl in his ear, “Don’t say I never did anything for you, Satoru.”

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hungharrington · 2 years ago

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Help currently stuck thinking abt having Steve over at your family’s home for the holidays and you’ve both been good, polite, discreet, minimal PDA, and he truly is a beloved son in law and so wonderful ❤️ but he’s a menace when you’re finally alone and he puts his hands on you

Like you’re laying on your front, Steve against your back, sloooooowly rutting into you, putting his hand over your mouth, shushing you when you whine too loud, helping you breathe through your moans, teasing you for how slick you are, lightly pinching your skin to annoy you just a tad more. Just being an absolute tease ❤️

sweet revenge

help! me! jesus fucking christ anon i think u gave me brain worms with this ask the first fic for this is here but u don’t need to read it to read this <3 1.5k words, fem & afab!reader, stevie’s a massive tease, MDNI this work and entire blog is 18+!

Revenge comes not a day later.

Really, you should’ve predicted this after what you had pulled poolside, your hand working Steve’s cock just right until he’d spilled right into your hand, barely able to keep his whimpers quiet—then you had cajoled him immediately into lunch with your parents.

One wandering hand on his thighs, brushing the wet spot had Steve’s cheeks flushing scarlet in an instant. You had to smother a giggle when your mother made a comment about Steve being out in the sun too long and he had nearly choked on his food. Stammered out his agreement and sent you a withering glare.

So, his revenge is expected, to say the least.

But even that knowledge can’t prepare you for what it’s like the moment he gets you alone.

Insatiable. It’s the only word to describe him — messily mouthing at your neck, hands rough and desperate with how they roam your body, tugging at your clothes. He’s burning hot, his body pressing yours down into the scratchiness of your bed sheets. His cock is hard where it presses against your thigh and you can feel your core aching eagerly in response— teasing him had taken a toll on you too.

“Steve,” you gasp, between your breaths. His fingers tug at your jeans, swiftly popping the button and tugging them down an inch. His plush lips scrape down your neck, kisses that melt into something wetter, something hotter.

“Shhh,” Steve whispers, hands creeping under your shirt and clutching at your waist. He rocks his hips against your core, providing glorious friction that licks a flame of heat up your spine. You whine and arch into him, only to be softly shushed again. “Shhh, honey. S’gotta be quiet.”

He pulls back to work your jeans down and off your ankles. He’s breathing heavily, toned arms reaching up to pull his shirt off, quickly casting it aside— the sight of the soft planes of his tummy and definition in his arms only fuels your lust. You prop up for a moment to pull off your own shirt.

He’s back upon you in a moment, blazing hot kisses pressing down your neck, along the top of your breasts. His tongue burns hot where it draws a line up your sternum, at the same time his fingers curl into the edge of your panties to shimmy them down. Another gaspy breath escapes you.

His palms slide down your thighs, warm against your skin as he drags the sticky fabric down, out of his way. Really, you should probably have a few more reservations about him fucking you here and now, in your old bedroom. Especially with other people just a wall away; but those thoughts are all spun away at the feel of his barely restrained lustful hunger that radiates from him.

His hands dip under your back to unclip your bra, pulling it free from your body, his kisses following feverishly— sending streaks of heat to the coil in your gut. It takes only a moment for him to manhandle you onto your front. Your nipples peak at the rough material, scraping when Steve lines himself up and buries himself in your cunt, devastatingly slow.

You gasp again loudly and it gets swallowed into the sheets, consumed by the feeling of him pushing into you, throbbing and full. Steve makes a throaty noise, a groan that he barely manages to muffle— the hair of his chest brushes your shoulder blades as he leans against your back. One hand stays on your hip, the other pressing into the duvet beside you.

A pitiful noise slips from your throat as your slick gushes around his cock, the stretch feeling so fucking delicious and you whimper. Steve makes a noise of disapproval, “Sh, sh, sh,” he tuts, “Said we gotta be quiet.”

He bottoms out fully as he speaks lowly in your ear, well aware there’s no way to control the squeak you make— you squirm, hands twisting in the sheets as you fight the mounting pleasure and urge to whine again. He draws back, hips torturously slow as he fucks back into your hot, wet cunt.

“Y’can be quiet, can’t you?” He taunts, his free hand reaching up to brush some hair back from your face. He dots a kiss on your temple. It’s contradictory levels of sweetness compared to the feel of his fat cock leaking inside you as he rolls his hips into you. He’s still so slow with it, not even a slap of skin in the room. You moan lowly and try to hide it in the duvet.

“Aw,” Steve murmurs. “C’mon now, I’ll help you out, yeah?”

His hand beside you moves up again, smoothing over your hair again before it skims across your cheek and settles on your mouth. He picks up a pace a bit, just to feel your moan vibrate against his fingers and the coil in your tummy tightens impossibly more. You’re burning up in his arms, falling apart on his cock — it really is the sweetest revenge.

His fingers shift, adjusting their grip and you wrap your lips around his thumb and suck without a second thought— your cunt throbbing happily when Steve curses. His hips stutter in their movement, his fingers curling tighter around your hipbone. “Fuck,” he mutters. “F-Fuck, you feel-“

He cuts himself off with a growl, beginning to fuck into you harder, hips snapping into your ass at a feverish pace. You melt under him, desire flaming higher and higher in your chest. You feel yourself flutter around him and try to choke down your moans, drooling over his fingers just a bit.

“Don’t even need to shush you, hm,” He huffs. “This pretty pussy s’gonna give us away— christ, she’s so wet. You love this, don’t you?”

You don’t want to give him the satisfaction that he’s getting you back in a more than equal way but it’s impossible not to — not with the way you’re trembling beneath him, all pent up and ready to cream on his cock - all with people only a wall away. Another pathetic high noise gets muffled behind Steve’s fingers and you give a soft nod.

“Aw, honey,” Steve purrs, slowing his pace til it’s nearly lazy how he pushes into you. Slick wells at your entrance, spilling down your thighs. Somehow, it all makes it worse, his slowness driving the burning under your skin to scorching levels and you twitch, feeling your hips starting to drive backward — to fuck yourself on him desperately.

You get all but two seconds of relief before his hand on your waist shifts, pushing down on your lower back to pin your hips to the bed. You wiggle, another fruitless whine slipping past your fingers but Steve tuts disapprovingly. He stills, cock pressed deep inside you and holding you down.

“Sweetheart,” he warns, lips ghosting along your shoulder. He presses a kiss to your skin as his cock twitches inside you, warm and feeling fucking good. “If y’wanna cum, you’re gonna have to stay quiet.”

You nod rapidly eyes screwing shut to hold in your moan when he finally starts up again — this time with a renewed fervor, his strokes deep and gaining in speed. You pant, gripping the sheets as he fucks you, barely restraining your noises when his hand snakes around to play with your clit. You shake in his arms, orgasm burning up close in your tummy when- when— Steve’s fingers pinch at your side.

You yelp aloud at the unexpected feeling— the noise far louder than you intend. A whine follows when Steve slows his pace again, making your release fade, You don’t even get a moment to ask before Steve is speaking again.

“What did I just say, huh?” He murmurs, breath warm on your ear. He’s still thrusting, just enough to keep your cunt fluttering wildly around him, to have you keening in his arms — back arching as you push your chest further into the bed. “I know, I know, she’s just crying on my cock, honey, all slick and wet f’me, I know. But if you wanna cum…”

His hand slides back down, fingers rubbing over your bundle of nerves perfectly as his cock fucks in faster and faster. He presses another kiss into your shoulder and you can feel his smirk on your skin, as he asks, “You gotta be quiet f’me— think you can do both?"

Heat pools in your stomach, winding up faster than last time due to all his goddamn teasing. Another whimper slips through and you suck in a breath, like trying to rein the noise back in. You want to cum, you want- you want—

"Think y'can keep all those pretty little noises down when you cum on my cock?" Steve coos, his hips still rolling into you, fucking fast enough to hear the sound of your slick again. "C’mon, honey, I wanna see you try.”

#jay writes #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader smut #ns/fw

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