his voice reverberated against your whimpers, possessing a soft lilt to his husky tone. his lips ran its course on your pussy. not even eating you out, just a damn tease.
his lower lip dragged itself, tracing your puffed folds. your wetness smeared on his lips. he pressed the gentlest, firmest kiss on to your throbbing cunt.
your hips lifted, just a little to meet with his mouth again but all he did was let out a chuckle at your desperation. “now, now, let’s be patient, alright?”
“spread your legs a bit more. can you do that for me, baby?” he blew a cold gush of soft air directly on to your clit, making you gasp, complying instinctively with his request.
he straightened himself up, away from your pussy, and tugged his trousers down— unveiling his thick, robust and undeniably hard of a cock, smeared with pre-cum on the tip.
prominent veins decorated his cock. the entirety of it was bruised a regal shade of purple and blue, purely from restraint, agony of not penetrating the pretty hole.
one hand of his wrapped itself around the base, slowly jerking it up and down sensually, coating his girth with the pre-cum from his. his other hand had adjusted his hair, pushing the wet strands of hair back. “look at me, baby. see what you do to me, sweetheart?”
“you’ve got your man so damn fucked, huh. doesn’t happen that often” you could truly see it, his face flushed, crimson injecting itself in to him, as blood was coursing to his head with profuse intensity.
his canine bit into his lower lip as he slightly lowered himself to you, a spread of his torrid tempered hand lay on your marked thighs while his knees pressed on to the mattress’ softness.
the tip of his cock maliciously kissed your ready hole, only a little, not entering like you had desired for. his hold on his cock tightened as he vehemently guided it up and down your raw pussy.
your juices coated his length as his tip steered through your cunt, drenching on the mess, thrusting between your folds.
one hand of his had pinned your thigh around his waist while the other was too lascivious, shamelessly spread your pussy lips apart with his thumb and index fingers. “hm, yeah, look at her. so wet for my cock. yeah, makes so much sense, doesn’t it baby?” he raises one of his eyebrows while a smirk graces his wintry face. “so damn wet for me. nothing new though”
he was so egotistical, especially now seeing the condition you were in. cheeks burning with an impaling desire, mouth parted to whine and moan, cunt wet enough to completely deep throat him.
his cock, still idly dousing itself with your wetness in a cadenced pattern, a rhythm curated by him only. one that had a burning contact of skin on skin but deprived you of pleasure.
and as if he couldn’t get any more cocky— he slowly dragged his meat from your succulent hole to your lonely clitorus bud as he repeatedly slapped it, then, slowly nudged on it. the slit of his tip incessantly nudging around your clit had you instantaneously moaning his name in stutters. “i know, the dick’s too good huh?”
he was stimulating your pussy so well. consistently dragging the head of his cock between your labia, arrogantly chuckling every time you moaned in dire need. “fuck yeah, want me so bad don’t you? of course you do. why wouldn’t you?”
he had mockingly put it inside but slipped out of quick, a fake pout formed on his face. “shit– oops sorry, can’t put it in, cutie. it’s too big for you. what should we do? hm?” he feigned a sad look while teasing your entrance. how annoying.
“g-god, you’re so full of yourself” you, somehow, muttered through your gritted teeth which had earned a chuckle from him.
ouuh college roommate yuji..hes so sweet and so fucking hot :(( like you just cant help but be a bit of a pervert Because hes so big and sexy..cant help but get off whenever you hear him hook up..
✩꒱ for your ears only, roomie! ft. yuuji itadori .ᐟ
🏁 ꒰ ✩ smut ⋆ mdni ⋆ characters are adults. college roomate!yuuji itadori and fem!reader. college au. no curses. voyeurism, exhibitionism, masturbation, dirty talk, reader is a perv! ꒰ paper thin walls means jerking off to praise not meant for you. it also means your roommate can hear you getting off to him too. ꒱
oh don’t say this to me please don’t. do you think he knows you have a crush on him? like yuuji would notice you checking him out every morning when he comes back from the gym, pecs glistening with sweat, shorts low on his hips and cap backwards on his head. he always looks good in the mornings, brings you coffee and a cake pop too so not only is he hot but he’s extremely sweet to you.
like i think him just being your roommate as a concept is sexy… he cleans up after himself, cooks for you wednesday to thursday nights cause he knows you finish your lectures late on those days, he pays for laundry because the machines downstairs are expensive and he doesn’t mind. i think yuuji is such a good roomie that it turns you on, a man who takes care of himself and others and cares about his education too. also i think he never brings his friends from the football team over, and if he does he tells them to be quiet and makes them introduce themselves politely …
college yuuji isn’t too into casual sex. he’ll have a partner or a fwb and see them exclusively for however long they want him. you know their names, you see them in the kitchen sometimes before a night out or the next day while yuuji fries up enough eggs and bacon to feed the three of you. you’ve asked before if they’re his girlfriends or boyfriends and he always tells you that he’s waiting on something special.
you wonder if you could be that special for him and if you were — you wonder if he’d dirty talk you the way he does his sexual partners.
“there you go, taking this dick like you were made for it.”
you can hear itadori purr through paper thin bedroom walls as you spin webs of slick over your swollen clit — rubbing it mercilessly in tune with the dull thud of his bed against the barrier between you. you match your roommates pace, the switch between gruellingly slow grinds and thoughtful thrusts which you know hit deep. if you close your eyes, you can almost picture him above you, inside you, sinking into walls that welcome him back as though he had never left.
with one hand you spread your folds wide, strings of arousal breaking between them like ruined strands of glue. using the other, your fingers trace lower to press into your quivering hole — you picture yuuji’s stretch, how you’ll struggle to swallow his dick down to the hilt and how proud he’ll be when you do.
“fuck, don’t tell me you’ve had enough. you’re gonna take these inches just like the rest of me. you’re gonna be good, right? that’s what you are… good f’me. good for me.”
you can’t help the way you gush around your fingers at his voice. pulled tight in his throat by lust, gravely against a stranger’s ear to which you feel envious of. yuuji has always been a talker and you could genuinely listen to him for hours, but when he’s fucking someone just one wall away from you — muttering filthy verses into their skin, you know you won’t last very long.
“i can take it. i wanna take it, ‘ji,” you breathe to yourself, under warm breath and teary eyes. the stimulation your fingers provide as they nudge at your wet walls and g-spot — you imagine — hardly compare to the heavy press of yuuji’s cock against them. you know that you’d feel so full, feel his tip climbing up to your ribcage. you know you’ve never wanted someone so bad.
the pace next door quickens, the moans shared grow loud and uncontrolled and for a second — you think that he might be moaning for you. in your mind, you can taste the desperation in the curse words that slip from yuuji’s lips and layer over lewd squelching. the plap of your pussy ravaged by thick cock that throbs every time you clench.
“i want you to cum for me, baby,” he says distantly, fractured voice and slapping skin. “can you do that? cum for me?”
you nod and flex your fingers against every pleasure spot you know your rippling walls possess — imagining the new ones yuuji would discover if he were the one fucking you. “y-yes! i can… ‘m gonna… gonna cum for you ‘ji!” you shriek, muffling the pathetic sound with your shirt between your teeth. “fuck, yuuji!”
it hits when his hits, a tidal wave of lust in liquid form that rushes through your ears like hot blood and streams from your cunt in clear, perfect streams. the high pitched wail that claws its way out of you mimics itadori’s guttural groan while he finishes inside his partner.
“there’s so much cum, so fuckin’ much. wanna put it all inside you.” he chokes. “baby, oh my god.”
you bet it’s warm, viscous as it pools against their entrance. a sleepy thought you barely remember as the strength of your orgasm tugs you to sleep. a slumber where you’ll forget how loud you were when you came and how thin the walls really are.
because in the morning, there is no smell of bacon to rouse you, or hird plate set for breakfast nor is there a sweaty yuuji returning from the gym. its just him and tired eyes and a slanted smirk that makes your gut turn sideways as he carefully pries open your bedroom door — brown eyes dropping to the sticky fingers still buried between your thighs ( of course you’d fallen asleep fucking yourself ).
“i guess we both had fun last night, roomie,” yuuji beams. warm and sugary like molasses melted on a stove. “but what i’d really love to know is … if you were moaning my name to get a rise out of me or to get me to finally fuck you.”
end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Disgustingly loving sex (sorry). Soft dom!Simon Talks You Through It™️ Creampie. Brief mention of Reader’s insecurities w sex
Note: I’m on Instagram now (kinda), come say hi :-)
Word count: 2.1k
It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried before.
You’d had your fair share of lovers and experienced more than a good deal of fun. With everyone in the past, climax came the same way, every single time: clitoral stimulation, and clitoral stimulation alone.
By this point in your life, you suspected your g-spot was probably just a figment of your imagination, no more real than Atlantis, Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy.
That was, until, you met your boyfriend, Simon.
And things had only been official for a week.
You and him had fooled around a handful of times—made love, as he called it, and kissed and cuddled and occasionally dry-humped until the two of you were both panting, groaning messes—but all of this was new. Simon was still learning you, as you were him.
He finished between your tits. You came on his tongue. He fingered you to the point of tears, and you learned how to touch his sac just right to get him to blow his load in seconds. On this night in particular, you were fucking missionary, and holding hands while you did.
Lovesick puppies, Price would say. Neither one of you seemed able to unglue your lips or unlace your fingers or keep your hips from colliding again and again and again in frantic search of the other’s furthest depths. You were perfectly wrapped up, with no desire to move
Except, you needed to reach down between your bodies to actually get off. That was a minor detail.
You didn’t think the man above you would mind if you moved your touch from his, but then that grip tightened the second you tried pulling away.
“Keep it there, lovie. Like holding you like this,” he said.
You enjoyed it, too. It was intimate, and sweet, and with your hands pinned on either side of you, locked securely in his, you felt safe. You just couldn’t finish.
“But I…I need to come,” you whispered against him. You rolled your hips and felt his cock twitch inside you.
Simon grunted, then swallowed. Nodded slowly.
“Yeah. I’ll get you there. Feel this?”
He slid deeper for emphasis.
You didn’t.
You rarely did, or at least not in the way you figured you were supposed to get when something pressed there.
“I think…sort of, yeah,” you hedged your answer.
Don’t bruise his ego, don’t hurt his feelings.
This is all on me, Si, I promise it’s not you.
Cutting in over your thoughts, Simon moved swiftly. Took your hips in his big, strong hands, lifted up, and plunged his cock to the hilt. The girth of him was enough to knock the air out of your lungs, and you felt your walls stretch, sting, and weep sweet liquid warmth around that intrusion. You moaned.
“Better?” The man’s question was simple.
Before you could answer it, he was sliding a pillow underneath your backside. Sawing his long, thick, leaking cock in and out of you, he reached a new spot.
You made a face, feeling good from that but…strange.
Simon snatched your hands up again and planted them beside your head on the mattress. He thrusted steadily. He peppered kisses all over your face and your neck while the bed frame squeaked in time, and you had to dig your heels into his ass to ground yourself.
“Talk to me, baby. Can’t make it better if you don’t.”
“I—I know, I just can’t—”
At the same time, Simon tilted your hips slightly once more, and the tip of his cock kissed something soft and wet and dizzyingly pleasurable inside your body. A loud, embarrassing cry slipped out between your lips.
You wanted to clap a hand over your mouth, hating the way you’d just sounded, but your fingers were stuck to his. Simon grinned down at you, toothy and approving.
“Can’t do what, now, darlin’?”
The warm, bulbous head of his cock had found its mark, and he just kept prodding that spot, like it entertained him to do it. The fingers laced between your own constricted their grip even more, and Simon leaned down to kiss you while his cock carved a mind-numbing path. In between kisses, he praised you.
“That’s my girl. She’s likin’ it now, isn’t she?”
“Feel good when my cock hits that spot?”
“Your pussy’s fuckin’ soakin’ me, baby.”
But still, somehow, it just wasn’t quite enough.
Maybe you’d never found that place after all.
This was where most men gave up—after a few good minutes of fucking when their balls had gotten to be as swollen as stones and their bodies were aching for release, more often than not, they’d go off chasing their own high. That was when you usually started rubbing your clit, or waited for your partner to finish so they could get you off with their tongue or something.
You hated to feel like a burden, and you really despised the thought of being the reason your sweet Simon couldn’t get to orgasm. So you squirmed again.
Straining to reach down, to try and touch yourself, you whimpered, “Si, please, it just—it takes me too long—”
“Good thing we’ve got all night,” Simon replied bluntly.
Then, once again, he twisted your bodies like you were as soft and malleable as putty in his hands, and this time, he hitched one of your legs around his hip, high.
With one slow-rolling thrust and an audibly squelching sound, Simon’s cock stretched your hole to maximum capacity, and then a little more. Your juices leaked down his shaft, aiding the slide, and he stabbed in a few shallow strokes. Probing. Testing the waters, as if he were trying to find something hidden inside you.
You sucked in a breath. Simon’s gaze slid to yours.
“Let’s find that precious spot, lovie. Easy, now.”
Gently coaxing your body open, he drove a slow, measured pace. He split your cunt like it was the easiest thing in the world, delving within your wet, velvety heat to tease every contour and crevice of your pussy. His tip leaked precome. His balls glistened in your arousal and landed with the gentlest plap, plap, plaps while he explored your insides with his member.
It really was as simple as that, nothing more and nothing less than poking around. Having patience.
“S-Si,” you stammered, nose wrinkling slightly.
“What’s’at, baby? Got something to tell me?”
Like a teacher, almost, he pressed for more.
Like his cock was showing you something new about your body but he needed your help to tell him just how and where to find it, Simon took care to be kind. He smoothed a hand over the crown of your head and then cradled the back of it, one massive set of fingers splayed out against your skull and engulfing it wholly.
He still held onto your other hand tight.
Your cunt pulsed. Ached. Fluttered around him.
Stuffed to the brim, you had only to feel, and murmur:
“Higher.”
“Higher?”
“Um, to the…to the left.”
Simon tilted his hips left.
Yes.
That was just it. So close.
Almost…
Or, maybe…
“Maybe it just…isn’t there,” you huffed out, deflating. “Know you’re trying so hard, baby, but I think I can’t—”
Then Simon hit the same spot as before, only higher.
Just like you’d told him: to the left, and then…
“Oh, fuck,” you cursed. “Oh, fuckfuckfuck.”
The grin above you stretched even wider.
“There, lovie?” Simon goaded you on.
“Right there.” You nodded furiously.
A wave of pleasure swept through your limbs, from your core down to the soles of your feet. Your toes curled, and you squeaked, feeling Simon’s cock graze that soft, spongy, sensitive place—except he’d pushed in deeper. The sensation made your eyes roll back.
“Little dove doesn’t mind my pokin’ after all, huh?” Simon’s words were a tease, but you heard a strain in them, too. The second you were caught in the throes of real pleasure, your cunt must’ve clamped like a vice.
“Keep…keep pokin’, Si,” you choked out. “I like it.”
Your lover kept at it—poking from the inside.
The routine almost felt like losing your virginity all over again, together. Simon cradled your head, told you how good you were doing, how sweet you were for him, and you whimpered under his hold. Squirmed and clung to him for dear life, then kissed him feverishly.
Simon’s mouth was hard and hungry, his thrusts deep. His cock throbbed within the wet, clenching confines of your pussy, and he seemed to be going wild at the feeling. With the idea that he was driving you wild, too.
You realized as much when he whispered it to you.
“Could lose my bloody mind when you’re like this—” Another sharp, labored breath. Another shudder passing through his body when your insides squeezed. “—so why didn’t you talk? Ask for what you needed?”
Your voice was small. “Didn’t wanna be a bother.”
Your eyes were locked with Simon’s, and in his irises, you caught a shade of concern. It flared, hot as anything, then mixed with disbelief. Disappointment.
“Don’t be angry, Si, I—” you started, hurried.
“‘M’not.” Simon blinked. But he gritted his teeth, and he withdrew his cock until the head was bumping and teasing between your folds, then he shook his head. “It’s those fuckin’ pricks who should be sorry, yeah?”
The ones that you’d been with before.
You wanted to protest, insist that you were at least partly to blame, but you never got the opportunity.
Simon was back inside you in a blink.
Hitting that same spot again, and again, and again.
He grinned, the tic of a muscle in his jaw telling you that he was less amused this time around, but proud.
Vindicated.
“Well. It’s not like they’re ever gettin’ a chance in between these pretty legs again, are they, lovie?”
You nodded in agreement.
You smiled back at him, only to have that gentle curve falter a little when you felt Simon’s thrusts accelerate.
“Only thing that’s gonna touch this spot other’n my cock is my seed, splatterin’ all over your walls, right?”
When he gave a playful nip to your lower lip and squeezed your hand tighter, you knew that he meant it. The man had plunged so deep inside you that his pubic bone was now grinding against your skin, and the rest of him was buried. His balls, all full and warm and heavy with his release, rested firmly in your cleft.
And the steady, measured strokes of his cock landed with near-surgical precision on the G-spot you’d convinced yourself up until tonight didn’t exist.
Simon beamed. You were overcome with ecstasy.
“This it, lovie? This spot right ‘ere?” he cooed.
His cock bobbed against that gummy and indescribably dizzying place, causing your last moan to morph into something more akin to a shriek.
You nodded your head: “Y-Yes. Yes.”
“Feel good when I hit it?”
“Fucking perfect, Si.”
You sighed when the man bottomed out for what felt like the millionth time, and the pleasure never waned. He felt just as good now as he did when he first got in.
“Yeah? Gonna come on my cock then, pretty girl?”
“Yeah. I’m— I’m so close.”
“Go on then, love.”
And, shortly, you did.
Maybe three, four, five more stabs of his cock to your most precious, intimate place and you were unraveling beneath him, stars bursting in your line of vision. It seemed dramatic to say, but that was really what it came to—your mouth hanging open, eyes wide, gaze peering into Simon’s while he fucked you through the most intense orgasm of your life. You clung to him, and your walls spasmed again and again and again, milking the man’s release in the next few seconds. Simon shuddered and grit his teeth as he unloaded a thick, gooey load inside, dousing that spongy, body-numbing spot and then some. The two of you moaned in unison.
Your body was boneless, your head a hazy mess.
It took several seconds for your conscious mind to come back online fully, and when it did, Simon was leaning in again and planting kisses along your face.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured, breath fanning hot across your skin. “My perfect girl. You did so good.”
You smiled and caught his mouth for a proper kiss.
“Thank you,” you murmured against him.
Then Simon squeezed your hand—the one he’d been holding this entire time. He lifted it gently, like he was afraid too rough of a movement might split you in two.
He turned your wrist and kissed the back of your hand, eyes locked on yours and expression soft while he did.
when Dex figures out you have an oral fixation he starts like, offering himself up to you at any given opportunity. you’re laying in bed together and he wraps his arm around your neck with his bicep tucked up against your mouth. you’re sitting against his chest on the couch and his fingers come up to brush against your lips. he’s still too nervous to ask for it out loud but he’ll try to bait you into it.
he just loves it when you show your desire for him in strange ways. like yeah actually he does want to be cannibalized by you. you can crawl under his skin and live there forever. you can cut a piece of his hair off and keep it in a locket around your neck. just please love him more strangely and intensely than anyone else you have ever loved before.
you come home crying one day and he just flat out asks “do you want to bite me? do you want to suck on my fingers? :(“ and he’s sooooo sincere. he knows it’ll make you feel better, like offering a pacifier to a child. and you know what. yeah. yeah I do want to chew on him. put your fingers in my mouth now.
It took you some time to notice that because you, like everyone you had kissed before Dex, closed your eyes when kissing someone.
It wasn't until one time, when you opened your eyes to slowly pull away, that you noticed it. There he was, staring right back at you, with his eyes and lips on yours.
In a way, it made sense. Dex was an observant person. Only that sometimes, instead of looking for objects he could use as weapons in the case of a potential attack, he observed you. as he so often did.
Dex had learned how you liked placing candles around the kitchen after you cooked something with a strong smell. Dex had learned to read your reactions when he made breakfast. If you didn't smile a specific way, he knew the dish lacked salt, even if you told him it was perfect.
To him, watching is loving.
So naturally, he kisses you with his eyes open. He watches as you melt into him, watches how your eyelids shut tight when his hand sneaks under your shirt—that's how he learns when to touch you.
Kissing you with his eyes open also means that he can reassure himself that you're not running away. You're right there where he can see you. You can't leave him while he's watching you, can you?
Dex can only imagine what he would do if he lost sight of you.
✧ aimee's note i don't have original thoughts, and this actually was inspired by this absolutely delicious artwork.
Thinking about having a massive work crush on Benjamin Poindexter.
You like your job as a receptionist for the Bureau. It has nice benefits, you get to wear cute outfits to work everyday, and it's not as busy as some would think, allowing you to read magazines and play sudoku most of the time.
But the real reason why you look forward to going to work each monday morning is the beautiful agent who happens to work in the same building.
People around you immediately picked up on you infatuation — how could they not? Whenever he walks past your desk, you are quick to fix your hair and try to look busy, but your eyes always betray you.
But how could they not linger on his figure when he looks like that? Expecting you to function properly in his presence is just cruel.
"I'm not telling you this to be mean or anything, but I've heard that he's kind of... weird."
Hearing this words from one of your coworkers doesn't surprise you anymore. They're hardly the first ones to try and warn you about agent Poindexter, but the more they try to talk you out of your silly crush, the more into him you seem to be.
The reason you simply nod at their words and keep going on with you shift, as if they had never said anything in the first place, is because he's never been weird around you. He is a bit awkward sometimes — you'll grant them that — but you find it endearing.
Little do you know that Dex is actually obsessed with you.
Some of his coworkers have pointed out how how much time he spends at your desk, and they're not wrong. But how could he ever stay away from you?
Those moments when he gets to lean on your desk — getting a sniff of your sweet perfume — are the best moments of his day.
He want to impress you so bad, telling you about his missions, sometimes even exaggerating some details, just to get an impressed look out of you. And what if sometimes he rests on your desk in a way that makes his arms look particularly good?
Impressed you are, eyeing him with so much desire in your gaze that he feels intoxicated, desperately needing more of it. More of you.
The first time you see a glimpse of what your coworkers have been warning you about is when another agent tries to flirt with you.
He too tries to impress you with stories about the field, but when he does it, he just ends up sounding arrogant and full of himself, instead of brave and charming.
As he keeps talking, tentatively inviting you for drinks sometimes, you feel someone's heavy gaze resting on you. When you lift your eyes, you make eye contact with Dex, and what you see, just for a brief second, is not the endearingly awkward man you're used to.
Oh, no...
The man you see looks capable of killing the agent in front of you, just to keep you all to himself.
It only lasts a moment, but you swear there was something behind those eyes.
The look doesn't scare you, per se. What scares you is the fact that it doesn't make you want him any less.
It actually makes you want him more.
A/N: Just a little dynamic I would love to expand in the future. Feel free to send your thoughts in my inbox :))
Every time you complain he just decides the solution is to put you on his lap.
It always happens the same way, the two of you are sitting next to each other, be it while watching TV, busy with your own phones, and whatnot. Before you know it, his leg is already nudging yours to the side. Despite being told off, he'll eventually go back to doing it over and over again until you finally have enough.
"Johnny."
He turns to you, one eyebrow raised.
"Move your damn leg. You keep hogging the whole seat!"
"Ah barely noticed, hen. How 'bout ye sit here instead."
Whilst he says that, he lifts you without much effort and deposits you right over his lap, one arm settled around your waist. You're completely baffled as he settles things just like that once again.
"You always do this.."
You huff, crossing your arms.
"C'mon, Bonnie, dinnae act like ye dinnae like being on my lap."
"That's not the point."
He chuckles, pulling you back to lean on him.
"At least this way, we'd both be comfortable, hm?"
He pays no mind to your fuming, he simply nuzzles your neck, uncaring of the way his stubble scratches your skin, laughs as it makes you chide him again. But he notices that you're not moving off his lap.
each time you’re fucking and johnny’s got your legs perched on his chest or shoulders, you can bet your ass that man is sticking your toes in his mouth. he’s licking your feet up heel to toe, kissing your soles and leaving them placed on his lips as he keeps fucking you.
he doesn’t care if you like it or not. he doesn’t care if it tickles or if it’s too much or if it makes you uncomfortable. he turns twice as hard the moment your feet skim his neck while he’s balls deep into you. placing your feet on his lap while watching a movie inevitably turns into johnny rutting his hips upwards to fuck himself against the arch of your foot
put on cute nail polish or toe rings and ankle jewellery and he’s gonna cream his pants the moment he sees them, guaranteed
and if you ask him why, he’ll simply say
“Telling ye once and for all, aye? If yer man doesn't love yer feet, he doesn't love you at all, hen.”
Simon "Ghost" Riley is not the kind of man to get your name tattooed on his skin.
He is the kind of man to get a red line tattooed, though.
"And what's this one?" You point to a circle-shaped serpent eating its own tail. "What does it mean?"
Simon closes his eyes for a moment, relishing on the feeling of having your hands on him. Your fingertips trace the black ink on his bicep, touch soft, touch too soft for him. Too tender. He shivers.
"Ouroboros," he grunts out, voice thick, as though that should clarify everything. The arm he has wrapped around your middle is pushed away as you sit up on the bed and glare down at him. He holds your glare for a moment, not because he’s returning it, but because your eyes are so beautiful and expressive that he bet he could tell what you're feeling just by the looks you give him.
Right now, you’re feeling mildly annoyed; he's confident in that.
His arm snakes around you, lightly pulling you back to lay beside him again, squeezing your waist as an apology. You relent, allowing him to pull you, resting your head just under his chin. "Means cycle," he murmurs against your hair. "Means..." he sighs heavily, not really into this whole pillow talk thing you’re doing, but indulging you still. Anything for you. "Means eternal cycle. Bein' stuck in it. Never breakin' free; eatin' you away."
That's the meaning he'd attributed to it, when he got that tattoo. Corny in hindsight, but true, nonetheless. Accurately reflects his life; born to a druggie father who'd beat him up, and his brother, and his mother. Grew up to be an angry teen and even angrier adult, so full of rage it scared him. Burdened to a shitty life as a butcher, and stubbornly rejecting it and choosing his own destiny by joining the military didn't help much. More suffering there, more violence, more blood. Different, but at its core, the same. Certainly didn’t stop things from crashing down right in front of him; didn’t stop his brother from following his father's footsteps and shooting junk up his veins. Didn’t stop his family from being killed. Over and over and over again; past, present and future, always been like that for him, full of grief and anger and violence, no matter how hard he tried to break free.
Until you. Until he met you.
You went quiet for a while in his arms, a frown on your face, looking pensive. Simon takes it all in while he can; he takes in the weight of your body against his, the smell of your hair, of your skin, of sex. The feeling of your body rising and falling with your breathing against his ribs, of your warmth, of the little hairs on your forearm that stand up as he traces an aimless finger there. Then you shoot up again, disrupting his quiet relaxation once more.
"Well," you start, turning away from him and rummaging inside one of the drawers on the bedside table. He feels your absence like he’s got a collapsed lung and someone has ripped away the oxygen mask from his face. "You're just perpetuating it, then. With that tattoo."
Simon lifts a skeptical brow. "Meanin'?"
"Meaning," you triumphantly hold up for him a red sharpie, "you're doing it wrong. If you want to break free, you gotta kill the snake."
He watches, immobile, as you uncap the pen and draw a single, thick line across the serpent's neck, like you’re effectively cutting its head off. The red ink contrasts nicely with the black, almost making it look real. Final.
"There," you smile amusedly, though behind your eyes Simon can see the seriousness there. The sternness of you, like you have his shoulders pinned with an iron grip, nails digging into his skin so he can’t tear himself away, an angry frown on your face, teeth bared. Like you’re shaking him, shaking the suffering off him, shaking all of the blood off, the death, the rage, the sadness and the violence. Forcefully cleansing him of the guilt that sticks to his skin like tar. "You've been freed."
Simple as that. Like he has no choice but to accept it. Accept your kindness, your understanding, your mercy. Let it make him into a better man; into a better person. Let you help him to forgive himself.
He'd spent almost a week bent awkwardly over the shower so the water wouldn't wash away your red line.
"If you don't got this exact shade of red ink," Simon had warned the tattoo artist, a scrawny bloke shaking from head to toe, "I'm –" gonna make you do it with your own blood, is what Simon was about to say, but stopped himself before the words had built up. Cutting the snake's head off, or whatever. "I'm leavin'."
your spine hit first, the air being absolutely punched straight from your lungs as you met the sparring mat sharply. the rest of your body came down in flailing limbs, each blossoming a new thudding ache in your tired bones.
your nails ripped at vinyl material, fighting to flip yourself over, you knew you only had a couple seconds. but those couple seconds ticked away too quickly, thick, heady thighs wrapping themselves around your throat.
“c’mon, c’mon, don’t make ‘t this easy f’r me.” it was a gruff chuckle from behind you. ghost, his words so full of humor not even his balaclava could silence it. they filled you with rage, your feet kicking, hips bucking in attempt to flip him over.
you squirmed, writhed, but his beefy legs constricted, holding you tighter. you could feel his pulse thump under his skin, could feel every muscle he worked so hard for, pull taut. you were suffocating, his skin too warm, too flush around your throat, your face, just smooshing you between his fat and muscle.
“that all ya’ got? thought ya might hav’ a little more fight than tha’!” he was panting, laughing down at you. anger was snarling through you, bleeding from every pore as you shoved yourself around.
before either of you could react, your hips were bucking, sliding and twisting. your rest of your body followed suit, shoulders rolling just from his tight grasp. you felt the way the peak of your nose brushed his inner thigh, and he felt the way your fingers curled into his skin. you shoved his thighs apart just enough to flip yourself around.
but your thoughts scrambled away, the ornate take down you had thought out melting away and out your panting mouth. your mouth that heaved between the thighs you were just stuck between, lips flush against his crotch.
you froze, he froze. his cock reacted before either of you could even think to, chubbing itself up under your plush, spread lips. then it was simon’s mind catching up, lewd images splaying all across his frontal lobe, things so nasty all he could do was stop and stare, to let himself imagine.
thoughts came crawling back in slowly, your hands that were settled on his hips tightening up. but before you could rip away from him, before you could spew out your apologies all red faced and embarrassed. his thighs snapped closed again, tight, as if entrapping your pretty face like vines.
your whimper was sweet, dripping and pooling on his skin like hot honey under the sun. then he felt your drool, mouth unable to close under the grip of his fatty legs closed around your head. your pretty face was smooshed, cheeks smooshing together, head bowed. all you could do was stare up at him, eyes pleading, embarrassment bleeding out of your stare.
“don’ look at me like tha’,” his head tilted, you could see his bottom lip jut through his mask, eyebrows pulling down in ‘sympathy’, he was mocking you. his hips rolled up slowly, hissing when your teeth stabbed into the underside of his cock. “you pu’ yourself in this position, now jus’ stick your tongue out f’r me.”
synopsis . You can’t handle a kiss from your boyfriend because he has a really weird fixation with your mouth. content . afab!reader, established relationship, oral fixation, taunting, begging, mock sympathy, finger sucking, he’s kinda mean, light brat taming, choking, etc. (answering this request)
You’re not sure when it started but it seems as though your dear Hugo has taken quite the liking to your mouth.
You noticed within your first few kisses that something was different in the way his lips would weigh into yours. There was never anything brief about his mouth aligning with your own, but what really gave away his fixation with your mouth was when you caught the way he stared your lips down prior to taking them against his own.
It was as though he’d mapped out every curve and crevice of your mouth into his head, and then made sure to greet each bit with a greedy slip of his tongue.
At first, you wanted to say he was just a really passionate kisser. Then he started to pop a finger into your mouth in between them—watching and feeling the way you hum in surprise of his thumb intruding the connection.
Hugo wasn’t a man of many expressions but only when he took you by surprise mid-kiss did you feel a smirk threaten him. How could you not expect him to do something so obvious? One of his fingers was practically destined to enter your mouth at some point.
Even so, by the time your lips departed from his, he’d still have that neutral face with you which revealed absolutely nothing about what he was thinking. And accompanying this would be that thumb of his, pressing further down the center of your tongue whilst his eyes met yours.
The moment your gaze went wide, something low vibrated out from the back of his throat—so low you nearly missed it. Then his head would tip off to the left in a manner so slow you could feel your self shrinking in size from the gesture alone.
“You look cute like this,” The statement seemed innocent at first, honestly. But you saw it in his eyes how his mind was far, far elsewhere—and this realization was confirmed the moment he followed that up with, “Now suck.”
Even though you did—and quite diligently, at that—something in him still seemed unsatisfied with your performance. You figured that perhaps there wasn’t enough in your mouth?
Hugo, being many steps ahead of you as he always was, let his thumb produce a different angle within your orifice before he plucked it out past your lips. Then he wiped your own salvia across your bottom lip and tutted.
“You enjoyed that, huh?” An observation wrapped in a question, of which he already knew the answer to. When you nod, his eyes narrow. “Say it then,” his finger moved to your chin to tip your head further up, “Tell me how you liked having my finger in your mouth—how you enjoyed sucking on it simply because I told you to.”
Your lips moved to do exactly that, the words were prepared against your tongue—and yet, he interrupted you ever so rudely.
Hugo possesses a lot of qualities that can’t be described as anything else aside from thick. His fingers are no exception, and you’re made acutely aware of it as his index and pointer shove their way into your mouth before you could properly obey him.
He doesn’t smile, but you can still see how pleased his by seeing you like this. Especially as you begin to hum gibberish around his digits.
Can he understand a word you’re saying? Technically no. Does he try to have a conversation with you anyway since he cares little about the concept of silence around you? Well, yes.
“What was that?” His eyebrows lift ever so slightly and you swear he’s fighting the urge to smile at you, “You said you love having my fingers in your mouth, and that listening to me is your favorite thing to do? Aw.”
Your head shakes, and for a moment you debate on nibbling at his fingers. You don’t though, considering how he watches your mouth move to pout and how your eyes glare at him instead.
Hugo nods his head, “I see, I see. So then,” his eyes leave yours and find your mouth again. His cock twitches once he feels your tongue dancing in between his fingers, followed by a wet suck as he drives them in just a bit deeper. “Did you want my fingers elsewhere? Do you-, hah..” His words escape him once your hand grabs at his wrist and you bob your head back and forth a little.
The way your mouth feels enveloping his two fingers, how your tongue slathers all around them, the mixed sensation of wetness and warmth—all of these factors nearly give him the desire to give you what he knows you want. But more than that, he wants the impossible out of you first. He wants to hear you beg for what you want, and he wants to hear it clearly.
All while his fingers are in your mouth.
“Do you need my fingers elsewhere, perhaps?” His eyes narrow further on you and you push yourself forward just so you can gag on his fingers as if to answer him. That’s when he grins, “You do, don’t you? It’s a shame you can’t seem to beg me for it.”
“Mmmh,” a stubborn array of grumbles fly his way, but instead of making things easier for you, he merely thrusts his fingertips further. “Mmph?” the cadence of that hum is most obviously meant to be a please—he knows how you beg far too well.
Even so, he can’t find himself to care that you’re struggling to do what’s asked of you. You look far too cute like this.
“Fuck, was that your best attempt at begging? Can you really not say it any clearer than that? Poor thing.” He hums, pulling his fingers away from your mouth slowly just to watch the way you almost-drunkenly chase after him.
The moment his digits escape your lips, your hold on his wrist gets a little tighter and you pant, “Please?”
Hugo raises a brow and wipes his fingertips across your bottom lip, “Please, what?”
Your mouth opens and he fights the urge to just laugh at you as he interrupts you again. Your grip on his wrist is lost as he finger-fucks your throat properly this time around—watching the mess he makes of you whilst drool leaks out from the corner of your lips.
Then you make the stupid mistake of trying to pull your head away from him so you can ask for what you want, and he scoffs as if annoyed before using that free hand of his to bring it up to your throat.
“A couple fingers in your mouth makes you do really dumb things, huh. I’ll give you what you want when I feel like it,” Hugo breathes out, cock swelling between his legs, “You understand that much, yes?”
You nod, but words couldn’t describe how much he adored it when you tried to act like a brat with him. He loved putting you in your place more than anything. And that glossy look of need in your eyes… fuck, he had half a mind to quit teasing you and splay you out against the nearest surface available.
“All you have for me is a nod?” Hugo scoffs, “Am I annoying you, chérie?”
You can’t help but whine this time—there was no way of winning him over when he got like this. He’d drag out this teasing until you physically couldn’t take it anymore if you’d let him.
Even so, the whine from you prompts him to look down at the way you’re squeezing your legs together, and he lets out a sigh. One could say he might even feel bad for you considering he knows you’ve likely soaked through your panties by this point.
“Fine, fine,” His fingers leave your mouth but the hand at your throat remains as he gives it a light squeeze. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood today. Strip.”
banner art by rororogi mogera || author’s note: this is for the biggest hugo fan ik @inciseleviathan <3
tags | plug! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x reader, smoking, weed, smut, vaginal fingering, riding, creampie, not edited, brain worm I had
next part
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The first time you ever bought from Ghost you were wearing a skirt way too short to be socially acceptable, stumbling to his beat-up car with a drunk smile plastered on your face. He remembers it all a little too clearly, the way you leaned into the passenger window, smelling like tequila and the minty mouthwash you used to try and cover the smell up.
“Hi.” You giggled.
“Hi.” He responded, raising his eyebrow at you.
“Um, my friends over there,” You pointed to a group of girls across the street, “Dared me to come buy some off you.”
He stared at you without responding, and there was a long pause of silence before your smile dropped into something smaller.
“Wait? Do you not sell?” You covered your mouth, “Oh my gosh that’s so embarrassing, they told me they bought from you before!”
“Relax, bird. I do.”
“Oh! Great, that’s great. Um, how much for an eighth?”
“On the house.” He smirked, digging through the back of his car.
“What?”
“First time buyer, gotta guarantee you like it.”
You caught the bag he tossed you with a shy smile on your face, humming. “Okay, thank you!”
Ghost watched you jog to your friends after that, holding the bag out to them with a proud smirk.
The next time you bought from him, you were all by yourself, jean shorts showing off your pretty legs.
“Hi.”
He chuckled, “You’re back.”
You leaned into the window, low-cut shirt clinging to the swell of your breasts.
“I am.” You smiled, “How much for an eighth this time, for real?’
“Already have some pre-rolls, you can just have ‘em.”
“Huh? No, I didn’t pay you last time!”
“No one ever wants the pre-rolls anyway,” He shrugs, he lies. “They’re cherry flavored.”
That sparks your interest, “Really? I didn’t know they did that.”
You hand him your phone then, “Put your number in, yeah? So, I don’t have to hope to randomly run into you to buy more.”
When he hands the phone back you laugh after reading the contact name, “Ghost? That’s your drug dealer name? Really?”
“Do you want free weed or not?”
You laugh louder this time, “Yes! Yes! I was just teasing. Thank you!”
You text him two weeks later, a stupid meme at that with beady eyes, ‘more, please sir?’
He hates the way it makes the corners of his lips twitch.
He’s mobile that day, and you send him your address with one too many exclamation marks tagged on the end. You run out in leggings and slippers, a giddy smile on your lips.
“Hi.”
He laughs, “Hi, bird.”
“I liked the pre-rolls!” You say excitedly, leaning into the window, “Never had those before.”
“Yeah? What you need today?”
“You have any more?”
He frowns a little, “Get in with me, I’ll roll you some.”
You open his passenger side door too willingly, “Oh good. I don’t know how to roll,” You confess, “My friends usually do it for me.”
His mouth dips into a smirk, “Yeah? ‘Ts not that hard, watch.”
You lean closer, eyes wide like he’s actually teaching you valuable information and not how to roll a joint.
“Gotta make sure to take out all the seeds and stems before you grind it.” You watch him grind it enraptured. “Gotta roll up the tip first, then, wrap the paper tight.”
You nod eagerly.
“Fill it with your flower, roll it upwards with your thumb to make your shape. Then,” He licks across the paper, “Seal it with the glued edge, and twist the tip.”
He holds it out to you, “There you go.”
You take it between your fingers with a soft smile, “Thank you.”
You text him three days later, a picture of a lopsided joint that he definitely didn’t sell you.
‘How’d I do?’
‘Looks like shit.’
‘That’s mean :(‘
‘Come over, let me help.’
‘On my way!’
You show up an hour later, the crooked joint in your hands. You sit on his couch with a frown.
“You know, I didn’t think it came out that bad.”
“Give it here.” He laughs, “You packed it up wayyy too much. Got too much at the end here too, didn’t tap it out.”
Still, he lights it, holding it out for you to smoke. You take it between your fingers, inhaling a small amount before coughing slightly. He smirks at your watery eyes, taking the joint from you to smoke it.
“Sorry,” You say, “I got my lip gloss on it.”
He chuckles, the tip glistening with the gloss, placing it in the corner of his lips, “Doesn’t matter.”
It tastes like your lip gloss. Strawberries and weed.
You take turns smoking it. Simon watches you the whole time, with lidded eyes, focused on the way your pretty lips curl around the joint. The way your chest rises with each inhale, your eyes becoming heavier and heavier, a lazy smile smeared across your lips as you lean closer to him on his old couch.
All he can think about is those lips wrapped around his cock and not the tip of the joint. And he’s definitely rock hard in his sweats, but he doesn’t care if you notice, not when you keep giggling at every bad joke he cracks.
He jerks himself off when you leave, promising you’ll be safe and text him when you get home. He finishes when your message pops at the top of his screen ‘made it safe :)’
He invites you over himself a week later because he’s got random inventory, he ordered them himself, of strawberry wraps and he’s certain you’ll like them.
You do like them. You’re melted into his couch, blinking lazily at him.
“How come you never charge me?” It’s a whisper.
He looks at you, the room dizzy with smoke and your pretty gaze.
“Never make pretty girls pay.”
“Oh?” You sound disappointed, “So, you give it free to other girls?”
He shakes his head, “Just you.”
You squint, “Are you only giving me free weed so you can get a lay?”
He smirks, “Is it working?”
You scoff, smacking him in the shoulder, “Unbelievable.”
He catches your wrist.
“You giving it to my friends for free too?”
“Careful,” He smirks, “You’re starting to sound jealous.”
You roll your eyes, trying to pull away from him. He keeps you close, tugging you into his lap so fast you have no choice but to slip onto his thighs. You don’t look at him, eyes focused to the side.
“Just you.”
You peer down at him then, “Huh?”
His fingers find your cheek, still burning from the embers of the joint, “You’re the only one I don’t charge.”
“Yeah?” You whisper.
“C’mere already.” He murmurs, pulling you down to kiss him.
You make a noise of surprise, like you hadn’t expected your smoke sessions to lead to this, with his cock pressed between your thighs eagerly, grip on your chin and hip to keep you close to him.
You kiss him back earnestly, smaller hands finding his shoulders. He loves it, fuck he loves the way your hands shake against his skin, the vibrations that leave your chest and fill his. He’s been dreaming about this since the moment you walked over in your tiny skirt.
Your bottom lip pops away from his, glistening with his saliva and not the lip gloss you insist on wearing.
“Wanted you to do that for ages.”
He chuckles against your lips, “Yeah?”
Your hips grind against his then, “Only reason my friends made me go was because I wouldn’t shut up about how hot you were.”
He presses his teeth against your neck, fingers making quick work of your belt and pants. “Came over with your ass and tits out, been jerking off to the memory ever since.”
You inhale sharply, “Fuck.”
Your eyes flutter when his fingers find your cunt, squelching with the sound of your arousal. He dips one finger in, drawing a whimper from you, and god you’re so fucking warm. The weeds got you nice and lax, a small grin on your lips as he coaxes you with one thick finger and he's sure he's never wanted to fuck someone more.
Your grin turns into a broken cry when he adds another, lips quivering around the shape of his name. Ghost. Ghost?
His thumbs already on your lips, gaze strong on you, “Simon.”
You nod in quiet understanding, “Simon.”
There’s a sticky strip of arousal that clings to your panties when he slides them off your thighs and it takes everything in him not to bury his face below and smell.
You scramble to his sweats, tugging them down impatiently. He lifts his hips willingly, lets his strained cock smack against his abdomen angrily. You lick your lips when you see it, eyes wide at the sight.
He grips it by the base, thumb coming up to wipe at the precum spilling from the tip.
“Oh my god.” You groan, “Let me ride you, please.”
He slides lower on the couch, tapping your hips casually in agreement like he hadn’t been picturing you on top of him for weeks, “Go on.”
You rise to your knees above him, shaking hand grabbing his cock so lightly it makes his eyes flutter. You glide his tip along your seams until it snags at your entrance, and you make a soft noise when he pops through. You slide down eagerly as much as he holds your hips and grits through his teeth to take it slow.
Your head falls to his shoulder when you sink to the base, his head rolling to the back of the couch because you’re so fucking warm and tight, and the weed definitely isn’t helping because he’s feeling everything ten times worse.
And when you lift your hips, he swears he sees heaven between your thighs when you drop back down and your pussy makes an obscene squelch.
You bury your face in his neck, arms around his shoulders and just fucking go at it. Ass slamming against his so fast the room echoes with each slap. You whine high-pitched with each thrust like you aren’t the one setting the pace, like you aren’t the fucking yourself raw around his cock.
“Jesus, bird, slow down.” He grunts, fingers dimpling your skin.
He says it because your legs are shaking and there’s sweat beading on your chest, whimpers falling from your lips endlessly, but more so because he doesn’t want it to end this soon. When he hasn’t even laid you back properly to fuck you the way he had hoped.
You don’t listen well.
You just keep sloppily fucking yourself onto his cock because you’ve found the sweet spot, the one that has you on the brink of an orgasm.
His lips on your neck do it for you, your toes curling into his shitty ass couch when you break. You soak his balls then, pussy clenching so tight around him he has to bite down on his cheek so he doesn’t bust.
He’s already moving you to your back, finding a home between your thighs when you come back down. You don’t even argue, like the perfect thing you are, folding your own legs to his shoulders, and arching into the couch.
He slides in slow, and your pussy spreads for him so prettily.
“Fuck,” he drawls, “Listen to her, just fuckin dying for me to fuck her.”
You whine loud at that, hips bucking to get him to move. He doesn’t wait a second longer, thrusts so hard into you, you feel it in your toes and your legs straighten out in utter shock.
He fucks you slow and hard, pace languid from the weed pulsing in his veins. You like it, at least he thinks you do from the way you keep writhing under him, the beginning syllables of his name broken on your lips between every thrust.
When he leans forward, pressing your knees to your shoulders, you gasp in shock from the stretch, but then his tip snags against that spot in your cunt that melts your brain into mush, synapses fried on Simon, and your eyes just roll into the back of your head.
He smirks proudly, bullying his length against that spot until you’re pushing at hips, murmuring something along the lines that it’s too much.
He doesn’t stop.
You pulse around him when you cum a second time, sweet voice ripped from your throat, and turned into blinded pleasure when he stamps his thumb against your swollen clit. Your feet tense at his shoulders, fingers tight against the cushions.
He finishes inside of you then, head falling to your shoulder with a deep groan, hips fucking into you with each pump.
you broke your stepdad!jack ♡ and he finally acted on his urges. he would not let himself be bullied by his stepdaughter for any longer, not anymore.
𓊆 cw: stepcest, dad / daddy kink, age gap, mean jack for like 5 seconds, softdom!jack, sub!reader, virgin!reader, frottage, crude language ('dadcock', 'virgin pussy'), baby talking, a little dumbification 𓊇
he dragged you by the arm to the bedroom, and tossed you onto the bed — the same bed he shares with his wife, your mother. it's been a while since she's been intimate with jack but you did not need to know that.
excitement bubbled up inside you as he carefully dragged his hands all over the exposed skin of your calves to your thighs. "is this what you want?" he breathed.
you hurriedly nodded your head, your throat suddenly felt dry.
"doesn't sound like it, babygirl. you've been begging me for so long," jack shook his head as if he's disappointed in you. "do you want your dad to touch you or not?" his voice firm and commanding, his expression hard and cold — like he was scolding a child.
you licked your lips and cleared your throat to give yourself some time to calm down, "y–yes." you whispered quietly. then you tried again with more confidence, "yes, dad. please, touch me."
the last thing you wanted was to upset jack even further. so when he hummed in approval, something in your chest lifted.
his expression softened, still gently caressing the smoothness of your legs. "is she crying again for me, sweetheart?" his voice was so sweet and his eyes are so kind, you could cry too.
you whined out a, "yes." while jack coos at you, "yeah? poor baby. can i make her feel better? tell me how."
"mhm, she needs your dadcock."
jack froze. oh, that did something to him. he gripped the meat of your thighs, his breathing came out harsh and ragged. fuck.
"we gotta do something about that mouth of yours next time."
he released his hold on you, continuing his ascent as he bunched up the hem of your dress. it revealed your very modest panties to him — lace-trimmed, floral, and a little bow on the front. like a present waiting to be opened.
jack smiled at your choice of garment, fingers tracing the bow, "these are very cute, baby."
"thank you, daddy," you giggled. "you're very welcome."
he was getting ready to pull down your panties when you placed your hand over his to stop him. "wait." jack halted immediately.
concern took over his face. "what? what's the matter?" panic arose in his voice as he looked for signs of anything that he might have done to hurt you in some way.
you worried your lip, looking away from him in embarrassment.
"hey, sweetheart." he cupped your cheek, coaxing you to look at him. "tell me."
you took a few deep breaths before finally coming clean. "i'm not— i haven't—" you slapped both hands to your face, unable to bring yourself to say it.
jack was absolutely floored by the sudden change in your behaviour. he thought real hard about what could have caused it — then it clicked. "are you a virgin?"
silence.
"you are, aren't you?" he scoffed. "all that fuss, huh? trying to be big, but you're not. you're still just a little girl."
your whimpers were muffled beneath your palms. shame overtaking your body. yes, you are a virgin, but jack didn't have to be so mean about it.
"what am i gonna do with you? you've soaked through your panties." he clicked his tongue, then paused. "look at me." despite his harsh words, his grip on your wrists was gentle. you opened your eyes to see him looking at you with understanding, and guilt for how he'd spoken to you.
"i'm sorry, babygirl. dad's being mean, huh?"
"you were." you sniffled with a pout on your lips. "i mean, i liked it when you're being sexy but you were teasing me."
jack let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "alright, i'll keep that in mind. but i'm being serious now, baby. if you wanna stop right now, we'll stop."
"no!" you quickly wrapped your limbs around jack's hips, caging him in place. "been waiting for this, daddy. i wanna feel you already!"
"alright, alright." he soothed you with a gentle hush. "i'm sure we'll figure something out."
jack's cock slid up and down against your cotton-covered slit.
"daaad, please put it in me. oh my god—" it felt fucking good to see his thick, hefty cock and feel it against you, at last. but you needed more.
"behave. this is all you're gonna get for now. you're still too little." he panted as he sped up his movements. he wanted nothing more than to be inside you — he knew you'd be so fucking tight around him, now that you'd revealed you're still a virgin. "just introducing my dadcock to your virgin pussy, hm? get 'em familiar with each other."
jack wanted to pull out his phone and film the way how big his cock looked on you so bad.
he took the next step to thrust his tip into where your opening would be, the gusset acting as a barrier. the action made you moan loudly, the sound echoing around the house. he's so big.
he repeated the same movements, in and out — like he's fucking you.
"that's how it's gonna be, babygirl. gonna have to buy you a toy to play with so you get enough practise — before you get the real thing." he groaned above you, you feel infinite times better than your mother.
the thought of him being the one to take your virginity made him come all over your tummy and panties. it's a lot that it started to drip down onto the sheets. he'd been secretly saving all of his cum for you, he always declined your mother whenever she initiated sex.
he'd have to do laundry before his wife comes home or else he'd be getting an earful about the suspicious stain on her very expensive egyptian cotton sheets. ♡
making dadbf!jack ♡ repeat his age to you whilst riding him.
𓊆 cw: SMUT, fauxcest, dad / daddy kink, dadbf!jack wearing his readers, age gap, reader is an adult with a fully developed frontal lobe ! !, dubcon, undertones of reader wanting to baby trap jack, unprotected sex, coercion, creampie 𓊇 ‧₊˚ ┊ 755 words
“say it again, daddy–” squish. squash. every bounce you made on jack’s thick girth was discernible in the quiet stillness of his home office. “p-please say i-it to me–” squelch. “–again.”
you merely snuck in as you were feeling lonely and would like to be in close proximity with him. and by that, it meant nestling into him as you stick his cock inside you. you said in faux confidence that you would stay still as he proceeded to work on his computer.
‘you really think you could last more than a minute like this?’ jack squinted at you through his readers, there was a teasing lilt to his question — as if he could already envision how this was going to end. spoiler: he would be correct.
but you were determined (and stubborn) to prove to him you could. ‘promise – i’ll be good, dad.’
“tell me how old you are.” you mewled, you gripped onto his strong shoulders, ruining the crisp shirt jack got on.
his head was tilted up, groaning to the ceiling. his readers had gone out of alignment, it now sat on the pointiest tip of his nose. his hair unruly from your fingers roughly running across his scalp, and his face flushed and sweaty — he looked absolutely laughable like this. what would his peers or juniors think if they caught their very serious and very professional attending — helpless before a pretty young thing?
there was a large, creamy stain starting to form on jack’s dress pants, and it’s only getting bigger the longer you keep this up.
“oh god. fuck– ff-fifty. i’m fifty.” he almost whined at the end of his response.
“again.” you pressed. the roll of your hips getting faster and more desperate.
“i’m fifty. i’m fifty.” he held you firmly at the soft curve where your hips met your thighs, encouraging your movements. his breathing had become more ragged, his moans and groans getting much louder as he’s nearing his peak.
you begged once more. “say it again, please. dad, please! i’m gonna cum if you tell me again. please. please! i’m gonna cum–”
since you asked so nicely, looking so pretty as you did, jack leaned in close to the shell of your ear. the lightest touch of his lips and the gruffness of his voice made you shiver.
“i’m fifty years old, babydoll. shouldn’t have any business playing around with your dad like this, hm? but you’re a nasty girl. when nasty girls feel achey here–” he pressed the pad of his thumb over your throbbing clit. “–they fuck themselves on their dads’ cock.”
“aahh!” you shrieked at the top of your lungs, the walls of your cunt intensely pulsated around his fat length.
“shit! i’m gonna cum. i’m not wearing a condom – baby, baby i gotta pull out!” he tried to maneuver himself so he could take himself out before he shot his load in you.
but you kept yourself buried deep, using your position to your advantage.
“babydoll–” jack warned you. “get up, young lady.”
“no!”
he wriggled and squirmed beneath you. he should be able to overpower you but if he got up all of a sudden, he’s afraid he might push you down the floor or hurt you in any way. he just desired for you to gently pull out.
“you asking to get spanked?!”
he didn’t mean to raise his voice, but he’s very strict about using practising safe sex. it was already risky enough to let you warm his cock in the first place. he also didn’t want you to feel regret — if something or someone did come to fruition. he didn’t want to put any pressure on you if you were unprepared to step into that chapter of your lives.
“don’t care, daddy. jus’ wanna feel you cum inside me. i need it.” if that was not convincing enough for him, you took hold of his face in your hands to look him in the eyes.
despite the sensitivity of your core, you started to slowly grind on his lap again, mercilessly not giving your lover any other choice.
that made the dam burst, loads and loads of his spend was released in your sex. his cries were sharp, the loudest you’d ever heard from him. you noticed there were actual tears in his eyes, you carefully wiped them away with the tips of your fingers.
“daddy? i reallyyy want a sister, but i don’t care that much at all, to be honest. a healthy sibling would be perfect.” ♡
🐑 : something short, sweet, and icky that's been collecting dust in my drafts for 2 weeks now. i couldn't get it out of my head so might as well drop this lil treat :3 CORRUPT THAT OLD MAN MONDAY !
pope tipped his head back toward your apartment window, you reside at the second level of the building. it was almost as if the universe purposefully let him watch the shadow of your figure gyrating on something — without him being spotted by anyone. . . especially you.
pope guessed that you would most definitely hate him if you caught him outside, sitting in his car with the engine and lights turned off, peeking through the translucence of your curtains, like some kind of pervert. maybe he was.
really — it was like you were asking for it. for him. stupid, silly girl. you needed to be more mindful of your safety, or did pope have to do it for you? you depended on him so much, you could not do things on your own.
‘andrew, can you–’
‘andrew, how do you–’
‘andrew–’
you’re an extraordinary woman. everyone likes you, you have a good job, a normal childhood with a loving family, you have friends, and own a nice place in a safe neighbourhood. but truthfully, you could be naive and so so innocent.
or, you only acted like this with pope — big, strong, capable man who’d do absolutely anything for you. ask for anything and you’d get it the next day.
he knew you were still a virgin, you’d admitted it to him that one time he dropped you off after a date, and you were making out in his car. it was obvious with the excessive way you gasped when he maneuvered you to his lap with ease. you were vocal — moans, whimpers, whines — pope wanted to record your noises in secret so he could make himself cum to it anytime he pleased.
you were getting much louder as he touched you in places you’d never been touched intimately before, he’d touched you everywhere — except where you were drenched the most. you snapped out of your lustful haze when he flipped the back of the fabric of your dress up. before things got more heated, you forced yourself to pull away from his delicious mouth.
pope thought you looked positively sinful — the bows in your hair had come loose, your pupils blown wide, your lips were shiny with his saliva instead of your lipgloss, one of the sleeves of your dress had come off, exposing the smooth skin of your shoulder.
“i– i haven’t–” you started. you looked away, you could feel the heat of embarrassment gradually growing from the base of your neck. “i really haven’t done it before.”
jesus. you couldn’t even say the ‘sex’ or ‘fuck’.
he reassured you that it’s fine, that you two didn’t have to do anything you weren’t prepared for yet.
he noticed that you’d left a stain on his jeans after he watched you climb up to your apartment. he couldn’t help but give it a little sniff before he dropped it into the washing machine along with his other clothes.
pope guessed that you were humping on something, maybe a pillow? a toy? no, you wouldn’t even walk past a sex store without getting embarrassed. but, he knew you must be thinking about the other night when he had you sitting on the tops of his thighs.
he could tell your movements were sloppy and out of rhythm, your pace was too fast like you’re in a rush to cum. were you really that pent up?
he was getting harder the longer he sat there, he didn’t want to jerk off in his car and make a mess. that’s disgusting.
he cussed himself out for not following through on the plan of breaking into your home and planting a bug. he wanted to hear what you sound like when you pleasure yourself. do you say his name? do you call out for him and beg for him to come and help you? poor thing, you don’t even know what you’re begging for.
however, he decided to wait until you finally invited him into your space. he’s not that sick. he’d let you tease him for now. for now, he would be a good boyfriend for you — yes, a good boyfriend as he stayed rooted to his parking spot and continued palming his bulge.
“would you like to come up? with me?” you asked so quietly anyone could miss it, but pope always paid attention to you.
he raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, you had no idea how long he’d been hoping for this to happen. it’s happening, he’s going to have you — in one way or another.
when you didn’t get a response from him, you rushed to add, “i– i want you t–to spend the night. . .” you were feeling brave. you wanted to feel his touch again, you wanted him closer. most of all, you needed him to ease the ache down there.
“okay.”
you watched as he took in your room — it was painted with pastels, decorated with lace and frills, shelves of trinkets and cute little figurines, bed filled to the brim with stuffed animals and other weird critters — he wondered if you’d ridden them too.
your room smelled sweet as you, like freshly baked pastries and there were notes of caffeine as well. he’s addicted.
you nervously wrung your hands together, craving for his approval. your boyfriend was a stickler for organisation and cleanliness, you hoped you did a good job.
“what do you think?”
pope turned to face you, he bit his bottom lip — you got a small peek of his crooked front tooth, a tiny smile appearing on his face. adorable.
“i like it, sweetheart. it’s very. . . you.”
you exhaled a breath of relief. “oh, thank goodness! i spent hours tidying up.”
“soooo–” you started again. “do you wanna wash up then–”
“then we head to bed.” he interjected, and seemed apologetic. . .enough. “sorry– we had a long night, didn’t we? and you spent the entire day cleaning up the place, right?”
you deflated a little bit, disappointed. you wanted him to continue where he left off that time before you ‘rudely’ interrupted him. but he’s right, you are tired.
you changed into your babydoll nightie and put on some knee-high socks. you walked out of the en suite and stopped in your tracks to find pope in bed, he’s naked waist up, and only in his boxers.
wow. you gulped, the action didn’t help much to soothe the sudden dryness of your throat. he’s so fit. oh my goodness, those thighs. the main subject of your desires for the past few nights.
pope snapped out of zoning out when he felt your presence. he had to mentally command himself from adjusting his dick in front of you. maybe if he didn’t move, you wouldn’t notice the lump that had grown there.
you’re quite the little minx. you had no idea what you’re doing to him. he’s a bad man, because he shouldn’t be finding you so fucking sexy right now. perhaps, when you felt more comfortable being more intimate with him he could ask you to get naked but leave the socks on.
he subtly fixed the comforter of the bed, hiding himself in the process. he patted the empty space beside him, “come to bed, sugar.”
you didn’t know pope didn’t sleep much, if he did he’s a very light sleeper. he deliberately didn’t succumb to it this time, though. he waited for more than half an hour to make you think he’d fallen asleep.
what he didn’t know was that you hadn’t fallen asleep, either. you were just pretending to be, hoping that sleep would take you at some point, instead of thinking about how horny you were at that moment.
but you were too nervous — your attractive, buff boyfriend was right beside you, and you’d soaked through your panties.
he’s lying on his back, and you were on your side, faced away from him. you suddenly felt him move, turning to your side as well. he nestled his body snugly against your back, the warmth of his skin made you feel hot all over. you almost squealed. you felt a solid sensation held against your ass.
then he adjusted his position again, he slotted a strong thigh in between your legs. he pressed the muscle firmly onto your clothed pussy. oh my god – please stop. no! i’m so wet!
you’re so turned on but this was so wrong. he’s unconscious! you made a move to distance yourself away but pope caged you in with his arms, trapping you.
he clenched his quadricep muscle, as if stimulating you. you bit back a whimper, you didn’t want to wake him up. then he did it again, and again and again.
you tried really hard to quell your cries of pleasure, you bit your lip so hard until it hurt. you covered your mouth with the palm of your hand, but it’s too much. he just kept going, you thought he wasn’t aware of what he’s doing — maybe he was just dreaming.
eventually, you lost the battle within you and started to rub your pussy on his thigh with gusto — your mind was clouded with pent up sexual frustration. the real thing was so much better.
you were already climbing toward your peak faster than you expected. you weren’t thinking straight anymore as you missed the part where pope freed you from his arms and gripped your side with a harsh hold, encouraging you.
your hands scrambled across the bed, searching for purchase. you felt something fluffy — one of your stuffed animals (it still smelled faintly of your pussy) — you decided to grab it and use it to cover your face to mask the sounds coming out of your mouth.
you bit the toy after one last roll of your hips. you were breathing hard and heavy, you shut your eyes in an attempt to calm yourself but you were so exhausted you surrendered to sleep.
you didn’t hear the low sigh pope released, you didn’t feel the stickiness of his semen coating your ass cheeks. ♡
