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18!!🐰

[mountvesuvu]

Guys... since theres an abundance of neglected batfam fics.. how about a neglected stark!reader fulllll of angst

[turbulentscarharmony]

been thinking of this for two days like WHERE IT IS IT AT?! I’m sick of the only stark!reader content being x peter smut

[reginageorgesgirlfriend3020]

Mean girls dating and girlfriend headcannons (Part 3)

Regina George:

At the school talent show you sang a song dedicated to your girlfriend Regina called She’s so mean by Matchbox 20.

She just chewed on her bubblegum but at the same time she fell in love with the way you sang to her. Shen gently booped her head to the song but couldn’t keep her eyes off you

And the way you sang “And then she’s calling you baby, craazzyyyy”. And that was it. She fell in love with you

After your performance she said “Love you whore. Good job”

Your third was at a movie theater where she held you the entire time and secretly loved it

Cady Heron:

She knows just how to cheer you up when you feel anxious

She holds you and gently rubs your back

She’s very wise

She always says “our past mistakes won’t matter 10 years or even 20 years from now. It’ll be just a forgotten distant memory much like the limit we learned about in class- it does not exist”.

She loves your singing Karaoke time in math class before and after math class

Your third date was at a place called Saver’s where you spent a couple hours shopping for new clothes just because

Every day she sees you and always says cheerfully, “You look so fetch!”

That’s her favorite word to you for her to use

When your aunt said she was gonna find out if you’re dating Gretchen and she was gonna see if you’ve been sleeping over her house Gretchen

Explained to her the consequences of potential stalking and harassment and your aunt had nothing to say so she left and said “Have fun with Gretchen”

She always has your back no matter. She’s a sweet soul

Your second date was at an ice cream where you and Gretchen split a banana split

Karen Smith:

Always laughs at your jokes

No matter how bad

Calls you when you’re busy

Gives you a kiss everyday

Your second date was at a radio station where you worked and she accidentally spilled coffee on the audio mixer. And you said Next time she does that you’ll spill coffee on her head! You said over the phone and you hung up and she made this face (See gif above)

Janis Ian

She HATES listening to rap music

Hates hip hop music

Likes some R&B music

Fiercely protects you

She will fight for you and stand up for you

Your second date was at a rock concert and you and Janis kissed for the first time and she asked you to be her girlfriend and you said yes

[turbulentscarharmony]

damn, what’s wrong wit rap😭

[pixxelgeist]

“Character x Reader” and it’s just poorly written fetish content featuring major mischaracterization and an infantilized self-insert mc (whose age is never mentioned which makes me assume they’re UNDER 18).

“You thwew my stuffy :(” = Am I twelve??

Genuinely how I feel rn:

[turbulentscarharmony]

Let’s not forget how a lot of fics lit say “age regression” aka something that usually happens to ppl with trauma, usually meaning they need COMFORT, only to include smut. Turning it into age PLAY.

[buckygasm]

This is killing me

[turbulentscarharmony]

all that hard work for NOTHING

[nattysnympho]

The Widow And The First Lady 2

Warnings: Smut Ahead. Minors and Men dni

Angst? Reader being petty, Smut. Unprotected sex, Oral (both receiving), Spitting.

Word Count : 9.1K Words

Part 1

It has been exactly one week since Natasha fucked you. One week since her cum had been dripping down your bare things before she got dressed, gave you a glance and a cold warning then proceeded to leave your hotel suite.

A day after that event, she had given you one sentence. Seven words.

"Make sure you take the morning after pill." That was all. No explanation to why she left, no apology, not even a spare glance after that. Her presence practically disappeared into thin air. She didn't even bother to address the elephant in the room. Instead she looked at you like that night was just a dream, or worse... a mistake she wanted to erase from her mind completely.

Washington was cold today, especially after the night before had been raining non stop, now the weather was cold and gloomy, just as you were feeling. The White House had been rather quiet. Agents patrolling around, your mother probably in her office signing treaties and whatnot while you sat in pure silence, inside of your bedroom, fiddling with the pocket knife Natasha had gifted you about a year ago.

You'd stopped thinking about it almost three days ago. You even tried to erase the thought of her out of your mind but that seemed impossible since you could still see her on top of you, could still feel her inside of you, and could still smell her on your body. It was as if her presence followed you around like a ghost. And perhaps it did.

Natasha still continued to follow protocols but unlike before she barely made her presence known. No nod, no greeting, no nothing. And that fucking hurt.

You remember spending that night in tears. Crying, sniffling, wondering. What could have gone wrong? Because two hours before that, you two were perfectly fine. An hour later, she took you home and made sure you were safe. Then afterwards she fucked you senseless before her entire mood shifted. The thought of it made you cringe, that maybe she'd taken advantage of you. Used your vulnerability against you, for her own pleasure. But you knew Natasha. She wasn't like that. She could be mean but she wasn't like that, at least you thought so.

At the moment, you couldn’t breathe in your room anymore. The walls pressed in, gilded and suffocated you. You needed air. So you slipped out.

Past the agents who pretended not to see you, passed the photos of previous presidents and passed Natasha’s office.

You continued to walk down the south lawn, past the rose garden, to the old oak grove where the security lights barely reached. Where no one ever came. It was just you and your thoughts alone.

You sat on the stone bench, knees to your chest, staring at the moon like it owed you answers but also, like it could solve all of your problems.

Your breath fogged in the late fall air.

You didn’t cry. You couldn't anymore.

But your chest ached like a bruise that wouldn’t heal. You laughed to yourself, a single tear dropping down and you wiped it with another bitter chuckle.

"I'm so fucking pathetic." You murmured, as another tear dropped down. So much for being over it.

You sat in silence for five minutes but then you heard a sound. Footsteps. You didn’t turn. You didn't want to turn.

Only one person moved like that. Silent, deliberate, like a predator who’d already decided not to strike it's prey.

She stopped a few feet behind you.

You felt and smelt her before you even saw her. That pull? That heat? Even now, it was still prominent.

"Go back inside." Natasha said. Voice flat and rid of any emotion.

"It’s not safe out here." You laughed, bitter and sharp, the sound sounded so foreign coming from you.

"Since when do you give two fucks?" Silence.

You stood then turned to face her.

She was in tactical gear black fatigues, hair pulled back, no makeup. Beautiful and untouchable. As always. It was unfair that she looked like she was in one piece while your heart was practically unraveling.

Her eyes flickered to yours, then away as if looking at you burned her.

You stepped closer.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Her jaw flexed.

"Go to bed, y/n."

"Don't tell me to go to fucking bed. I want to know why you're ignoring me."

"I'm not ignoring you."

"Bullshit! I'm not five fucking years old. Look me in the eye and tell me why you're acting like such an asshole." Her jaw clenches again.

"Watch your tone."

"Or what? You gonna fuck me, teach me a lesson, then run away?" You blocked her path when she tried to move past you. You weren't going to allow her to go anywhere without an answer.

"You don’t get to fuck me like I’m the only thing that matters and then treat me like I’m nothing." Your voice cracks towards the end, her nostrils flared.

"It was a mistake." The word hit like a slap. Huh, so she did still believe it was a mistake. You swallowed hard.

"Look me in the eye and say that again."

"It shouldn’t have happened. I told you this." Her voice was steel.

"I crossed a line. I’m your bodyguard. Not your-"

"Not my what, Natasha?" You stepped into her space, voice trembling.

"My lover? My friend? My anything? Because you sure as hell weren’t acting like a mistake when you were balls deep inside me, begging me in Russian."

Her eyes flashed. Dangerous.

"Don’t." One word. Clipped and ruthless.

"Don’t what? Tell the truth?" Your hands shook.

"You think I don’t replay it every night? The way you looked at me? Like I was yours? And now you won’t even speak to me?" Natasha takes a step back.

"You fucked me Natasha. Fucked me then left me like a pile of trash."

"Be quiet!" She yells before taking another step back, her hands balled in fists to calm herself.

"I'm going to say this again and I'm saying it for the last time. It was a fucking mistake. It won't ever happen again and no one finds out about it. Ever." She finishes and you scoff.

"Oh is that what it is? Embarrassment? God forbid you screw the black girl right?" Her mouth parts in shock. Genuine shock.

"Is that what you think it is?"

"I don't know. But I don't want to stick around to find out. It was just a mistake right?" You walk past her, hands shaking slightly, eyes filling with tears that you wouldn't let fall. You weren't going to give her the satisfaction of seeing you like that. She doesn’t follow you anyway.

___

The next nine days are spent locked in your room. Your mother asks why she hasn't seen your presence in the hallway, you tell her you've been busy with university work. She believes you. Natasha hasn't spoken to you since that night where you'd confronted her. You weren't in the mood to be near her after that. And she didn't want to be near you

She rotates to outer-perimeter posts. You only see her in glimpses. Black tactical vest at the edge of the South Lawn, red hair tucked under a cap, eyes scanning everything except you.

Friday comes and that's when you finally decide to call your friend Layla, begging for her to come keep your mind busy before you did and said something stupid. She arrived earlier than you asked, two target bags in her hand. Secret Service clears her through the Dip gate in under five minutes. One agent announces that a guest of yours had arrived. You walk down a couple of stairs to find her halfway up the stairwell. You're dressed in sweats, hair wrapped and your eyes are slightly puffy. She gives you a confused look. You hadn't told her about the incident yet. You don't think you even have energy to fill her in.

Just then, Natasha walks out and your gazes meet. Yours is cold, unforgiving and slightly annoyed while hers is almsot, almost apologetic, Layla catches this exchange very quickly. Because nothing ever gets passed her.

Once the two of you are inside your room, she sets the bag down onto your bed then turns to you with crossed arms.

"Alright, madam First Daughter." She says, kicking the door fully shut with her foot.

"Why does your fine ass bodyguard look like she’s been chewing glass every time someone says your name?"

You groan, face-planting into a pillow. She arches a brow, you sit up.

You scan the plastic bags before pulling out a bottle of vodka. You don't bother taking out one of the red cups inside the target bag, you just pick the bottle up, open it up and take a large swig.

"Hey, seriously are you okay? The last time I saw you like this was because of Hillary, junior year. " Her concern for you makes you feel a little bit better. At least someone cared enough.

"I-" You start but words fail.

"Take your time babe."

"We fucked. Natasha and I." You mumble so quietly, you're not even sure that Layla heard it. But she did. Oh, she did. Because when you finish, voice hoarse from all the crying you did before Layla came, she just stares at you for five long seconds.

Then she throws her head back and laughs. Not a chuckle. Full-on, wheezing, knee-slapping laughter that echoes off the historic crown molding.

"It's not funny Lay."

"Shit, I'm sorry, I just thought you were about to tell me that you were pregnant or something."

"Would I drink vodka if I was you dumbass?"

"My aunt did when she was pregnant with her son. He turned out just fine." And by just fine, she meant rehab. Layla finally takes a seat next to you.

"Do you wanna talk about it? Maybe getting it off of your chest will help."

"Well it just sorta kinda happened. We were together at the gala and then I slid off to go get some fresh air you know. I met a girl there, we talked a little bit, blah blah blah, and soon enough Natasha was standing by the doorway, looking at me like I-"

"Like you... ?"

"It doesn't matter okay, she took me back to the hotel and one thing led to another and she was on top of me."

"You can't leave me hanging. Tell me, was she good?" You give her one of your best "are you serious" looks. It's not like you felt weird about telling her about your sex life because in your friendship, there was nothing such as 'TMI'. But the girl in front of you was insistent. Layla wiggles her eyebrows, waiting for your answer. You end up sighing in defeat and she smiles in triumph.

"So fucking good. And it pisses me off because it's all I can think about. It's like I can still feel her rearranging my guts and-" Layla waves her hand in front of your face as a sign to stop talking.

"So what's the problem, why are you icing one another out?"

"Well literally after she fucked me, she told me it was a mistake."

"Really? That's weird."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean for someone who looks at you like you hung the stars and moon, it's odd that she'd say it was a mistake." You shrug before taking another large swig, the alcohol burns your throat but seems to numb the pain you're feeling.

"Then again, coming from Natasha it isn't."

"Fuck her." The incoherent mumble falls past your lips as you take yet another sip. Layla takes the bottle of vodka out of your hand even though you try to reach for it.

"Well you already did that babe." Her attempt to lighten the mood doesn't work that much.

Layla wipes the laughter-tears from under her eyes, still grinning like a Cheshire cat. Apparently your situation was amusing.

"Okay, wait, wait, hold up." she says, sitting up straighter.

"Did she eat you out? Like, properly on her knees, face between your thighs, ‘yes ma’am’ type of service?" You groan but shake your head, cheeks burning hot.

"No."  Layla’s brows shoot up.

"At all? Not even a courtesy lick?"

"No. She… fingered me, fucked me stupid, came on me, then in me, but…" You shrug, embarrassed.

"Every time I tried to pull her down, or when I arched into her, she’d kiss my stomach or my hip and then move away. Like she was starving for it but wouldn’t let herself."  Layla whistles low.

"Damn. And did you go down on her?"

You bite your lip.

"Well I tried you know. I started to. Got on my knees, had her in my mouth for like… thirty seconds? She yanked me up by my hair so fast I almost got whiplash. Said something in Russian that sounded like a prayer and a curse at the same time."

Layla cackles again, softer this time.

"Oh, she’s fucked fucked."

You flop back on the pillows, vodka bottle back in your hand.

"What does that even mean?"

"It means Natasha Romanoff, international super spy, trained to withstand torture, is terrified of intimacy with you." Layla says, counting on her fingers.

"She wouldn’t eat you out because that’s girlfriend level devotion. She barely let you blow her because that would’ve required looking you in the eye while you had her dick in your mouth. She kept breaking eye contact, right? Looking at you like she wanted to memorize you, then forcing herself to look away?" You nod slowly.

"Well yeah, actually. Like if she held my gaze too long she’d lose the plot."

"Baby." Layla says, voice dropping into that wise best friend tone.

"That woman is down bad. She tried to make it a quick, dirty fuck-and-forget mission to protect herself. No oral, no eye contact, no softness, just raw, animalistic, ‘I’m gonna ruin you and walk away.’ But she failed spectacularly. She’s avoiding you now because every time she sees you she remembers how you felt wrapped around her, how you said her name when you came, and she knows one more second of weakness and she’ll be on her knees begging to taste you properly."

You swallow hard, face heating up at the memory.

Layla smirks, catching it.

"Exactly. She didn’t eat your pussy that night because eating pussy is intimate. It’s worship. And Natasha Romanoff does not want to worship the president’s daughter… because if she starts, she'll clearly never stop."

She takes another swig of vodka and flops beside you, staring at the canopy over your bed.

"Girl, I think you broke your super hot bodyguard. And she’s pissed about it." You chuckle then stop and groan in embarrassment.

"What?"

"I kinda may have said something else. Something stupid"

"What did you say?"

"I kinda may have pulled the race card." Layla laughed again.

"Oh you are stupid. Trust me, this is not like that at all." You sit up, taking a final sip from the bottle in Layla's hand.

"I want her though." You whine like a toddler and she laughs.

"She wants you too. But she's not going to willingly come to you. So you need to push her."

"How?" Layla gives you a smirk. The evil kind that you see in cartoons when characters get a bright idea.

"This is about to be the messiest situationship in White House history, and I am here for it."

"And what's your plan exactly?"

"Well, I'm glad you asked me my friend. Firstly we don’t chase. We don’t beg. We make her remember exactly what she threw away, make her jealous enough to choke on it, then act like she no longer exists. We use the classic three step torture." You raise a brow. 

"Details please."  Layla counts on her fingers like she’s briefing a military op.

Step 1: Remind her what she’s missing.

"This one is easy. You start dressing like you’re trying to get laid by someone who actually deserves you. Short dresses, silk robes that slip off one shoulder in the morning, workout sets that make your ass look illegal. Lingerie under sheer tops when you know she’s on residential duty. You smell expensive, look touchable, and never once acknowledge her. She’ll be hard 24/7 and miserable about it. "

"That seems like I'm throwing myself. " You say and she tilts her head.

"Not when you ignore her presence."

Step 2: Jealousy, jealousy.

"This one may be a bit difficult since Natasha acts like she has a stick up her ass. But this one drives her out of her little facade. You know that hot Italian agent?"

"Who? Val?"

"Yes. Flirt a little, entertain her a bit. Just make sure Natasha sees it. By the end of the week? She'll be seething."

"I don't know..."

"Well I do. And it's gonna work."

Step 3: Ice-cold ignore.

"After we turn the heat all the way up, we freeze her out. No eye contact. No good morning. If she speaks to you directly, you answer in one word sentences or just put your airpods in. She wants to pretend it was a mistake? Cool. You pretend she’s furniture. Watch her lose her damn mind trying to get your attention back." Layla leans in, voice low and wicked.

"By the end of week two she’ll be begging to talk, ready to apologize on her knees, probably literally. And when she does? You decide if she’s earned the right to taste what she’s been denying herself."

You bite your lip, equal parts terrified and turned on at the thought of Natasha on her knees for you.

"You’re evil."

"No." Layla says, clinking the vodka bottle against your phone like a toast.

"I’m your smart ass best friend. Operation ‘Make the Bodyguard Crawl’ starts tomorrow morning. You’re wearing that backless red dress to breakfast with your mom. She’s on dining room detail at eight am."

She winks.

"Let’s see how long Natasha Romanoff lasts before she breaks."

___

Step one: Reminder.

It's eight am when you walk into the kitchen like the White House belongs to you, because technically half of it does.

Your hair is a fresh silk press, dark curtain falling to the small of your back. Your outfit is simple, a cream cashmere cardigan, three buttons undone, no bra, nothing underneath but a whisper-thin gold body chain that dips between your breasts and disappears beneath the waistband of low-rise silk pajama shorts the color of warm honey.

The shorts stop exactly where decency gives up. Every step makes the fabric slide against your skin like water.

Natasha is already there, stationed by the pantry door, black tactical pants and fitted long-sleeve doing nothing to hide the tension in her frame. She’s pretending to read threat reports on her tablet. She’s not.

You don’t speak. You don’t have to.

You reach for the top shelf for your favorite mug, the one you never use unless you want to be looked at. On your toes, cardigan riding high, shorts riding low, the body chain glints against your spine. The soft curve of your ass peeks beneath the silk for one deliberate second. A sharp inhale behind you. You still don’t turn.

You pour coffee slow, letting the steam curl up your throat. Add oat milk until it turns the exact shade of your skin.

Then you lean against the counter, hip cocked, and take the first sip with your eyes half closed, like the taste is borderline orgasmic. Natasha’s tablet is now upside down. She hasn’t noticed.

You lick a stray drop from your bottom lip, tongue slow and deliberate, then set the mug down with a soft clink.

You finally let your gaze slide to her, just once. Cold and indifferent. Like she’s a stranger who so happens to be in your kitchen.

Then you reach up and retie the cardigan’s single remaining button, pulling the cashmere tight across your chest so your nipples press obviously against the knit.

You walk out, bare feet silent on the hardwood, hips rolling like you have somewhere better to be. Behind you, the tablet slips from Natasha’s hand and hits the marble with a sound that echoes like a gunshot. She doesn’t bend to pick it up. Reminder delivered. She knows exactly what she threw away. And you? You're thriving on it.

___

Step two: Jealousy

The sun is slanting gold across the pillars when you decide to finally twist the knife. Agent Valentina Allegra de Fontaine is on loan from State Department security for the week. Tall, Italian, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, and a smirk that could make a nun reconsider her vows. Natasha has hated her since 2016, when Val “accidentally” spilled red wine on Natasha’s dress uniform at a NATO gala and spent the rest of the night flirting with anything that moved. They’ve been ice and fire ever since. That and word was, they dated before something went wrong.

Today Val is in a tailored charcoal pantsuit that fits like it was painted on, sleeves rolled just enough to show toned forearms. She’s been assigned to your personal detail for the afternoon because, officially, Natasha requested a perimeter sweep. You know better.

You’re sitting on one of the stone benches under the colonnade, legs crossed, wearing a backless sundress the color of ripe peaches. The neckline plunges, the hem barely clears your thighs. Layla is perched on the bench arm, recording everything on her phone with the glee of a war correspondent.

Val stops in front of you, one brow arched.

"Miss President’s Daughter." She purrs in that smoky Roman accent.

"Your mother asked me to make sure that you’re doing alright, comfortable.”

You tilt your head, all innocence.

"I’m very comfortable, Agent de Fontaine. Although my shoulders are a little tight from yesterday’s workout."

Val’s smile is slow and lethal.

"Allow me dolce ragazza." The endearment rolls off of her tongue, lips curling into that infamous smirk of hers.

She steps behind you. Both hands settle on your bare shoulders, thumbs pressing into the knots with exactly the right pressure. You let your head fall forward, eyes half closed, and make the softest, neediest little sound.

Val leans down, voice velvet against your ear.

"Better?" Layla whistles.

"god, yes." You breathe.

"You have magic hands, Val." From the far end of the colonnade, Natasha appears like a storm front rolling in. She’s supposed to be on the South Lawn, but here she is, moving fast, boots silent on the stone, green eyes locked on the scene like a targeting system.

Val notices. Her smile turns absolutely shark like. She slides one hand down your arm, slow and deliberate, fingers tracing the inside of your elbow.

"You’re very tense here, Cara." She murmurs softly.

"I could fix that too. Privately."

Natasha stops five feet away. The air temperature seems to drop ten degrees.

"Agent de Fontaine." She says, voice flat and deadly.

"You’re relieved." Val doesn’t move her hands.

"I don’t take orders from you, Romanoff. My detail assignment comes from-"

"Now." Natasha cuts in, stepping closer. The muscle in her jaw is ticking so hard it’s visible.

"Or I’ll have you off this property in the next sixty seconds."

Val lifts her hands slowly, palms up in mock surrender, but she lets her fingers trail across your collarbone as she steps back.

"Another time, bellissima." She says to you, winking. She saunters off, hips swaying like she owns the place.

The second she’s gone, Natasha is in her place, towering, vibrating with barely leashed fury. You finally look up at her, expression cool.

"Problem, Agent Romanoff?"

Her nostrils flare. She opens her mouth, closes it, then forces the words out through clenched teeth.

"You’re playing a dangerous game."

You stand up, sundress fluttering in the breeze, close enough that she has to tip her head down to hold your gaze.

"No." You say softly.

"You played it first. I’m just changing the rules." You brush past her, close enough that the scent of your perfume lingers and you walk away without looking back.

Behind you, Natasha’s hands curl into fists so tight her knuckles crack. Her jealousy level? Nuclear.

Behind her Layla snorts before standing up and grabbing her cocktail.

"Jealousy isn't a good look on you Killjoy." She murmurs before following you. Natasha curses in Russian before walking back.

___

Step three: Ignorance.

After your little escapade with Val and Natasha, you went from seduction to ignorance. The ice was practically arctic now. You perfected it over six days. No glances. No accidental brushes in doorways. No more lingering scent of vanilla in the hallways. You even started taking the service elevator so you wouldn’t have to pass her post. At first Natasha didn't notice it, but when she finally did, it her her like a truck. You were purposefully ignoring her and avoiding her.

It started small. Whenever you two were in the same room, you barely paid her attention, let alone glance at her. The scent of your perfume? Now it was rare for her to smell it through the hallways of the White House.

Then you flat out ignored her. Natasha tried to pretend she didn't care but it ticked her off when she spoke to you and you'd give her one word answers or just nod your head before slipping your airpods into your ears. Like yesterday, when she came up to your room and knocked. She got no response, so she knocked again then said something about your mother requesting your presence in her office.

She didn't get a response but she knew you heard her because the soft music playing got louder after that. Sure, you could've been being petty or mean but she wasn't thinking of your own feelings when she'd ran out on you.

Two days later, you walked into her office to find her reading something, probably files, on her tablet. She looks up and you see a glimmer of hope run through her eyes.

"Y/n, what are you doing he-"

"I'm here to tell you that I'm going out."

"It's late."

"I'm aware. I don't need you to follow me. I'll leave my location but I'm leaving."

"It's late y/n." She repeats, you let out an annoyed sigh that stings her.

"I'm not asking you Agent, I'm telling you. And quite frankly, you aren't the boss of me." Natasha's mouth parts, like she's about to say something but she doesn't. She simply clenches her jaw then goes back to reading on her tablet. But her mind? It's far from quiet.

Tonight however, was the final test.

You were coming back from a late “study session” with a girl from Layla's poli-sci seminar. Her name was Jada, gorgeous, touchy, loud enough that half the detail heard you laughing in the library. You were both tipsy on stolen prosecco, barefoot, her lipstick smudged on your neck where she kissed you goodbye at the residence checkpoint. Natasha is on night corridor duty. She’s supposed to be invisible.

She isn't.

She’s standing dead center in the hallway outside your private suite, arms crossed, staring at the carpet like it owes her money. The second your footsteps echo, her head snaps up.

You see it hit her all at once.  Jada’s lipstick. Your swollen mouth. The way your silk camisole is twisted slightly, one strap fallen off your shoulder. The faint hickey blooming just above your collarbone. Her nostrils flare. You don’t slow down. You walk straight past her, keys already in hand, Jada’s laughter still ringing in your ears.

Natasha steps forward, just one step, voice low and cracked around the edges.

"Y/n." You stop. Don’t turn around. Three heartbeats of silence. Then you speak, quiet and flat, the first full sentence you’ve given her in over a week.

"Move."

She doesn't. You finally look at her.

Her pupils are blown wide, green irises almost gone. Jaw trembling. Hands flexing open and closed like she’s trying not to reach for you. You let your gaze slide over her, slow, dismissive, like she’s a stranger, then step around her without another word. Your door opens. You walk through. It shuts behind you with a soft, definitive click. On the other side of the wood, you hear it.

The smallest, most broken sound Natasha Romanoff has probably ever made in her life. Half exhale, half whimper. You lean your forehead against the closed door, heart hammering.

Thirty seconds later, a quiet knock.

Then her voice, raw and ruined.

"Please."

You don’t answer. Another knock, softer.

"Y/n… please." You close your eyes, count to ten, and flip the deadbolt. After that you disappear into your en-suite, where you almsot break down.

Two hours later, you're sitting cross legged on the floor in an oversized Howard tee and nothing else, back against the foot of the bed, phone dark in your lap. You haven’t slept. You’ve been listening to her pace the hallway for the last forty-seven minutes. Slow, measured steps that stop outside your door every third lap, then start again. The pacing stops. Silence stretches so long you think she’s finally left. Then the softest knock, three taps, barely there.

You don’t move. Another three.

A pause. One more, so quiet it’s almost a plea. You hear her forehead thump gently against the door. Her voice comes through the wood, hoarse, wrecked, Russian accent thick with exhaustion.

"I can’t do this anymore." Silence from you, but she knows that you're awake. She tries again, lower.

"I was wrong. I was cruel. I thought if I stayed away I could keep you safe from me. From… everything that would happen if I let myself have you." You close your eyes. Your heart is trying to crack your ribs open.

"I’m not asking you to forgive me tonight." She whispers.

"I just… I need you to know I’m sorry. And that I’m still here. I’ll be here every night you leave this door locked. I’ll wait as long as it takes."

Another thump, like she’s slid down to sit on the floor, back to the door, mirroring you. Minutes crawl. Then, so quietly you almost miss it.

"I should have tasted you when I had the chance." Your breath catches hard enough that she must hear it through the wood.

A long, shaky exhale on her side.

"Goodnight, malyshka."

You listen to her settle, knees drawn up, arms probably wrapped around them, guarding your door like it’s the only post in the world that still matters.

You don’t open the door. But you don’t tell her to leave, either.

___

The air is sharp with November cold. You slipped out through a service door, heels in one hand, bare feet on freezing stone. You just needed to breathe somewhere that didn’t smell like orchids and forced smiles. You’re halfway down the long colonnade when you hear the door open and close behind you. Natasha’s footsteps are unmistakable. Measured, quiet, but faster than protocol allows.

You don’t turn around.She stops five feet back.

"I know you don’t want to hear from me." She starts, voice low, stripped of every layer of Agent Romanoff polish.

"But I’m off the clock in thirty-two minutes and I’m not spending one more night pretending I can do this job while you hate me." You finally face her and you almost regret it.

Natasha looks wrecked. Uniform still perfect, but the top button is undone, tie loosened, eyes glassy from too many hours and not enough sleep. The wind pulls red strands loose from her knot. You fold your arms.

"You don’t get to decide when this conversation happens."

"I know." She simply exhales, white cloud in the cold.

"I just... I needed to say it where there aren’t cameras and handlers and a hundred people waiting for me to stand still and shut up." Silence. The wind rattles the bare trees. Natasha takes one cautious step closer.

"I was wrong y/n." she says flatly.

"Not about the risk, there is risk. But wrong about thinking distance would hurt less than the truth. Wrong about thinking I could flip a switch and stop-" She cuts herself off, jaw working.

"I can’t. I tried. I’m failing at it every single day."

Your throat is tight. You look past her, at the lit windows of the residence.

"You made me feel disposable." She takes another step closer, hands twitching at her sides like she wants to reach up and cup your cheeks but she doesn't.

"I know y/n, and I am so fucking sorry. I'll apologize every day until you see how sorry I am." You turn to look at the trees. You can't trust yourself to look at those green eyes of hers.

"I’m not asking for anything tonight." She continues, voice rough.

"I just needed you to hear it from me, not through the grapevine or another 3 a.m. hallway apology you can ignore. I fucked up. I hurt you. I don’t have a fix. I just have the truth, I can’t keep doing this to either of us."  Another step. Close enough now that you can see her hands shaking at her sides.

"That’s it." She finishes.

"That’s all I came to say."  She waits. You let the silence sit for a long, freezing minute. Then you speak, quiet and even.

"You don’t get absolution tonight, Natasha. You don’t get a kiss, or a hug, or me pretending the last three weeks didn’t happen." She nods once, sharp, like she expected exactly that.

"But." You add.

"You also don’t get to stand outside my door like a martyr anymore. Go clock out. Get some sleep. Tomorrow we figure out what the hell we actually are, because this half-in, half-out version is over.

Her shoulders drop a fraction. Relief, maybe, or just exhaustion catching up.

"Yes, ma'am. she says, soft. You turn to walk back inside. Three steps in, you pause without looking back.

"And Romanoff?" She straightens.

"Next time you decide to rip my heart out for my own good, don’t."

You don’t wait for an answer. The door closes behind you. Behind it, Natasha stays in the cold a long time, staring at the spot where you stood, breathing like someone who just surfaced from deep water. No grand declarations. No cinematic forgiveness. Just the first honest words either of you have managed in weeks, and a promise that tomorrow the silence finally ends.

___

It's 11 pm and you still can't find it in you to go to sleep. Not after Natasha's words continue to ring in your head. You continue to pace around your room, hands typing and deleting the same message on your phone. Finally you build up the strength to send it to her.

Come over. Door is unlocked.

You hit send, toss the phone onto the nightstand, and sit on the edge of your bed in nothing but an oversized silk sleep shirt and the low glow of the city through the bulletproof windows. Part of you feels relieved that you sent it while the other parts wants to lunge across the room to delete that text.

Ten minutes go by and she hasn't responded nor have you heard any sound outside your bedroom. You think that maybe she hasn't seen the text. That maybe you should delete it, go to bed and forget about this entire situation. But then you hear three knocks. Three soft knocks.

Natasha steps inside, closes the door with a soft click, and just stands there in a black tank and gray sweatpants, hair loose and messy, eyes wary like she’s waiting for you to change your mind. You don't. You look at her for a long second, chest tight.

"I'm still mad at you." You whisper, she takes another step closer.

"I know." You stand up.

"Really fucking pissed."

"I know." Natasha moves closer, you move closer until you can feel her arms graze the sides of your hips. You want to push her away, and you do. Natasha grabs your hands and kisses them. You want to pull away, tell her you made a mistake inviting her over.

"I know you're mad detka. But be mad with me inside of you." Her words send a wave of heat down to your core, and you almost laugh to yourself at how easy you were, and maybe that was just how your body reacted whenever you were around the older woman.

But then your lips are on hers, and she's turning you around and backing you up against the wall. She picks you up as if you weigh nothing and your legs wrap around her waist. You moan as you feel Natasha’s tongue lick your lip, her fingers trailing across the expanse of your bare thighs.

Swiftly, she turns you around and places you onto the bed. Your clothes come off first, until you're left in lace panties. She sees the wetness in the center, a darker shade compared to the rest of your panties, she rubs it with her thumb then brings it to her lips. That's the first time she tastes you. A guttural groan escapes the redheads lips and that sound? It turns you on more than you'd like to admit.

"god, so sweet." Rough calloused fingers come up to hook underneath your panties. Slowly, she slips them off before setting them aside. Your pussy glistens in the light, it makes Natasha's tongue dart out to lick her lips, hands prying your legs open.

"Gonna do what I should've done." The redhead whispers as her head lowers down to in between your thighs.

Your pussy practically clenches in anticipation, your hands already pulling her closer. You feel the redheads breath ghost over your aching and awaiting center, your hips already arching into her. But just when you think she's going to relieve you, Natasha sits up, pulls her hair out of that perfect bun, red waves falling down her shoulder and when she leans back down, it tickles your thighs.

You feel the woman's lips on your thighs, teasing you, making you ache for more and you whine impatiently. She presses one kiss onto your clit, then she's back to in-between your thighs leaving a trail of wet kisses on each side.

"Nat, stop teasing me." It sounds borderline pathetic coming from you, but you'd had enough of her teasing.

"Tell me, what do you want detka?" Her voice is rough and needy and so fucking addictive. Only a breathless plea escapes from your lips.

"Come on, tell me." She kisses you from your pelvic bone downwards and stops her movements once she reaches your throbbing clit.

"Nat please, just lick me, taste me, eat me, please." Natasha groans then latches her mouth around the nub.

You moan, hands threading and grabbing strands of red hair. She sucks your clit gently, then slides her tongue down to your entrance, licking you and tasting you. Natasha groans in between your legs, as if your pussy was the best thing she'd tasted. And by far it was.

"My own fucking aphrodisiac." She'd mumbled just as you were about to reach your peak. Her thumb came up to rub tight circles on your clit while she made her way to your lips.

She kissed you like a woman starved, her tongue lacing with yours. You moaned at the taste of yourself on her tongue. Your pussy practically drools for more attention, but here Natasha was, sucking a mark onto your chest like she was trying to prove a point. Then she sat back on her heels and just looked, her eyes dark, lips parted and just drinking you in.

"Natty, please." The breathless plea does something to her.

She flipped you onto your stomach like you weighed nothing, then dragged your hips up until you were on your knees, while your face pressed into the pillow. One hand fisted in your soft hair, the other sliding between your legs from behind, her two fingers pushing in without warning, curling hard. You moaned into the mattress, already soaked.

The sound of your slicked pussy getting fucked was beyond obscene, embarrassing maybe but you couldn't care when Natasha was sliding in her digits then scissoring them inside of you. She then proceeded to shift into curling them, rough 'come hither' motions that had you biting your pillow to keep quiet.

"Look at that." Natasha spreads your lips apart, just to watch you clench around nothing. Her mouth comes back home. She licks, sucks and fucks you till you're a babbling mess. She then spits directly onto your entrance, just to watch it go down to your clit and then she's back onto your pussy again. Natasha moans into your pussy like she's the one getting fucked, spit mixed with your arousal dripping in between your thighs and on her chin but she does not care.

Her nose nudges your clit, hands spreading your cheeks apart, just to taste you better. Your hands are clenched around silk mulberry sheets, mouth parted to let out whines, whimpers, moans, anything that urges her on while your hips gyrate and arch like a little bitch in heat.

Natasha moans again like she can't get enough of your taste. She takes you from behind, one palm coming forth to deliver a firm slap on your ass, that sends the flesh rippling like water and you jolting forward. It's a sight indeed. Your orgasm creeps up on you unexpectedly and when it crashes, it crashes down onto you with a force.

The scream you let out is muffled by pillows, hands gripping onto silk for support, vision blurring and eyes shutting in pure bliss. Natasha doesn't stop at all, she fastens her pace, the taste of your cum spurring her on. Your legs tremble, your clit throbs from overstimulation. You tell her it's too much, but your hips never stop moving. She chuckles. A low, deep one that sends heat into your lower belly.

"Your pussy is telling me otherwise detka, she doesn't want me to stop." You moan, another loud sound muffled by silk fabric but the she pulls out and turns you around so that you're on your back again.

Slick coated fingers are brought to your lips, but she doesn't press them to your lips for you to clean up. No. She smears her coated fingers around your lips and your chin. And then she's kissing you, licking your cum  off, letting you tatse yourself. You drown in her kisses, while she moans.

"Both fucking lips taste so sweet yeah?"

Her words manage to make you wetter than before. Now you need her inside of you. Your hands move to the strings of her sweatpants.

"Need you inside me."

"Yeah?" You nod impatiently and she smirks.

Sweatpants fall onto the floor and the outline of her cock is what you're so focused on. Your legs involuntarily open, the memories of her stretching you that one night, all come crashing back. You want her. You need her. You really fucking need her.

Her briefs come of soon, sitting halfway, on her thighs. Your hand wraps around her, giving her already rock hard cock a few strokes, thumb moving to the tip already covered in pre cum. Natasha groans and throws her head back, her hips move, thrusting into your hand.

"Do you like that?" She hums, you sit up and continue to stroke her.

"Do you want my mouth?" Natasha's eyes shoot open to find your doe eyes already looking at her expectantly.

"You're not answering my question Natty. Do you want my mouth on you?"

You stop pumping her and she let's out an actual whine. She nods and you smirk.

"Uh huh?" Somehow, miraculously, you manage to flip her over so she's on her back and you're on top. You flip your hair to the side before lowering your lips to kiss Natasha. Your center is pressed directly onto her covered cock and it makes her painfully hot and bothered.

With grace, you slip down her body, lips dragging down her chest to her stomach, biting, licking and sucking bruises onto pale skin. You kiss every inch that you missed while you were too angry to touch her. Over the scar under her ribs. Across the faint stretch marks on her hips. Down the sharp cut of her abs that flex every time your lips brush them.Then, your teeth are dragging her briefs down completely, eyes staring directly at the older woman. A part of you still fears that the redhead will bolt. That she'll change her mind, find this too intimate, and leave you at any second. But she doesn't, because the next thing that she says makes your stomach flip.

"Please." She begs. Natasha Romanoff actually begs. And who were you to deny your fine ass bodyguard. You smirk then spit on your hand before stroking her cock again. Natasha's cock throbs in your hand and you finally reward her by wrapping your mouth around her tip. She moans from the feel of your soft lips, you moan at the taste of her.

You wrap one hand around the base of her cock and continue to drag your tongue from root to tip in one long, filthy stripe. She jerks, a broken sound catching in her throat. You do it again, slower, letting spit pool in your mouth and drip down her shaft, making everything messy and wet just like she had been doing to you just a few minutes ago. When you finally take her in, you sink down fast and deep, no teasing, until your nose presses against her pelvis and your throat flutters around the head.

"Fuck!" Natasha's hips buck involuntarily, her hand tightens in your hair not to lead you, just to anchot herself. You pull back with a gasp, strings of saliva connecting your lips to her cock, and immediately dive back down, bobbing fast and sloppy, cheeks hollowed, letting the wet sounds fill the quiet room.

Every time you gag yourself on her you moan like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted, vibrations rolling through her.

Natasha’s head falls back, neck arched, Russian curses spilling out between clenched teeth.

"Fuck detka, don't stop, don't fucking stop..." You double your efforts, your hand stroking what your mouth can’t reach, twisting on every upstroke, tongue swirling around the head on every pull back. Spit drips down your chin, over your fist, onto her balls, and onto the sheets. You look up through wet lashes and watch her lose it completely, her eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, thighs shaking under your forearms. When you feel her start to swell you pull off just long enough to gasp.

"Cum in my mouth Nat." You plead, and the words send her over. She comes with a choked groan. Her hips jerking, thick pulses hitting the back of your tongue. You swallow around her greedily, milking every drop, humming in satisfaction until she’s shuddering and oversensitive and trying to pull you off with trembling fingers. You finally release her with a wet pop, lips swollen and shiny, chin dripping, and crawl back up her body, lashes fluttering innocently while your lips carry that evil little smirk of yours.

Natasha looks utterly destroyed. Her hair wild, chest flushed, eyes glassy.

You straddle her waist, lean down, and kiss her slow and deep so she can taste herself on your tongue.

"Still mad?" She whispers against your lips, voice absolutely broken.

You smile, small and wicked, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

"Ask me again after I’m done riding your cock." She groans, already pulling you down to straddle her semi hard cock.

You push Natasha down, so that she is flat on her back, her arms stretched above her head while her wrists are loosely pinned by one of your hands, not because she couldn’t break the hold, but because she wants to be exactly where you put her. You line yourself before sliding down. You moan too loudly, one hand frees itself from your grasp and comes down so she can muffle the sound with her palm.

"Shh, come on be quiet for me yeah? Wouldn't want your mommy to hear what I'm doing to you huh. " You shake your head, hips already moving up and down.

"That's right, so take my cock quietly." Natasha thrusts her hips upwards and it makes you choke on a gasp. You lean down to place a kiss onto her lips. You release her wrist just long enough to grab her hands and plant them on your hips.

"Hold me." You pant.

"Fuck me harder." Her hands findin their way onto your ass, gripping it and thrusting harder, deeper until you practically feel it in your stomach.

"That's it baby, ride me, god look at you. Missed this."

"Yeah? You miss me Natty?" You ask breathlessly, she nods.

"So fucking much. Touched myself every goddamn night thinking about you."

Your pussy clenches at the thought of her, at home thinking about you, touching herself like you'd been secretly doing at night.

"Didn't like you being mad at me. Didn't like fucking Valentina touching you. Touching what I should have been touching." Her pace fastens, cock slamming into you at a rapid pace. The sounds of skin slapping and your mingled breaths bounce of the bedroom walls, it's borderline obscene.

"Then take me Nat." Her teeth scrape against your neck, down to your collar bone before she's tugging your nipple with her teeth, tongue darting out to soothe it after. Her thumb moves down to rub your clit in fast circles. Your head falls onto her shoulder, you moan directly into her ear, letting her hear what she was doing to you.

"Missed you too. My fingers couldn't fill me the way you did." Your thighs are burning, sweat dripping down your spine, while you ride her like it’s the only thing keeping you both alive.

Every downward slam takes her to the hilt, your ass slapping against her thighs loud enough to echo in the quiet room. The angle perfect, her cock dragging against that spot inside you on every stroke until your vision blurs at the edges.

"Fuck baby-" She chokes out, head thrown back, neck corded, abs flexing every time you grind down and roll your hips in that slow, filthy circle you know will destroy her. Spoiler alert: It does.

You lean forward, palms braced on her chest, nails leaving red crescents, and ride her harder, short, brutal bounces that make her cock hit so deep you see stars.

"Look at me." You demand, voice wrecked. Her eyes snap open, green and glassy and completely gone. She looks drunk on you.

You clench around her deliberately and watch her mouth fall open on a silent moan.

"That’s it, Natty." You breathe, grinding down in one slow, punishing roll.

"D'feel how mad I still am? Feel how much I fucking missed you?" You purposefully clench around her.  She tries to answer, but all that comes out is a broken please.

You sit up straight, arch your back, and start riding her again, merciless, relentless, chasing your own high now. Your breasts bounce with every thrust, nipples hard and aching, sweat making your skin gleam in the low light. Natasha’s hands slide up to grip them, thumbs flicking your nipples, and that’s what sends you over. You come with a sharp cry, whole body locking up, walls fluttering and squeezing her so tight she moans raw, shocked, helpless.

The clench drags her right after you, she thrusts up once, twice, and spills deep with a guttural groan, her hips jerking uncontrollably as she fills you up. You keep moving through both orgasms, milking her, drawing it out until you’re both shaking and oversensitive and laughing breathlessly into each other’s mouths.

Finally you collapse forward, forehead to forehead, still seated on her, still feeling her pulse inside you.

"Still mad?" She whispers, voice absolutely shredded.

You rock your hips once more, slow and lazy, just to watch her shudder.

"Getting a bit more closer." You murmur against her lips. Natasha actually smiles, it's small, wrecked and perfect, before she pulls you down into a slow, filthy kiss.

Your bed is destroyed. Silk sheets are ruined. Neither of you really cares much

You’ve got all night to keep making up. And you plan to use every single minute.

___

The clock reads four am when you feel Natasha stir beside you. She pushes her hair back before sitting up and grabbing her clothes. Your mind is already reeling with possibilities, things that could go wrong just like last time but this time she simply turns to face you.

"I need to leave." You give her a simple nod but Natasha can see the gears turning in your head and she already has a hunch about what you're thinking about.

"Hey, I'm not leaving leaving. I just need to take a shower, change into my suit and not look like I just slept with the president's daughter." You let out a soft chuckle that makes her shoulders relax.

Natasha gets up and puts her clothes back on while you watch her behind your sheets.

"You keep watching me like that, I may just jump back in and give you another show."

"Who says I wouldn't want that. All it takes is ten minutes" The sheet slips past your shoulders as you sit up. Her gaze drops to your chest covered in her marks, her pupils dilate but she just shakes her head with a soft laugh.

"Tempting but you and I both know it wouldn't take ten." You hum and she leans down to press one last deep kiss onto your lips. You wrap your arms around her neck, deepening the kiss but she pulls away before anything can go any further. Although the tent in he pants says otherwise.

"I really need to go."

"Go then." You mumble while pecking her lips. Finally, finally, she manages to slip out of your room after a very heated few minutes that almsot lead to another round of mind blowing sex.

But at least this time when you go to sleep, it's with a faint smile on your lips and no regrets. You may have not fully resolved what happened, but at least there was a clear direction of where you two were headed.

Situationship begun.

I hope you lovelies enjoyed it!!! Feedback is welcomed

[turbulentscarharmony]

damn…I lowkey want both, esp if Nat fucks up again-

[blueonwrestling]

Triple H having a heart attack seeing 4 of the AEW/ROH womens champions skin colour.

[drivefouronthefloor]

this has so many racist undertones and i fucking hate it

[turbulentscarharmony]

they keep putting on ppl we don’t want, racist ppl at that, keep booking in ways that give “hm, triple k and tko DO see color and DONT gaf about any of the communities they was just posting about”

[drivefouronthefloor]

this has so many racist undertones and i fucking hate it

[misserabella]

puppy love

dad’s bf shane mccutcheon x fem! reader

pt2

synopsis: you’ve liked your dad’s best friend for a very long time. the time has come when you can finally have her.

cw;; +18 content! minors dni!! (i’ll hunt you down), shane is 34, reader is 18 in the first part of the fic, alcohol and drug consumption (coke and weed) (don’t do this guys!!!!), fighting, reader being mean, TENSIONNNN, puking, kissing, tattoos, piercings, teasing, praising, degradation, voyeurism (kinda), oral sex (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), cum eating, hair pulling…

you’ve had this silly little crush on your dad’s best friend since you were a teenager.

how could you not? she was beautiful, and successful and so fucking hot… she was unique. you’ve never met anyone quite like shane mccutcheon. so free.

it was innocent at first. you’d always want to spend time with her. she was the person you looked up to after all. she taught you how to skate from a a very early age. she always cut your hair when you’d need a fresh cut, and dyed it even though when she knew your dad would give her hell for it just because you wanted to (she would say sorry, but she wasn’t). she gave you your first tattoo when you turned 16 in a place where your father wouldn’t see. a hummingbird, just like hers. “my birthday present for you, kid” she had said. you could still remember the feeling of her fingertips on your thighs and waist as she tattooed your hipbone. you had tried so hard to not blush and squirm, her touch electrifying.

you could feel butterflies every time your friends would ask you about her in recess, well-known looks being shared when you’d blush. and your knees would go weak when you’d see her at the entrance of your high-school after class, waiting for you leaning against her car with her charming smile. “hey kid.” she’d mess up your hair with one of her ringed hands, hugging you close to her chest. you’d push her away, acting pissed off, when in reality all you wanted was to hug her closer and bury your face in the crook of her neck. she always smelled so nice…

but you couldn’t keep her too close ‘cause then you’d notice the hickeys on her neck, and all those butterflies would die.

your father had you at a very early age, having to raise you all by himself since your mother decided to run away and leave you. and shane had been there since the first second that she had met your father, along with the whole group, helping him push through.

so when you realized that what you felt for her was more than something platonic… your whole world came crashing down on your shoulders.

eighteen and in love with a woman twice your age… so you slowly started to drift away. you’d act busy. you’d started going out frequently, doing drugs, drinking alcohol… getting wasted and sleeping with a bunch of girls to try and forget her.

of course, she’d always find you.

“oh my god…” you groaned, turning around to face your friend with wobbly legs and your heart on your throat. “shane’s here.” you had just left the club, completely drunk out of your mind and with hickeys all over your chest and neck. you couldn’t let her see you like this. you didn’t want to see her.

“what? where?” your friend inquired and you pointed with your eyes to the side and to your back. “fuck. what do we do?”

“don’t let her see me. please, lucile.”

“okay, let’s…” but then she ducked her head, eyes shot open. “oh shit. shit. shit. she saw me.”

“fuck!” you whispered, and at the same time you heard shane’s voice coming from behind you, calling out for you. you tried to ignore her, tried to act as if she wasn’t you who she was looking for, but she wouldn’t give up.

“hey! i’m talking to you!” your whole world started spinning when you felt her hand on your shoulder, turning you around so you could face her. “do you have any idea how worried your dad is? we’ve been looking like crazy for you.” her voice sounded harsh, and she looked pissed. it was when she noticed that you weren’t looking at her, but instead hiding your eyes that she took your face with her free hand, making you face her. “fuck… you’re high?” your eyes were reddish and half lided, pupils dilated. your makeup ruined, gloss smushed. she looked at your clothes, completely out of place, bruises on your skin. “let’s go.” she grabbed onto your wrist to pull you along, but you fought her. she growled your name, slowly.

“i’m not going anywhere. i’m having fun.” you slurred, taking a swing of the bottle of alcohol on your hand. your vision was blurry, and your heart was beating too loud. “hey!” you whined when she took it from you and threw it aside, making the glass break. you whistled at her pissed off look. “somebody needs to have a little bit of fun…” you muttered.

“you’ve had enough, i’m taking you home.” her voice was stern, green eyes angry.

“you’re not my dad.” you said, and she smirked.

“yeah. thank god i’m not, ‘cause if he saw you like this, he’d kill you. move.” you rolled your eyes. “don’t be a brat with me. i’m not putting up with that shit. car, now.” she ordered, and you finally moved, walking towards her car.

you hadn’t shared a word on the whole way and you frowned when she kept going straight instead of taking a turn when the street of your neighborhood came to your view. she noticed. “i’m taking you to my house. can’t let your father see you like this.” your stomach jumped at the thought of being alone with her on her beautiful house. you could still remember how soft her bed was, how everything smelled of her. it was making you nervous. you didn’t want to be alone with her. not when she looked this good and you were this drunk and high.

she parked right outside, turning off the engine and getting out of the car. you followed her up the stairs and inside her home, groaning when she turned the lights on and it hit your eyes.

“fuck.”

“what did you take?” she inquired and you giggled.

“what did i not take?” she crossed her arms over her chest and you rolled your eyes. “i don’t know. some weed. cocaine…” she rose one of her hands to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“jesus christ. why the fuck would you do that! are you insane?”

“oh, don’t act as if you hadn’t done it before… we all know shane heart breaker mccutcheon’s reputation.” you scoffed, and she squinted at you.

“and now you want to follow my steps?”

“maybe i do.” you shrugged.

“you’re acting stupid.” she sighed.

“and you’re acting fucking annoying.” you retorted, grabbing at the sides of your head when it throbbed. “ugh you’re making my head hurt.” your legs wobbled and if it weren’t for shane grabbing you, you’d have probably fell onto the floor.

“woah. are you okay?” you shook your head.

“i think… i’m going to…” you clasped your mouth shut with one of your hands and shane’s eyes quickly shot open before she was hurriedly guiding you to the toilet. you fell on your knees, puking your guts out. she grabbed your hair on a make-shift ponytail to make sure that it wouldn’t get dirty. she rubbed your back with her free hand.

“it’s okay, let it go. that’s it.” you groaned, feeling your stomach hurt. you didn’t want her to touch you, not on this state, but at the same time, you just wanted to lean on her touch and forget about everything.

“sorry.” you apologized, not really sure about what, maybe everything. she hushed you.

“it’s okay. don’t worry about it, okay? let it all out.” after a couple of minutes, you felt your dizziness subside, although you were still pretty high. “stay here, alright? i’m gonna go for some clothes you can change into.” you nodded, resting against the cold wall as you took deep breaths.

“fuck.”

you were cringing at the thought of shane seeing you like this, a complete fucking mess, just when she came back to the bathroom with some clothes on her hands.

“come on. let’s get you up.” she offered you her help to get up, hands on your hips to stabilize you as you took off your heels. “do you need help with-“ you shook your head.

“i’m fine.”

“are you sure?”

“shane. i’m fine.” you repeated, harshly, and she nodded. she wanted to understand. if you were acting like this it had to be due to something.

“alright… i’ll… i’ll be outside if you need me.” she nodded, and left the bathroom.

you sighed, leaning on the counter. you looked at the pile of clothes she had left you, and you took them. they were soft, and just as you imagined, they smelled like her.

you pulled over your head your dress, feeling the cold of the bathroom slide into your bones. your skin rose in goosebumps when you slid her shirt on, feeling caged in her and at the same time so free… you were surrounded by shane. and you were ashamed of yourself. you were supposed to be getting over her, not thinking about how much you liked having her on you. you were deep in thought when she knocked on the door. you had already pulled up your legs the shorts she had lent you.

“you okay in there?” she inquired through the other side, and you opened up for her.

“do you have some makeup remover i could use?” you inquired her, shying away from her green deep eyes.

“oh, yeah.” she passed through you, pulling it from the drawers of the sink along with some cotton wipes.

“thank you.” you muttered when she handed it to you.

“no problem.”

there was this… awkward tension in between the two of you. shane didn’t know what to say. she had noticed how lately you’d gone off the rails, but she didn’t really know why. it was your last year of high school. maybe you were just trying to have fun before college…? she was just worried about you.

you took off your makeup, and she stood there with you, cautious in case you felt like getting sick again.

you were still pretty high, although the dizziness of the alcohol had disappeared once you’d gotten it out of your system. suddenly, you felt this knot in your throat. shit. not now.

“hey… are you…? what’s wrong?” you shook your head, wiping away the first tear that fell from your eyes.

“nothing.” you muttered, but she wasn’t having it.

“come on, something must be going on for you to be like this. talk to me, sweetheart.” she pulled you into her arms, rubbing your back as you hid on the crook of her neck. “hm?” she took your face in between her hands, thumbs caressing your cheeks.

“i love you.” you said, and she smiled.

“i love you too, kid.” you shook your head, interrupting her, your hands surrounding her wrists.

“i love you, shane.” she frowned, eyes shooting open in shock when she felt your lips on hers. your eyes were squeezed shut, heart beating harshly against your ribs. it was just a mere touch, two seconds of contact before she was softly pushing you away, breath fanning over your lips. your forehead collided with her chest. “i’m sorry.” you muttered, and shane hugged you, rubbing your back in soft circles. oh, sweet thoughtful shane.

“why don’t we get you in bed, hm?” she inquired, tenderly. she didn’t think too much of it. you were drunk, high and sad. this had all been a slip. a mistake. she had surely had many before. you nodded, and let her guide you to her bedroom. she always let you use her bed when you’d sleep over, using the sofa instead or sometimes sleeping with you when you were younger and would get scared.

“shane?” you inquired her as she made her way to the door.

“yeah?”

“do you think maybe…you could stay?”

she stood silent for a couple of seconds.

“yeah, sure.” she answered, and you moved to make some space for her. she laid on her back, and looked at you. “come here.” you got closer, and leaned on her chest, right above her heart, where you could hear her heartbeat. her hand laced on your hair, rubbing your scalp and brushing it for you to relax —something she has always done since you were little and helped you sleep—. you had to bite down on your lip and swallow your tears.

“good night, shane.” you whispered.

“good night, kid.” she answered.

the next morning. you were gone. and shane didn’t see you again.

-

4 years later…

“there’s my baby girl fresh out of college!!!” you chuckled at your dad’s excitement. you thanked the taxi driver who waved goodbye and started the car to drive away. “oh god, you’ve gotten so big!” you rolled your eyes, hugging him back as he squeezed you against his chest.

“dad… you saw me a couple of months ago!” you laughed and he grunted.

“kids grow so fast…” he sighed, shaking his head and you copied him, rolling your eyes. “come on! let’s get you inside!” he took your suitcase, pulling from it.

four years had passed since the last time you’d stepped on your city, even your house. that night after telling shane you’d loved her, you’d taken the offer one of your friends had given you to work for her during the summer in NY and left LA, later on having enrolled on the local college to continue your education. it was your dad who would come visit you on the holidays, since you’d promised yourself not to come back after you’d finally finished your degree to… disconnect. you needed change. needed to find yourself. and in reality, all of it was a simple excuse. you just needed to get away from shane. you couldn’t look her in the eyes after that night, couldn’t act as if nothing had happened and you hadn’t kissed her. couldn’t ignore the way your whole body had filled with euphoria and your stomach had blown up in butterflies.

so you ran. and did everything in your power to forget all about it. you had made new friends, met new people, dated, broke up, fucked, partied… you’d lived a brand new life away from her. and somehow…, it still felt like something was missing.

“dad… what’s all of this?” you inquired at the amount of snacks and beers decorating the isle of your kitchen. he guiltily smiled and you rose your eyebrows.

“i may of may have not invited some people to throw you a… comeback party?” you groaned.

“dad!”

“i know! but you know your aunt alice! she’s missed you so much… and angelica wouldn’t stop asking for you to bette and tina. so i thought that a little gathering wouldn’t kill anybody…” you sighed. “we’re just happy to have you back home, baby.”

you felt the itch. the need to ask about her. to say her name out loud after all this years. but you fought it.

“you’re right. i’m sorry. i’ve missed them too.” he hugged you again.

“why don’t you take a shower and get ready, hm? i’ll bring your luggage up your room for you. they’ll get here in an hour or so.” you nodded.

“okay. thanks dad.”

-

shane had been shocked to hear the drastic decision you’ve made in moving to new york. you’d packed and left the same day without even saying goodbye. she had tried calling you, of course she had. at least to try and get to know how you were doing over there in that immense city. but it’d always go straight to voice mail. your dad would tell her that it’s because you were real busy with school and your work. so she’d given you space. she had enough knowing through your father that you were alright. though she missed you. you were important for her. she adored you.

the years passed by quicker than she thought. she had taken over a couple of hair salons that now had her name, and sold her photography to great prices, giving her the chance to move to a better apartment. she hadn’t noticed the change that this years supposed for you ‘till she finally got to see you again, four years later.

you weren’t the same little teenager girl she once knew. you had grown up into this beautiful woman with radiant smile and vibrant eyes. you’d gotten a couple more tattoos, she could perfectly see the tramp stamp peeking from your low rise jeans, and outline the bars on your nipples though your tight top. jesus christ. when the hell had you gotten those?

you were wearing a beautiful lip gloss that made your lips pop, and black eyeshadow and waterline in your eyes. your nails were done in a deep shade of red, yet short.

shane had to take a deep breath when you finally noticed her, walking into your house as you took a beer from the kitchen. your dad and the group was outside by the pool, getting ready to eat some meat fresh out from the grill.

she looked good. why did she look so fucking good? and why was your heart going this crazy? for god’s sake, it had been four years already. you were sure you’d finally gotten it under control, but one look at her and those stupid butterflies were back, along with the memory of her soft lips and electrifying touch.

“well if it isn’t new york’s sweetheart…” she said as she finally reached you a smirk on her lips as she leaned on the isle, to what you scoffed. “it’s nice to see you, kid.” her voice was low, and silky. you wanted to groan. she sounded better than you remembered. but instead, you rolled your eyes, leaning on the other side of the isle to get closer.

“i’m not a kid anymore, shane.”

“yeah, i can see that.” she chuckled, eyes training on your body, eyeing you up and down when you turned around and asked:

“want a beer?”

“please.” you opened the fridge once again, bending over to get them from the last shelf, giving her the perfect view of your tattoo and ass. it read: heaven. “thanks.” she said when you handed it to her.

“no problem.” the two of you took a swing form the bottles, fresh beer spilling down your throat. somehow it didn’t help with how hot you were feeling.

“so tell me. how has new york treated you?” she inquired and you shrugged.

“it was alright. kinda busy with college.”

“oh yeah… as if college were everything you’ve been up to, huh?” she teased you, and you chuckled.

“what do you want to know, shane?” you squinted your eyes. “that the parties are amazing there? that the girls are hot?” she smiled.

“yeah, that’s more like it…” she drank again. there was this easy-going atmosphere in between the two of you. you liked it. you thought it would be harsher to face her. but she was shane. how could it be? she always made you feel safe. “see you’ve gotten more tattoos…” her eyes eyes your arms, where some of them stood. “i like them.”

“oh, yeah. have this friend back in the city that would do them for free if she could practice on me.” you laughed, showing them to her. she took your arm, soft fingertips drawing over their lines .

“well, she’s got talent, i’d give you that.” she whistled.

“yeah. taught me how to stick and poke and everything.” you laughed at her shocked expression.

“no fucking way… you tattoo?” you nodded.

“yeah, so if you ever want a new one just hit me up, i still owe you one.”

“true. the hummingbird. how’s it holding?” you pulled down your pants and panties to show it to her, soft skin in display. “might need a little ink.” she hummed, and you pushed your pants back to their spot. you might need something else.

shane tried to ignore the little speck of ink that she saw more towards your center when you pulled your pants down, but it left her with curiosity running through her veins.

you stared at each other, green eyes on yours for a couple of long seconds before she looked away, beer on hand. she couldn’t.

“where’s your dad?” she inquired, and you sighed.

“she’s out by the pool, getting the grill ready.” she nodded.

“see you later?” you nodded, and saw her go outside, being welcomed by her friends.

well… you were fucked.

-

summer in LA was hot. really hot. and shane prancing around your house with one of her wife beaters and tight jeans wasn’t of much help. you could see her arms bulge as she helped your dad put up a new relaxing space on your garden, where he’ll build a wooden ceiling and put up a few couches for you to relax by the pool.

you were currently taking a swim, small black bikini accentuating your perfect body. it was hard to say shane was having a great time.

“hey kid. enjoying the pool?” she inquired, wiping the sweat off her forehead. it was already almost night, the sunset already had been engulfed by the ocean.

you looked up at her, resting against the edge, cleavage on full and exposure.

“really. the water is so refreshing…” you smiled.

“shane!” your father called out for her. “i’m going out to buy some bear. want anything?” he inquired.

“marlboro reds?”

“got it.” she thanked him as he took his keys and left through the main door, leaving the two of you alone. you bit down on your lip at the thought of it.

“hey shane?” you muttered.

“yeah?”

“can i tell you something?”

“anything.” she nodded.

“bend over.” you whispered, and she followed, kneeling on one knee by the pool so she could get closer to you, and just as you were about to part your lips, your wet fingers gripped on her shirt, pulling her inside the pool. she was gasping for air as she came back up to the surface, wiping the water out of her face as you laughed so hard your stomach hurt. “oh god! you should have seen your face!!!”

“oh yeah? you think this is funny?” she chuckled, pointing at her wet clothes. the white wife beater let her nipples show now. you tried not to state too much.

“totally.” you nodded, taking a step back when she step closer.

“com’here.” she ordered, waving her hand.

“nah, i’m cool here.” you laughed, and shrieked when she jumped at you. “no!!”

“oh, so now the princess is begging for mercy, huh?” you sputtered as her fingers tickled you, grabbing at your sides. “how’s that? who’s laughing now, hm?” she muttered as you begged her to stop, trying to get rid of her hold. “yeah, that’s what i thought.” she left you breathless when she finally decided to let you go, although you two were close, your back against the wall of the pool.

you looked at her, and chuckled slightly at the messy state of her hair, which now stood completely drenched hiding her eyes and getting all over her face.

“what?”

“your hair. is… wait. let me.” your soft fingertips made contact with the skin of her face, pushing away the strands and behind her ear.

“thanks.” she muttered.

“you’re welcome.” you two stared at each other, realizing just how close you were. your eyes drifted to her chest, which rose and lowered in deep breaths, her perky nipples hard against the white of her tank top.

she stared at you. at your long eyelashes, flushed cheeks due to the lack of air and laughter and your glossy plump lips. somehow you two just ended closer, the hands that had tickled you still on your hips, burning your skin. your eyes met, and after a couple of seconds she looked away, clearing your throat and letting go of you, leaving you freezing.

“fuck. now i’m completely drenched.” she looked at her clothes.

“you could borrow some of mine.” you shrugged, and she scoffed. “what? i’m sure some of my clothes will fit you, shane. or do you want to get your leather seats wet?”

“fuck no.” her nose wrinkled up, and you chuckled.

“just what i thought.” you muttered, swimming towards the stairs and dipping your hair underneath the water one more time before getting out the pool. shane tried really hard to not stare at the perfect view of your ass. your dad would kill her. your dad will kill her. why was she even staring at you this way? for gods sake she had seen you grow up…

you turned around, and she quickly looked you in the eyes. “you coming or not.”

oh for sure.

“yeah.” she said before following after you.

-

“are you sure you know how to do this shit?” she inquired for like the eleventh time, and you rolled your eyes. “hey, i just want to make sure you don’t fuck it up, alright? i’ll live with it for the rest of my life.”

“shane, i’m positive. you’re not the first person i tattoo, alright?” you promised, getting the needles and ink ready.

“cool. cool.” she nodded, laying on your bed. your room stood frozen in your teenage years, full of books and pictures and posters. you even had your favorite music records (at least the ones you’ve had to leave behind for college). it gave you this nostalgic feeling that you couldn’t shake off your bones. your father was out with some of his friends, and you and shane had ended up meeting up to tattoo each other. “but-“ she tried and sit back up, but you pushed her down, pointing one of your fingers at her.

“shut the fuck up.” you ordered, and she rose her hands.

“okay.”

she was going for a simple design. a scorpion on her forearm. you’d done some before, so it would be easy. you’d also made a stencil for her, so you would be fine.

you prepped and disinfected everything, putting on your gloves. “okay. where do you exactly want it?” you inquired her, and she pointed at the place where she thought would look best and you nodded, placing the stencil there to let her see if she’d like it.

“yeah, i like it.” you nodded once again.

“alright. then i guess we’re ready. it won’t take a lot, if it hurts too much just let me know and we’ll take a break.” she scoffed.

“who do you think i am?” she sassily inquired and you rolled your eyes.

“hope you choke on your words, mccutcheon.” you shook your head, taking her arm and leaning over to start tattooing her.

“huh, you wish.” she smirked, taking a glimpse of your cleavage. she breathed deeply, squeezing her eyes shut. come on shane. focus.

those fucking nipple piercings… shit. no. don’t think about that.

you noticed her silence and you decided to check up on her.

“you alright?”

“hm?” she seemed distracted. how couldn’t she be? “oh yeah. don’t worry.” of course it wasn’t like she were thinking about your tits. absolutely not. “so… had any girlfriends in new york?” yeah, let’s change the subject.

you sighed and shrugged. “i mean… not really. messed up around but never got serious, you know what i mean?” she smirked, surprised.

“do tell…” you chuckled, playfully hitting her on the arm.

“what about you?” you inquired, trying to not sound so interested. although you were. you truly were.

“could say the same. you know me.” you nodded, and hid your excitement. so she was single.

she stared at you as you worked. fuck. you were so beautiful. new york had changed you so much. you had always been, but now, there was this… something about you she couldn’t put her finger on. she just knew she couldn’t pull her eyes away from you. and that was no good.

“okay. i’m done.” you smiled, wiping over the tattoo to stare at the end result.

“now that’s amazing.” she whistled, taking a look at it. it hadn’t hurt at all.

“told you…” you muttered and she scoffed.

“oh i’m sorry for being scared, you’re the first kid i let near me with a needle.” you rolled your eyes. there was that nickname again. kid.

did she really still looked at you like one?

she noticed your silence.

“hey. you okay?” you pushed away her touch, nodding.

“yeah, i’m fine.” no you were not. what the hell did you have to do for shane to look at you? would it always be like this? will you always be running after her? “so… you up for retouching my tattoo?” you asked and she nodded.

“yeah, sure. could i borrow your gun, though? i’m not that good at stick and poke.” you gave it to her, along with some ink, gloves and new needles.

you got up from your seat, unbuckling your pants. shane tried to not look at you as you pushed them down your thighs, leaving you in a pretty lace pair of panties. her eyes continuously drifted from you to the tattoo gun as you sat on your bed, legs spread as she sat in front of you. there was no comfortable way she could tattoo you in your room, and having her in between your legs, leaning over and so close to your barely clothed center somehow felt more intimate than the first time around. she looked at you as her fingertips made contact with the skin of your hip bone, carefully pulling your panties down just the slightest to disinfect the zone. your cheeks were burning up when her soft low voice caught your attention. “you ready?” you nodded. “alright. if you need me to stop just say the word.” and then there was the buzzing of the tattoo gun and that burning feeling of the needle breaking your skin. you hissed. you knew it was a sensitive spot, but you always forgot how sensitive.

you thanked god the tattoo was small, ‘cause you couldn’t really look at shane too much without thinking about things you shouldn’t be thinking about. she looked so good in between your legs, hair falling messily in her eyes, tongue sticking out and glossing her lips in concentration. the things you’ve thought about that tongue, the nights you’ve imagined her in this same exact position but with less clothing. this was turning you on. it shouldn’t be turning you on.

“fuck.” you groaned. and she looked at you.

“you’re doing good, just hold on a little bit more for me, alright?” you almost moaned. fuck. and now she was praising you. one particular harsh swipe of the needle almost had you gripping her hair. you could feel her breathing against your skin.

this was all too much.

“shane…” you sighed, your hips twitching upwards involuntarily due to the pain.

“i know baby, i know. i’m halfway there.”

you tried to hold in the need to move, but it hurt, and you were getting horny. there wasn’t much you could do. at one particular point, she had to harshly grip your hip with her free hand, pushing you against the duvet. “don’t move.” she ordered, and you bit down on your lip. holy fuck. this looked so much like those dreams you’d have about her…

you could feel your pussy throbbing.

shane was trying her best to keep her composure. but jesus christ, you were writhing under her, letting out this little pained sounds and you were just in a pair of panties and a tank top. it was making it hard for her. you were making it hard for her.

the room was sticky with tension. she could see the peeking of your pubic hair since she had pulled your underwear down, and your skin was so soft…

focus. focus. focus.

but then…

fuck. you were wet. you were soaked.

her green eyes met the wet patch forming on your panties, and she forgot what she was supposed to be doing. hell, she even forgot the fact that you were her best friend’s daughter.

you perked up at the feeling of her stoping with the tattoo.

“shane?” you called out for her, and then you were letting out this sound in between a moan and a gasp when you felt her fingers pushing in between your lips and over the cloth, slowly, teasingly. “oh fuck. what are you doing?” you gasped in a whisper, your hips rutting against her touch. she smirked.

“me? i’m not doing anything.” she looked at you, and slowly leaned closer to you, leaving this soft peck on your thigh. you shuddered. “tell me to stop…” she whispered. it was more like a begging. she needed you to tell her that this was wrong. that she shouldn’t be touching you right now. that it was a really stupid idea. she was your dad’s best friend. and yet…

“i can’t…” your hand laced on her hair when she started softly kissing your skin, lip in between your teeth. you wanted her. you’ve wanted her for so long… “please…”

you whimpered when her fingers bumped against your throbbing and sensitive clit, your hips bucking against her touch. “what’s this, hm?” your cheeks were beet red, thighs trembling under her green stare. “tell me baby, this all for me?” she inquired, leaving a wet kiss on your thigh and you nodded, muttering a ‘yes’ that had her short of breath.

your back arched when she kissed you on top of your panties, her tongue licking the arousal that dampened the lace. at the same time, her hands grabbed at the seam of your panties, slowly pulling them down your hips and thighs. that’s when she finally caught a glimpse of that tattoo that she had barely seen the day of your party. it was above your mound. and it said: ‘lucky you’.

shane smirked, chuckling. “lucky me…” your cheeks reddened, but all shyness and embarrassment disappeared when her fingers dipped in between your drooling folds, connected by strings of your arousal. shane felt her mouth watering. “such a pretty pussy.” you felt so exposed, but at the same time you just wanted to open up your legs for her, let her see every little crevice of you.

you let out this pornographic sweet moan when her tongue draw a long fat strip from your entrance to your clit, softly suckling on it and making your thighs squeeze her head, what made her groan and bury her face deeper into your pussy.

“fuck…” you cried out, your hands meeting her short messy dark hair, tugging at it. why did it felt so good?

she pushed your legs over her shoulders, her warm hands on your thighs as she sucked on your clit, sticking her tongue out for you to ride her face when you’d hump against her. that was until you felt one finger prodding against your hole, easily pushing inside your tight and warm walls due to how wet you were. “that’s it. open up for me, doll.” she hummed when you whimpered, starting to thrust it in and out of you, your arousal thick and white on her knuckles as you thrusted yourself on her finger and mouth.“taste so good…” she couldn’t get enough, eating you like a starved woman.

“shane.” you whined when she added her ring finger, stretching you out. and how could she resist when you sounded so sweet moaning her name? she just wanted to get more of those sounds out of you, make you cum over and over again until the only thing you could remember was her name.

she groaned. “look at you, fuck. so fucking pretty. what would your dad think, hm? her little girl letting his best friend fuck her like this.” you moaned, pulling from her hair. “oh you liked that, huh? like the idea of your daddy catching me with my tongue on your cunt, baby?” you blushed, embarrassed to like the idea of it, the adrenaline rushing through your veins making the pleasure enhance. her fingers constantly hitting your g spot had you so close to the edge… “of course you do…” she smirked, sucking on your clit. you cried out her name, your hips pushing against her mouth. “you close, princess?” you nodded, biting down on your lip. “cum for me, baby. cum on my face. i’ll clean it all up for you.” she muttered, licking at your folds before latching onto your clit. your back arched. that encouragement being all you needed to fall apart, thighs shaking as your high hit you like a tidal wave with a high pitched moan. she groaned at the taste of your white creamy cum on her tongue, lapping at it in need, the wet sounds of her tongue pushing into you and licking in between your lips filling your room. she kept finger-fucking you to help you ride off your orgasm, sucking at your clit to extend it.

you swore you could see stars on your room’s ceiling, thighs shaking and breathing ragged. it had been the best orgasm of your life.

shane finished cleaning you up, swallowing every last bit of your cum before pulling her fingers out of you and pushing them inside your mouth. her green eyes met yours as you cleaned them for her. and you could just think about the fact that you had just fucked your dad’s best friend.

and how much you wanted to do it again…

-

a/n; 😶‍🌫️

[piratebelzy]

"Yeah guys! I hate censorship too! It stops me from making my incest rape fanfics!"

You are NOT one of us bro

[herpsandbirds]

All of my friends that work at wildlife rehab centers have had to untangle animals from this stuff, or had animals brought in that died in it. This is especially nasty for small owl species.

[samrobotize]

Does Decorative Spider Webbing Pose a Danger to Wildlife?

The classic Halloween decor can be a silent threat to furry friends if displayed unsafely.

[sapphicides]

the women of america were once promised that butch dykes would be lurking in all corners of society, ready to corrupt our minds and turn us all gay. what ever happened to that. where are the butches uncle sam.

[passionpeachy]

anyway draw your butchfemme ships like this

[anactual-cat]

Art from @butchmonologues IG

[hannah01sapphic]

I am actually so sick and tired of straight women complaining about WLW media and in the same breath overly sexualising MLM media. You aren’t an ally. You’re a fetishizer.

[forsapphics]

New York City, 1970s

[werewolvesnearyou]

i've never liked anyone this much before