#God is our Provision | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tangerineastronaut · 6 months ago

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bibliophile ⟡ j. yunho

part two

you're stressed...your study buddy has an idea.

Pairing: Yunho x Fem!Student!Reader Genre: Smut - dark twist Requested: Yes/No w.c. 5.8k Warnings: heavy on the smut, semi public sex (ish), mutual pining, food? - THE SUCKER - he does...things with it. Yunho is a FREAK. Reader is desperate for yunho dick (yes YOU, reader) Spoiler warnings are in comments if you need them. A/N: So, this is sort of two requests in one, however I don't want to disappoint anyone so I'll post it solo. I hope it's okay! <3 god deleted my ticket to heaven with this one. Requests: Open (link below)

Requests | WIPs Masterlists: BTS | ATEEZ | GOT7 | Stray Kids

Taglist: @baby-stay92 If you'd like to be added to my taglist, please DM me or click here.

You release a tired sigh and rub your eyes, throwing your pen down. It bounces off of your ridiculously thick textbook and lands on the papers scattered around your study partner.

“Ah ah. No crashing yet, we’ve got three more chapters,” Yunho says with a laugh, tapping you on the end of the nose with his own pen. You pout, making a face at him before dramatically collapsing on the table.

“I give up. You can become a lawyer, I’ll go back to making sandwiches,” you groan, muffled against pages of your future.

“I thought you liked working at the sandwich shop?”

“I did,” you reply, tilting your head to look at him. “But sandwich shops don’t pay me six figures.”

“Then stop whining,” Yunho shrugs. You grumble words unintelligible even to yourself and sit up, fixing your hair. You stretched, yawned, checked your phone for the thousandth time that evening. Finals were next week. Then there was the Bar exam. You were so close to being y/n l/n, attorney at law…but you were beginning to feel nauseous at the mere sight of words on a page.

“Wanna take a break?” Yunho suggests, leaning back to stretch. You avoid looking at the way his sweater rides up, revealing inches of what appears to be a toned belly.

“No,” you mumble, forcing yourself to look away. “If I leave this library…I think I may never return.”

Yunho chuckles and nods, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index fingers. For a few minutes, you both just sit there, enjoying a rare moment of peace. Usually the library is filled with students, exactly like you—stressed, depressed, drowning in student debt and reading assignments.

“Yunho?” you mumble. He hums a response, looking over at you. You swallow. “If I start to cry, will you judge me?”

“Not at all,” he responds. You nod once, feeling tears burning in your eyes.

For the next hour or so, you take turns reading passages and summarizing them, going through various laws and statutes that you could barely comprehend. Your brain felt as if it might explode, and you considered calling it a night, but it was only 10 p.m. and you’d be damned if you gave out before midnight.

“What the hell are these ‘title 16 provisions?’” you scoff, crinkling your nose. “Were these even part of our assignment?”

“Let me see,” Yunho says. He scoots his chair over to your side of the table rather than just moving seats, and you feel your heart leap into your throat. And god, his arm slides over the back of your chair as he leans in to look at the tiny words on your page.

He smells like coffee and the peanut butter granola bar you shared earlier, and this close you can see that he has very light freckles on his cheeks. You kind of want him to never move.

“Ah, no this isn’t part of this assignment but we will have to know it for finals,” he says, words going in one of your ears and out the other. He begins talking about these provisions, but you must be numb to all forms of communication other than Jeong Yunho’s body heat.

“Y/n?”

“Huh?” you mumble, shaking your head. Yunho has a funny look on his face, one brow raised. Oh god. Oh god. He caught you staring like a fucking creep.

“...You good?” he chuckles. You swallow and quickly nod, brushing your hair back so fast you nearly hit him in the face.

“Yep, uh huh,” you mumble. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Oh,” he says as though relieved. “Good. Well, if you need to take a break, let me know.”

He begins to move; you panic and grab his wrist.

“Wait! You didn’t explain this part to me,” you say, pointing at a random section on the page. Yunho sits down again and tilts his head.

“You need me to explain…marital property to you?” he asks, sounding both amused and disbelieving.

Well, if you’re gonna be a bad liar, at least you’ll be persistent.

“Yes,” you nod. “Just like a refresher, you know? My brain is cooked.”

Yunho stares at you for a few seconds, and you feel your cheeks heat up. It feels like he knows something you don’t know, and you don’t like that. So you yank him back into his seat and let go of his wrist, pretending to be very interested in one of the most basic aspects of your degree.

Marital property is boring, even when the hottest guy in your class is explaining it to you. And what’s worse—he knows. You know he knows. He’s explaining basic concepts to you, and then explaining the basics of those basic concepts, all the while keeping a little smirk on his handsome face. You consider caving, thinking of any possible excuse for your behavior. You’re delirious from lack of sleep, that’s actually true. But you were too deep in this to give up now.

“That’s most of it,” Yunho finally says, long fingers splayed over the textbook. They nearly reach from one end of the open book to the other. You shiver. “I guess we should move into parental rights—”

“Yunho,” you begin with a sigh, ready to admit defeat. He smiles innocently, resting his chin in his hand.

“Yeah?”

“I—”

You freeze, having forgotten how to form sentences. Yunho’s still smiling at you, but his free hand is now resting on your thigh. You thanked the gods you’d decided to wear a skirt today.

His palm is large, warm, spanning much of the plush skin there. He’s not gripping it, but it’s still very obviously intentional. You feel your cheeks burn hot; you’re determined to remain unaffected.

“Nevermind,” you mumble. He chuckles and turns back to the page, though he doesn’t move his hand.

You don’t ask him to.

You go back to your respective chapters, thankfully far beyond the basics, but his hand stays right where it is. He even reaches over his other arm to sip his coffee, refusing to move it. Your skin burns in the shape of his fingers; you almost want to push him away simply because your body is reacting to his touch in a way that’s making you feel crazy. You’re practically feverish, just because he’s near you. Pathetic, honestly.

When you sigh and rub your eyes, those long fingers twitch, making you jump. You try to play it off, though you know he’s aware of your reaction, because he does it again. When you don’t react as dramatically, he squeezes gently.

Your knee jerks up so fast it hits the table, causing your belongings to rattle, and your heart feels like it’s going to explode. Yunho chuckles, though doesn’t move his hand. You clear your throat as though everything is normal. As though he’s not currently squeezing your upper thigh.

“Yunho,” you say quietly.

“Hm?” He doesn't bother looking up from his textbook.

“What are we doing?”

He does look up this time.

“Studying,” he says, giving you a sweet smile. You narrow your eyes.

If he was going to do this, then so were you. You were sleep deprived, numb to the world, and horny as hell. So you parted your knees.

Not much, just an inch or so, but very obvious. You didn’t miss the way Yunho’s throat worked as he swallowed, clearly not expecting the reciprocation. You go back to your textbook, but your victory is short lived, however, as his large hand slides further inward.

You’re flustered. But you’re also stubborn. So you drop your pen and look him in the eyes as you open your knees. Yunho’s gaze is steady as he slowly moves his hand, as though expecting you to stop him. You don’t.

Yunho went back to reading and you did the same, just as his pinky brushed the crease of your inner thigh. You knew you were wet, knew he could probably feel the moist heat radiating from your body behind your pink panties, but you chose to be nonchalant. Until he rubbed the back of his knuckle against your panties, over your clit.

The soft moan that escapes you is mortifying.

Yunho quickly clamps a hand over your mouth, laughing breathily as your brows pull together and you shudder. He looks as shocked as you are, though now you’re hazy, focused only on how good it felt, and wanting more.

“Shh,” he chuckles nervously, glancing around despite the fact that you’re the only ones here. “No wonder you act like you’re walking around on thin ice. You’re frustrated as hell, huh?”

“P-Please,” you whimper pitifully against his palm, though it’s muffled. He moves his hand and you grip his wrist, looking up at him. You silently communicate your needs, praying he has mercy and doesn’t force you to say it out loud. Yunho glances around one more time, licking his lips before looking down at you like a fucking steak on a platter.

“If we’re gonna do this, you gotta be quiet for me,” he murmurs. You nod quickly, gasping when he effortlessly yanks your chair closer to him. He adjusts his glasses before lowering his hand to your thighs, gently stroking them.

“Can I touch you?” he asks quietly. You open your mouth, but he presses a finger to your lips. “Quietly.”

“Yes, yes,” you whine. “T-Touch me.”

Yunho bites his lower lip, as though imagining doing much, much more than that. When he rubs your thighs again, your knees fall open and you stifle a moan behind your sleeves. Yunho smiles at the sight of you, slipping his hand between your legs again.

This time, he’s more careful, though it’s much more frustrating for you. You squirm when he strokes either side of your cunt, making a ‘v’ and squeezing your plush pussy lips between them. You moan again, loudly, and Yunho scrambles to cover your mouth.

“Baby, you’ve gotta be—”

“Quiet, I know,” you pout, gripping his wrist. “C-can’t help it…feels good.”

Yunho swallows, letting his fingers brush against you again. You manage to stay quiet this time, but your mouth opens in a silent scream.

“So fucking sensitive,” he murmurs, drawing his hand back. You nearly protest, but he presses his index finger to your clit like a button and you jolt, covering your mouth just in time. Yunho smirks.

“H-Haven’t had sex,” you say, fisting the sleeve of his sweater as he pushes again. “In m-months.”

“Why?” he asks, beginning to rub slow circles against your panties. You feel your wetness spreading beneath them, but you don’t care. You grip the edge of the table and swallow.

“Busy,” you breathe, licking your lips. Yunho’s eyes follow your tongue. You don’t notice.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Y-yeah, yes,” you nod frantically.

Yunho uses the hand between your legs to turn your entire body toward him. You want to mention how attractive that is, but he’s leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours.

His kiss is nothing like his touch; there’s nothing dirty or hurried about it. His nose brushes the crease of yours as he tilts your heads to the side, his free hand moving up to cup your cheek. It’s a sweet kiss that makes no sense when his fingers are currently resting against your panties beneath your skirt.

He seems to have forgotten what he was doing amidst your soft kisses, as you break away from his lips to impatiently bounce and whine. Yunho smirks and begins rubbing his middle finger directly over your clit, applying very little pressure. He kisses you again, and you throw your arms around his neck, trying to push your body into his. His knee prevents you from doing so.

“Nng…what are you doing?” you whine, fisting his sweater. “Wanna…wanna be in your lap.”

Your own admission makes your cheeks flush red, but you don’t care. You’re horny and your crush’s hand is between your thighs.

“Not yet, baby,” he mumbles, stealing another lazy kiss. “Wanna keep you like this. I like how desperate you are.”

“I…I’m not desperate,” you mumble. Yunho bites his lower lip and applies more pressure to your clit, you buck your hips and grip his sleeve. He’s laughing, but you don’t care, aching for more of him.

“Desperate,” he hums, pulling you in for another kiss. You don’t understand his obsession with kissing you; wasn’t he as horny as you were? But you kissed him back anyway, because you’ve had a crush on this guy since your freshman year and even the slut hormones clouding your brain couldn’t block that much out. He was a damn good kisser too, taking the lead and hardly giving you time to breathe.

In contrast to his soft mouth, Yunho’s index finger hooks your soaked panties, tugging them to the side. His finger brushes your bare cunt, though he knowingly silences your moans with a kiss.

“What can I do?” he asks once you finally break apart. You’re unwilling to let him go, however, pulling his lips back to yours..

“Don’t care,” you mumble between kisses, body buzzing with need. “Whatever you want.”

“Can I go in here?”

He prods at the needy hole between your folds and you fucking purr, clutching his sweater and pulling him close with a whine.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he laughs. He waits for you to eagerly nod, then brings his fingers to your mouth and taps your lips. “Open.”

You do as he says and he slips his fingers inside. You nearly moan around them as you instinctively suck and lick his digits; they’re long and thick, two of them practically as big as a few hookups you’ve had in the past. Yunho watches, pupils wide as you act like an obedient doll a little too eager to be fingered in a library at midnight.

When he pulls his fingers out, they’re slick and shiny with your drool, and you see him suck in air. You blush, a little embarrassed at how thorough of a job you’ve done. You expect Yunho to go beneath your skirt, but he slides his wet fingers in his mouth, eyes never leaving yours.

It’s the filthiest thing you’ve ever seen, next to the look of pure bliss in his eyes as he sucks your saliva off of his fingers and replaces it with his own. You decide then that you do not want him to finger you.

“Fuck me,” you blurt out.

You barely register what you’ve said, but you’re damn near ready to jump his bones. Yunho blinks in surprise, obviously not having expected that. He pulls his fingers out of his mouth.

“Really?” he asks. He sounds surprised for reasons you don’t understand, but you nod.

“Yeah,” you say, pulling him in for another kiss. “Want you inside me. All of you.”

“Fuck,” Yunho groans. He grabs your face in his hands and kisses you back, harder. Your hands are shaky as they go for his jeans, but then he freezes like you’ve just slapped him.

“What?” you ask, breaking the kiss. Yunho curses and rubs his face with both hands, tilting back in his chair. “What is it, yu?”

“I don’t…fuck. I don’t have a condom.”

He runs a hand through his hair like this is the biggest mistake of the century. You bite your lower lip—the idea of leaving tonight and not getting fucked by him makes you genuinely want to cry.

“We could…you know?” you mumble, face hot. “I mean, I-I’m clean. Obviously, haven’t had sex in god knows when—”

“No,” Yunho says, shaking his head. “I don’t trust myself.”

“Don’t trust yourself to what?” you frown. Yunho looks at you,

“There’s no way I’m gonna be able to make myself pull out once I’m in you,” he murmurs. “We need a condom.”

You swallow. You really shouldn’t push; but you need to hear more.

“How do you know?” you breathe, licking your lips.

“C’mere.”

“What?”

Yunho reaches over, grabbing your wrist. He pulls you into his lap and you gasp, able to feel the rigid line of his cock beneath you. But he grabs your face and pulls you in for a kiss again.

“I’ve been thinking about you for so long,” he hums, and you mewl in response, grinding down against him. He kisses you again to stifle what was no doubt a moan.

“Y-Yeah?” you manage to squeak out. Yunho nods.

“Yeah. Not gonna be able to pull out if I’m balls deep in that little cunt with you fucking crying for it like this.”

Fuck. You needed him. To be honest, with or without the condom, but if he felt it was necessary.

“Let’s go get one,” you mumble dizzily. “A c-condom. There’s a convenience store down the street.”

Yunho frowns, looking at the clock on the wall.

“The library will be locked, won’t it? Don’t we have to lock up?”

You lean back in his lap, smiling.

“Yes. But I’ve got a key,” you chime.

The moment you stepped into the store, you immediately regretted it and felt all the horny escape you. Not really, but it was embarrassing as hell, and painfully obvious as to what you were doing here. Yunho didn’t seem to mind, his hand tightly clasping yours as he guided you toward the back.

You had a little trouble finding the condoms—it made you inexplicably happy when Yunho suggested asking the clerk as he didn’t know either, even though your answer was a firm NO—but eventually found the rack next to the sex pills and cold sore cream.

Hot.

Yunho squints, and you cross your arms impatiently. You grab a box and shake it.

“It’s not a shoe store, here,” you mumble, pushing the box into his hand. Yunho glances over the label and smirks, tossing it back on the shelf. You want to ask what the hell is so funny when you’re so fucking wet your panties are sticking to your thighs, but then he finally makes a choice and puts the box in your hands. Oh.

Oh.

XXL. Makes sense.

You make him grab a few more things as though that makes the purchase less shameful. When you go to check out, you look everywhere but at the clerk—until he has the audacity to speak to the man holding your hand, very obviously purchasing condoms so the two of you can go fuck in a library.

“Finals week?” the guy says. Yunho slides his card across the counter and squeezes your hand.

“Finals week,” he nods.

“I just realized we could’ve gone to my apartment,” you say, unlocking the library door. Yunho leaned against the wall, unwrapping the candy he’d apparently decided on last minute. A red round sucker. “It’s only a few minutes away.”

You’d been given a key to the library your second year here, as you were a trusted student who often pulled all nighters—and you lived in the shitty part of campus where the power often went out. You were aware this was a total abuse of that power, but you figured if you showed Yunho to Ms. Lin, she’d understand.

“Yeah, well, my fantasies during puberty weren’t at apartments,” Yunho shrugs, holding the door for you. You head inside and find your table, where you drop the bag of your purchased items. Yunho grabs it, immediately fishing out the box.

“Very boy of you,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Let me guess, the hot librarian offers to help you find your dick? Is that part of the dewey decimal system?”

Yunho smiles. “Can we get back to you whining for me to fuck you? I liked that.”

“I was not—”

Your freakishly tall study partner grabs your wrist, tugging you against him. You swallow and look up, lips parted at the sudden contact.

“Not what?” he asks. You blink, but something is suddenly pushing at your lips. You open dumbly, feeling too obedient as you take whatever he’s putting in your mouth apparently. The taste of artificial cherry makes you grimace.

Yunho backs you up to the table, crowding you against it. He cups your face in his hands and kisses your cheek, thumbs brushing below your ears. You realize you’ve been staring at him wordlessly, sucker in your mouth.

“How’s it taste?” he asks.

“Good,” you mumble. It doesn’t taste good, you hate cherry, but if Jeong Yunho puts something in your mouth, you love it, you decide. Cherry is your new favorite flavor.

“I doubted if they sold gags, so,” he chuckles. “This’ll do.”

You frown, but he takes the stick of the sucker before you can respond.

“Open,” he says. You open.

You see his eyes twinkle, almost like he can’t believe how well you’re listening to him. If only he knew you’d do anything he asked.

Rather than pull it out, Yunho rubs the sucker around your mouth. He coats your tongue with the sticky flavor, then the inside of your cheek. By the time he pulls it out, you don’t realize you’re drooling, mouth open for him.

He pops the sucker in his own mouth, just like his fingers, and you shudder. Then he’s slipping his hands beneath your skirt, pushing your panties down your thighs.

“What are you doing?” you ask softly, more curious than concerned. Yunho takes the sucker out and kisses your cheek, then your lips. You can taste it on his tongue, just like yours.

Something sticky and wet prods at your clit and you gasp, but Yunho wraps an arm around your waist and keeps you from pulling away. You squeak helplessly in shock, caught between mind numbing bliss and disbelief. He’s rubbing the bulbous head of the sucker against your clit.

“Shh…figure it’s too risky to eat you out properly,” he hums in your ear, crushing you to his chest. You squirm, though not out of discomfort.

You have no idea how to react, hands gripping his sweater as he holds you in place. The candy feels warm and sticky, sliding through your cunt juices as he teases you with it.

“I wasn’t going to,” he says, voice strained as though he’s doing all he can to hold back. “But I saw it and…well fuck, baby, if I’m honest, I just wanted to see if you were desperate enough to try and fuck yourself on a piece of candy.”

You whine and bury your head against his shoulder, because you fucking are. You are desperate enough to try, because he slides the candy between your lips and you jolt when it brushes your hole.

“F-Fuck, Yunho,” you gasp, nails digging into fabric. You hear him laugh, and it sounds so fucking cocky, like he knew you’d end up like this, but you can’t bring yourself to care as you work yourself to ruin on a piece of candy.

He slides it beneath the hood of your clit, twisting the stick in his fingers. Your knees buckle, but he’s gripping you tight. He works it like a toy, rubbing up and down, focusing on your clit until you’re nearly there before he moves it again. It didn’t feel this big when it was in your mouth, but you’ve never wanted something inside you so bad.

“Oh my god,” you moan, thighs clamping together. It doesn’t stop his hand, or the candy, the rounded tip pushing against your hole. He starts rolling it again, and you gasp as you feel yourself snapping inside, the hot neediness spilling over the edges. You try to warn him, but only manage to squeak.

“Are you…are you cumming on a fucking lollipop?” Yunho asks, voice filled with awe. You nod.

Your ears ring, your vision blurs, and you feel something pushing against your mouth. It’s Yunho’s hand you realize, but you can’t stop, can’t stop shaking and screaming and there’s something wet on your cheeks.

You haven’t had a proper orgasm in months, maybe even a year, and were it not for Yunho holding you up, you’re pretty damn sure you would’ve fainted.

When you open your eyes, Yunho is laughing quietly and hugging you tight, rubbing your back.

“Fuck, are you okay?” he asks, sounding concerned and impressed. You sniff and nod, using the back of your hand to wipe your cheeks. Yunho cups your face and uses his thumbs to clean you up. You were crying.

“I’m sorry, jesus, I didn’t think it was that bad,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. You realize then that the damn sucker is in his mouth.

You whine, yanking him forward until you’re kissing him. It’s clumsy, but he takes the sucker out and tosses it on the table behind you. You begin working desperately at his jeans, and hear him release a cherry flavored groan.

“Still gonna let me fuck you?” he asks, keeping his lips against yours.

“God yes,” you say in a shaky voice. “P-Please.”

“I can do that,” Yunho breathes. He places a large hand on the softness of your belly, gently pushing you back.

Yunho towers over you, one hand moving to cup your thigh and open you up so he can stand between them. The other goes to his jeans, and you find yourself biting your lip and digging your nails into your palms.

XXL?

“Since you look like you’re about to fucking eat me,” Yunho says with a laugh, “why don’t you do it? Hm? When’s the last time you put a condom on?”

You feel yourself blush at having been caught, but sit up to snatch the box near you.

“Asshole,” you mutter, refusing to give him a proper answer.

Your hands are too shaky to open the box, so you end up ripping it down the side, condoms spilling out. You sigh anyway and grab one, slipping the foil packet between your teeth. You move your hands to his jeans, and realize that for the first time…you’re nervous.

Until now your brain had been sex focused; it still was, but your post orgasm clarity made you realize how fucking desperate you looked. You roughly popped open the button of his jeans.

Yunho was so damn tall that his hips were practically level with your face whilst you were on the short table. This meant that, as soon as you’d tugged his boxers down, you suddenly found yourself face to face with the biggest cock you’ve ever seen.

XXL.

For a moment you were too dumbstruck—why did they bother sculpting the soft dicks when the hard ones could look like…this? All veins and smooth skin and a pink mushroom head that looked perfectly designed for…use. You wanted it in your mouth. But he hadn’t technically put his mouth on you, and you were both in a library, and right now you were starting to get a little shaky at the idea of this thing going anywhere near your neglected pussy, so you swallowed your resolve and took the condom from between your teeth.

Yunho watched as you struggled to tear open the packet, biting your lower lip in frustration. You finally got it open, sighing as you placed the rubber at the tip. He grabbed your hands then, and you paused. Shit. Were you doing this wrong?

“We don’t have to do anything,” he mumbles softly, cupping your chin. “You wanna stop right now? We stop. Not trying to ruin the mood, just want you to know it’s okay.”

You shake your head.

“I’m okay, thanks,” you say quietly. “It’s just…fuck, Yunho.”

He laughs, his little ego having returned just a bit, you wanted to roll your eyes and kiss him at the same time. He bites his lower lip and strokes his thumb over yours.

“I’ll be gentle,” he hums. “You can take it for me.”

Fuck. Yes, you absolutely can.

Yunho guides you onto your back, though you settle on your elbows, propped up for him. You watch as he squeezes the rest of the lube from the packet onto his cock, giving a few tugs before nodding at you. You weren’t sure if you were excited or scared, but there were two heartbeats and one was between your legs.

He pushes your legs apart and guides his cock forward. You lick your lips and let your knees fall open, bunching your skirt around your waist, offering yourself to him. Yunho sucks in air through his teeth and curses.

“So fucking pretty,” he hums, supporting his weight on one palm as he brushes his cock against you. You shiver as the cold lube is smeared around your sensitive cunt. “Knew it from the day I saw you freshman year in a skirt just like this one. Thought I was gonna die when you smiled at me.”

“I didn’t know you remembered,” you mumbled. You were so nervous your first day, which wasn’t helped by the hot guy who approached you and asked if you were lost. Apparently you could stop feeling ashamed for having mind fucked him back then.

“Of course I do,” Yunho chuckles, teasing the head of his cock up and down your slit. “So cute, how you blushed when I talked to you. You still do that, you know.”

“Shut up,” you mutter. Yunho laughs, then licks his lips.

“Gonna put it in now. Tell me if it’s too much,” he says. You nod.

The swollen head of his cock catches on your hole, and Yunho uses his weight to lean forward and urge himself inside. It aches a bit, not just from the size but fuck it’s been so long since you’ve had something more than your own fingers in you. Your thoughts go from not so bad to okay damn to holy fuck there’s more? Because he keeps pushing and you keep taking, and you feel every inch of him filling your insides while his body offers more.

“Fuck, baby. Fuck,” Yunho whines, still gripping the base of his cock as he guides it into you. Your head falls back and you curse at nothing; his cock is somehow too big but perfectly sized at the same time and you’ve never felt so god damn full. “Look at you, that needy little cunt is swallowing me babygirl. Keep fucking taking it.”

His words make you dizzy, and you whine when he’s finally fully seated. You feel heavy, pinned to the table, as though you can’t move. You reach down and feel the rigid sides of his cock, shocked to feel just how much is inside you.

“How’s that, beautiful?” Yunho asks. He places both palms on the table, either side of your body, and you tense. If he started thrusting, it would fuck you up.

“Good,” you say, nodding. “Big, but good.”

“Knew you could take it. 'm gonna fuck you now. Stop me if you need to," he murmurs. You can take it.

"I can take it," you nod. He smiles, kissing you once, then twice.

You squeak as Yunho begins fucking you properly, ploughing into you hard and fast, moving with need and instinct rather than reason.

The table shakes with his heavy thrusts, pistoning into you so hard it makes you dizzy. You’re surprised you can take him like this, able to feel every inch of him when he’s seated inside, pressing deliciously on your walls.

Yunho ruts into you like an animal, unfortunately one with a very big cock as he struggles to keep every inch buried inside you. He wasn’t lying about not pulling out, as he refused to do so even when thrusting. You had no room to breathe, no chance for air, as he fucked into you repeatedly while trying to go deeper.

You’re at a loss for words, lips parted, eyes following his expression and movements. He’s desperate in his own way, obviously holding back, though you don’t know from what. You consider encouraging him to let go—until he groans loudly and snaps his hips, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby. So fucking…need you to hold still for me and take it,” he breathes. "Hold still. A-Almost done, fuck, keep taking it so good for me."

You do as he asks without question, clinging to his shoulders, nose to nose with Jeong Yunho as he forces his cock as far as it can go in your body and begins to pump a thin condom full of cum that should be you.

Yunho takes a few moments to breathe, arms shaking where he holds himself up on the table. You run a hand through his damp hair, watching as he moans softly and leans into your touch.

“You okay?” you giggle. He nods, tilting his head to kiss your palm.

“Just…You’re so fucking perfect. Want more of you if you’ll let me, wanna make you feel good every day," he says.

You blink at the surprising tenderness of his words, feeling they were more than sex related. You wanted to ask questions, but right now, you were both sticky with sweat and fucked out on a library table that would need to be wiped down with holy water.

You separated, which left you shuddering from the sudden cold emptiness inside of you. Yunho exhaled sharply, waiting a few moments before removing the condom and tying it off.

You both cleaned up and fixed your clothes as best you could—though you stuffed your panties in your bag because the sticky wetness was a little much.

“Do you want to come over?” you ask, making sure your skirt is covering your ass. “You know. To clean up.”

Yunho smiles, which makes you smile, and then you’re blushing and cursing at yourself. He nods and brushes your cheek with his knuckle.

“Sounds good,” he hums. You beam and gesture for him to follow you. Yunho watches as you collect your things with shaky legs, smiling to himself.

You were so damn pretty. Intelligent. He’d noticed right away that you were someone he was going to want.

He grabbed his own bag and walked past the table, pausing as he stepped on something.

The sucker.

You crinkle your nose when you notice it, too.

“Guess we need to throw that away,” you mumble. He nods, bending down and picking it up. He holds it in his hand for a few seconds.

What a good idea it had been.

He slips it into his pocket, for the memories.

Memories like, your name. Your favorite color. That skirt you wore on your first day. Apartment 2B, where you lived. You like the right side of the bed, don’t you? Yunho likes the left side.

The last man you slept with—11 months, 1 week, and 4 days ago.

Yunho hated that one.

You had waffles for breakfast this morning. You usually have oatmeal. You sleep with a nightlight on.

You’re afraid of the dark.

“You coming?” you ask with a shy smile, pausing at the door. Yunho looks up. You didn’t see him slip the sucker in his pocket. You never notice things like that.

“Yeah,” he says. He follows you out the door and waits for you to lock up. Then, without thinking too much of it, he takes your hand. You don’t pull away. Your hand is small compared to his, and he squeezes it. You squeeze back.

You like hot showers.

You sound so pretty when you moan, especially when you think you’re alone.

Your bathroom window is never locked.

You're never alone.

Yunho has a good memory when it comes to you.

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walkswithmyfather · 2 months ago

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“True spiritual richness is not measured by material wealth, but by the treasures God freely gives us in Christ. The Bible reminds us that having "family and loved ones"is a blessing (Psalm 127:3), and the daily provision of food is answered prayer—“Give us this day our daily bread” (Matthew 6:11).

God’s “unfailing love”(Psalm 136:26)

and “peace which passeth all understanding” (Philippians 4:7) are ours when we walk in faith. Even in trials, we find strength, for “the trying of your faith worketh patience” (James 1:2-3).

We have the Word of God as our light (Psalm 119:105), a home to rest in (Psalm 121:7), and the promise of citizenship in heaven and hope for eternity (Philippians 3:20).

This is the richness that grows the soul and draws us nearer to Christ, who said, “For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also”(Matthew 6:21).

Let us seek this eternal wealth and grow daily in spiritual strength.”

From: “Christian Spiritual Warfare from a Biblical Perspective” (FB)

#spiritualgrowth #god's unfailing love #god's love #bible #bible study #bible verses #bible truths #christian blog #god #belief in god #faith in god #jesus #belief in jesus #faith in jesus #encouragement #keep the faith #make him known

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mahmoud0qassas · 1 year ago

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Allah is the Provider and He is the one who blesses the provision, and Allah is more generous than all

And you are absolutely certain that what you give to God, He will multiply it for you many times over, so do not despair, for you are working and donating for yourself and the hereafter.

Yes, we need you because we are a large family. Yes, the amount is large, but it did not arouse your feelings, and my daughter is asking for your help

Don't raise your feelings while my family lives with humiliation

It did not arouse your feelings, and my friend asks you to help us in order for us to travel as soon as possible to treat my brother in a clean hospital

My brothers and sisters in Islam

Every day I beg you to stand with us, and the abundance of hope made me ashamed of myself, and this particular displacement, in which we moved from Rafah to the city of Zawaida. We faced the cruelty of humiliation and humiliation from the camps, and they allowed my family of 42 individuals to set up only two tents out of four.

This is a final appeal to you.. My family needs you.. My disabled brother needs you.. And my daughter dreams of living in safety.. Do not break our thoughts.. And the size of your donation will determine our path.. And the greater your donation, Allah will honor you in this world and the afterlife, for Allah is more generous than all.

If you want to enter Paradise, look at our condition, and be sure that Allah will admit you to His Paradise, and whenever you are good, Allah will give you according to your goodness.

#gaza strip #free palestine #free gaza #gaza #gaza genocide #gazaunderattack #gaza under attack #gaza under siege #i stand with palestine #palestine genocide

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betweenstorms · 6 months ago

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The Tide That Binds Us Chapter I: Her Children Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Siren!fem Reader [next chapter] [all chapters] [masterlist]

“The tide drags us together, lover and monster alike, until our reflections blur upon the water, now I cannot tell where your hunger ends and my surrender begins.”

Simon Riley knew that he had been raised by the sea herself.

His lungs had been shaped by her salted breath, his skin weathered by her touch, both cruel and kind, both lover and executioner. His hands bore the scars of her temperament, the rough callouses of a child she had never coddled, only forged.

He had seen all her faces, too, her serene hush, when the morning tide kissed the shore like a parting lover, whispering secrets in the language of shifting sands. He had also known her rage, the way she screamed in the throat of a storm, a wrathful goddess tearing at the sky, drowning the world in fury. She was treacherous and tender, devouring and divine.

And Simon knew better than most that the sea had no mercy.

She gave as much as she took, offered salvation in the same breath she whispered death. Men like him belonged to her in ways those bound to the land could never understand. She did not love, not in the way a mother should. But she kept him. She had taken men stronger than him, smarter than him, much more cunning than him, pulled them beneath her surface with greedy hands, but she had let him live.

Perhaps the sea had been merciful because he had always served her.

He was not like the others, those who fought against her, who defied her will, who prayed to false gods to spare them from her wrath. Simon had never begged her for favor, nor cursed her for cruelty. He had accepted her as she was, giver and taker, mother and monster, and she, maybe in return, had allowed him to stay, to bathe in her glory.

The lighthouse was his domain, his duty, the golden eye of its beacon sweeping across the darkened bay each night, a silent warning to those who dared trespass upon the inky waters. The men who sailed these shores, fishermen, drifters, wanderers with salt in their veins and wounds on their skin, depended on it. On him. On his care. They never saw his face, only the steady rhythm of his work, the light that cut through the darkness.

Simon’s days were predictable.

Ritualistic even.

He fished in the mornings, pulling silver offerings from the sea’s embrace, his hands deft and unthinking as he worked. He maintained the beacon, tended the building, ensuring the gears moved as they should, oiling the great lantern’s heart. When the skies were clear, he watched the stars, mapping the constellations that stretched above him like scars across the heavens.

The nearest town was miles away, across the bay, little more than a scattering of homes and shops clinging to the coastline. He rarely ventured there unless necessity demanded it—a new coil of rope, a crate of provisions—but even then, he lingered only long enough to make his purchases before returning to his solitary world.

Simon preferred it that way.

Isolation suited him.

The sea had always been his most faithful companion, the only one who knew the language of silence, who understood the weight of solitude without seeking to fill it. She never asked anything of him beyond his devotion, never demanded more than he could give. And yet, beneath her endless surface, beneath the lull of waves and foam, she harbored secrets.

Dark things. Forgotten things.

Monsters.

One of those monsters haunted him that night.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Simon grunted as he closed a window due to the heavy wind. The sea was uneasy, restless in a way that only those who truly knew her could feel.

That day, sometime after dusk, the wind had shifted, rolling in from the east with an eerie stillness that pressed heavy against the world, the kind that foretold an oncoming storm. Above, the stars burned brighter than they should have, their cold, ancient light stark against the vast abyss. The moon hung low and swollen, full and watching, a silver god casting its glow over the churning water below. The waves lapped against the massive cliffs, carrying secrets meant for no human ear. Dark and murmuring.

They rose and fell like a monster’s sigh.

And then he heard it.

A siren.

He was a man nearing forty, and he knew well the witchery of the sea. The stories whispered in dockside taverns, the warnings etched into the faces of old sailors, the superstitions woven into every knot of a fisherman’s net—he had heard them all. The sea was no gentle mistress. She was a realm of monsters, of unholy things that ruled the waves with claws and teeth and songs that could drown men without a drop of water touching their skin.

He knew of krakens, their tentacles rising like black towers from the depths, wrapping around ships and pulling them into the darkness. He knew of beasts with too many eyes, blinking in eerie unison from the shadows beneath the waves, their gazes filled with unknowable intent.

And he knew of sirens, too.

Their otherworldly voices were spun from the marrow of dead sailors, their songs as sweet as they were lethal, beckoning men toward ruin with the promise of something beautiful, eternal and inescapable. He had seen one once, when he was just a boy—too young to understand, but old enough to remember.

He could still recall the way his father’s harpoon tore through its body, the way it bled black, ink and brine spilling into the boat, staining his hands, his boots, his memories.

They were wretched things, their bodies tangled with moss and pearls, their scales slick as oil on water, shimmering and shifting, catching the light in unnatural hues of purple, blue, and silver. Their eyes were the worst of it—milky and hollow, pits of white that seemed to pierce and yet see nothing at all.

No pupils, no soul, no mercy.

And their teeth, too sharp and too many for his liking, gleaming like a reflection of the waves themselves, something meant for rending, for devouring, for dragging men into the deep and never letting go.

“Never trust what comes from the sea,” that was what his father had said as he carved into the corpse, his blade slicing through the slick flesh with the practiced ease of a man gutting a fish, stripping it bare from its makeshift jewelry. “Nothin’ that comes from it is ever yours, son. Not her pearls, not her beauty, not her mercy. You take what you need and leave the rest. If you don’t, she’ll take you instead.”

This was the only truly useful thing his father had ever said to him.

But this one—this siren wasn’t singing.

It was crying.

The sound was heartbreakingly beautiful, a sorrow spun from salt and wind that rose from the darkness and wrapped itself around him like a mother’s embrace. It wasn’t the seductive pull of their song, that honeyed, venomous promise of blissful destruction he had steeled himself against countless times before. No, this was different. It was raw, fractured, a sound that felt like it didn’t belong to the world of the living. It was haunting, the way it seemed to call for him and only him. The sound wasn’t human, couldn’t be, and yet it burrowed into his chest and made his heart tighten.

Because it was not a call.

It was pain.

And goddess help him, it was beautiful. It prickled his skin, sent a cold whisper down his spine, not with fear, but with something worse—recognition. As though the grief in that voice did not belong to the sea at all. As though, somehow, it belonged to him.

And Simon, against all reason, felt himself being drawn to it.

His first instinct was to shut the other windows, too. To bolt the lighthouse doors and to wait for the storm he knew would come crawling over the horizon by morning. The sea always changed before a tempest, the air thickening, the tides rising, tense and starved. Simon had learned long ago that no good ever came from listening too closely to what lurked beyond the shore.

And yet—he hesitated.

Something inside him rebelled, some nameless part of him that ached at the tempting sound, that tightened in his chest like an iron fist gripping his ribs. And against his better judgment, he picked up his lantern and left the lighthouse.

Unguarded.

The descent toward the shore was treacherous, even for a man who had known these cliffs all his life. The rocks jutted out like broken bones, slick with sea spray, the pathway winding and deceptive. He knew all too well that every footstep here mattered, knew how easy it would be to fall and disappear beneath the tide, swallowed whole. But he pressed on, lantern swinging in his grip, his breath harsh against the cold wind.

And then the crying stopped.

Simon slowed, heartbeat heavy in his ears. He scanned the shoreline, his keen eyes adjusting to the silver-washed darkness. The sea stretched before him, an endless mouth yawning wide beneath the moon, and the wind howled, but the sobs had ceased, leaving only silence.

He was being watched.

His grip on the lantern tightened.

Simon felt it before he saw it, the unmistakable sensation of something pressing against him from the inside out, an invisible weight that made his breath come shorter, his pulse pound against his freezing skin. He swept his gaze across the rocky shoreline, the lantern's glow flickering weakly against the dark. The tide rolled in sluggishly, dragging kelp and shattered shells and rubbish onto the sand, leaving behind gleaming trails of brine that shimmered like veins of liquid silver. The scent of salt and something faintly metallic filled his lungs.

Then he saw it.

Or more like her.

“Bloody hell,” was all he could muster.

Shimmering scales gleamed under the moonlight, their iridescence shifting, broken and glistening in the pale glow. Empty, sightless eyes stared at him, the gleam of too many teeth bared in silent warning. Her hair was woven from the night itself, strands of pure darkness clinging to her face, tangled in the glistening scales and skin. Braids coiled through the wild locks, adorned with shells and pearls that had long since lost their luster—just like the ones his father had torn from a creature like her.

At first, Simon thought she was nothing more than a trick of the light. A specter conjured by the approaching storm, a cruel illusion spun from shadow and tide, a barbaric joke of his goddess. But then—

She moved.

Not much, only the faintest shift of her webbed fingers against the sand, long nails digging in the grains, but it was enough. Enough to confirm that she was no mirage, no phantom rising from the sea’s depths to mock him.

A siren.

But something was wrong.

Her body lay sprawled on the shore, draped across the wet sand like a broken offering, her black blood pooling beneath her, seeping into the white foam that hissed and whispered as the waves lapped hungrily at her failing form. A ragged wound marred her tail, a savage, gaping bite that had torn deep into her flesh, revealing pale muscle and splintered bone. It was raw, violent, the kind of wound left by a predator—something larger, something hungrier.

As if something had tried to eat her.

Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, her translucent throat fluttering with each rattling gasp, as though she were drowning on land, suffocating in air that was never meant to sustain her. But she didn’t look like she was drowning. More like suffering.

Simon stood frozen, the chill of the night pressing into his skin, however, he felt nothing but the pull of her gaze. Those empty eyes, devoid of pupils, locked onto him with a stillness that could unmake a man. Misty and milky white, like pearls rolling in the tide, and yet—they saw him, he was sure of that. Saw through him, into the space where his soul should have been. A shudder coursed through him, sharp and biting, like the cold of the sea itself wrapping around his spine, threatening not to let him go.

He had seen her kind before, but not like this.

Never like this.

Because the sirens Simon knew were born from hunger, nightmares carved from the abyss, their beauty a deception, their cruelty boundless. They did not weep and they did not falter. They were the sea’s daughters, forged in the salt and blood of drowned men. They hunted in packs, gliding through water like living specters, their songs curling through the mist, laced with promise, soaked in death. They spared no one—unless they had need of them. When their numbers thinned, when their kind dwindled, they would let men live long enough to take something from them.

Daughters born with water in their lungs.

Nothing hunted sirens other than humans.

Nothing could.

And yet—

Black tears streamed down her pale, bloodied face, tracing paths across her scales, dripping onto the torn flesh of her body. They mingled with the ink of her, pooling in the sand like an oil slick. The sound she made was not the haunting melody that had drawn countless men to their deaths, not the sweet, treacherous song that pulled sailors into their waiting jaws. It was softer. Raw.

Eerily human.

A fractured sob, torn from something deep and ancient, something that should not have been capable of grief, spilling into the night like the last dying breath of a storm.

It was not meant for Simon to hear.

His feet moved without thought, his boots sinking into the wet sand as he stepped closer. She snarled weakly, her lips peeling back to reveal two sets of teeth, as sharp and long as broken glass. The sound was instinctive, a threadbare defense, but her strength was failing her. Her fingers scraped at the sand, pulling her body toward, or perhaps away from him.

He could not tell which.

Her fear wasn’t for him.

It was for something else.

Simon’s gaze flickered downward, to the wound carved into her tail, the jagged edges of torn scales and raw, glistening muscle. A bite. No clean cut, no wound from battle, but the ruinous mark of something that had devoured and been left unsatisfied. Whatever had done this had been merciless and ancient. It was a claim—one that had not yet been fulfilled.

And she had escaped from it.

Sirens did not flee. They did not beg, did not tremble, did not seek shelter on land, away from the dark cradle that had borne them. They belonged to the abyss, yet this one had crawled to shore. And the terror in her sightless eyes told him why.

She had not really escaped it.

She had only bought herself time.

Simon’s fingers twitched at his side. He should end it. He knew he should. Should put her out of her misery, should stop whatever this was before it became something. But his hand would not move, would not reach for the creature’s neck to kill her. The tide rose, licking at his boots, reaching for her broken body, and yet, she did not fight it. She just looked at him.

He should have ignored it.

Should have let the sea take her back.

But he didn’t.

Simon Riley had never been a man of mercy.

The sea had taught him that early. However, Simon slowly knelt in the sand, his knees pressing into the wet earth, water and blood creeping through fabric, sinking deep. The vastness whispered at his back, the wind curling through his dusty blonde hair like ghostly fingers, urging him away. Goddess, he knew better than to get close—knew what those claws could do, what those teeth had done to men who had come before him. And yet, his body betrayed him, moving against every instinct that screamed at him to turn back, to leave her to whatever fate awaited, to give her back to the sea.

Still, he lowered himself.

His hands rose, palms up—

—a gesture as ancient as the sea itself.

It was foolish, a reckless thing born of madness, a man bowing to the unknown. The sea did not deal in peace. She did not barter in mercy or forgiveness. The sea dealt in flesh and bone, in the sharp edge of hunger and the endless churn of fear.

Just like her daughters.

Simon knew this.

And still, he reached for her.

He spoke before he thought better of it. “You understand me, yeah?”

Her opalescent eyes narrowed.

A response, however weak. Her black tears continued to stream down her face, carving rivers through the salt caking her colorful scales. Her mouth parted, rows of jagged teeth meant for rending flesh stared back at him, but she did not lunge. Did not snap. Did not drag him into the abyss where she had surely taken so many before.

Simon licked his lips, tasting salt and blood. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

The siren bared her teeth again, but there was no strength behind it. Simon only nodded, taking that as an answer.

At least she understood him.

“Listen, creature,” he murmured, shifting his weight slightly, the sand scattering beneath his boots. “If I touch you, don’t want you bitin’ my fuckin’ fingers off, understood?”

She did not speak.

Only watched.

Those empty eyes fixed upon him, hollow as the moon yet brimming with something deeper, something more knowing than they had any right to be. It was unnerving, the way she beheld him, as if she could see past flesh, past bone, past the mortal entity that he was.

As if she already knew him.

But then again, the sea had always known him.

She had claimed Simon long before he had words to name her pull, long before he understood why he would always return to her, why the land had never been enough. He had been raised in the cradle of her bays, rocked by her violent lullabies, shaped by the call of distant waves. He was hers. Her son. More than his own mother’s, more than anyone’s.

And this monster before him?

She was part of that vast, unknowable force.

Another piece of the great and endless goddess. Perhaps this was her wish. The sea had never asked anything of him before. They had provided for each other, mother and son, bound by the quiet understanding that the sea would take as much as she gave.

But perhaps, at long last, she was calling in a debt.

Perhaps this was a favor, whispered in the language of droplets, carried by the hush between the waves—a mother asking her favored son to save her favourite daughter.

Perhaps that was why his hand did not shake as he reached for the siren laying before him.

“Bound by restless waves, I cannot tell if your touch drowns me in desire or devours me in ruin. Which of us wears the mask of the hunter, and which of us the prey?”

betweenstorms (masterlist)

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thewordfortheday · 3 months ago

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It is not our prayers that mark the Lord's ability. Jesus can do far more than we can ask or think. (Ephesians 3:20) He can do things we can’t even dream of.

You may wonder, “Is God able to help me?” no matter how many verses you read, still inner fear and deep doubt combine to put out any spark of hope. The question is real: Is God able? If we believe the Bible, the answer is yes.

Think what the Almighty has done for you: He gave His Son! “Therefore, He is able to save completely those who come to God through Jesus.” (Hebrews 7:25)

Heavenly Father, thank You that Your provision is far greater than my need. I come to You deeply conscious of my weakness and my doubt. Grant me fresh faith to believe in You. Teach me to pray big prayers that you might be truly honoured. Thank You for what You have done for me on the cross of Calvary. Be glorified in my life! Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

#bible verse #daily devotional #christian quotes #bible quotes #inspiration #daily devotion #christian quote #christian life #scripture #bible

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itsfarmerphil · 10 months ago

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W26D1: Best thing to do on Sunday is go to church.

Could time and location be lining up? You may remember how yesterday’s topic was “Now what? Reflecting on a week of hope and yet…” and so what was the top of the list of things to do yesterday? We went to church. Not just any church but rather a Bible-believing, Bible-preaching church. The series continues on “Winning the now and the future” and the 9am service was incredible from the songs in…

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twola · 20 days ago

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Firewater - Chapter 21

PAIRING: low to mid honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader. explicit.

Susan Grimshaw was suddenly at your other elbow. “Sit. We need to talk.”

“Oh hell,” you muttered.

taglist: @v3lv3tf0x, @stottlemorgan, @mrsarthurmorgan7, @appalachiancowboy99, @pinescent-and-gingerbread, @blueskies664, @arthurstinmug, @ultraporcelainpig, @emerald-ranch @thedilfdiaries, @heron-feathers,@nalitali, @whiskeyskin, @globetrotter28, @arthurmorganist, @sadieadlersnecktie, @twistermollis

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Previous | ➵ Next

HENNIGAN’S STEAD, NEW AUSTIN, MARCH 1898

It started with you trying to sneak an extra biscuit.

You were halfway to the provisions table, hoping Pearson was too distracted gutting a fish to notice, when Abigail appeared like a damn ghost behind you.

“You got a minute?”

You flinched. “What? Why?”

Susan Grimshaw was suddenly at your other elbow. “Sit. We need to talk.”

“Oh hell,” you muttered.

They herded you — like actual livestock — behind a wagon, where Grimshaw had already set up a crate for you to sit on. You blinked.

“I-I didn’t do anything.”

Abigail just folded her arms. “You did, alright. About six months ago.”

Grimshaw sat with the prim, terrifying posture of a schoolmarm. “You’re getting bigger. Time we had a talk.”

“About what?”

Grimshaw gave you a flat look.

Abigail sighed. “You’re gonna give birth, sweetheart. It's… it’s work. And we’re gonna tell you what to expect.”

You swallowed. “...Is this gonna be bad?”

Grimshaw sniffed. “Have you ever tried to push a honeydew melon out your cunt?”

Your soul left your body.

Abigail nodded. “It’s like that. Except the melon’s alive and movin’ and usually turnin’ the wrong way at the worst possible time.”

“Oh my God-”

“You’ll scream,” Grimshaw said matter-of-factly. “And bleed. And you may shit yourself.”

Abigail held your shoulder and added, “Not always, but it’s best to be prepared for it. And someone’s probably gonna have to hold your leg back while you push. You’ll think you’re gonna die. You won’t.”

“Probably,” Susan said.

“Oh, wonderful,” you croaked.

“And contractions,” Abigail went on, “they’ll start off like cramps. You’ll think, This ain’t so bad. Then they’ll get worse. Like, bite-down-on-a-rope worse. And they’ll come faster, like they’re trying to kill you in waves.”

“And if your water breaks before the midwife gets here,” Grimshaw added, “make sure you don’t sit anywhere with upholstery.”

“We don’t have any upholstery!” you snapped.

“Well, good. We learned our lesson with Abigail then.” She pulled out a fan from God-knows-where and began fluttering it. “When the real labor starts, you’ll want to squat, or get on all fours, or throw a punch. Don’t let Morgan stand behind you… he’ll faint.”

“I won’t,” you muttered. “I think.”

Abigail narrowed her eyes. “You say that now. But once the head starts showing? That man’s gonna lose it. And then there is the possible tearing....”

You clapped your hands over your ears. “Nope. No. Absolutely not.”

“Sweetheart,” Grimshaw said with brutal cheerfulness, “it’s better you know. It’s like rippin’ your own britches seam out from the inside.”

“Why are you telling me this?!”

“Because if nobody told me,” Abigail said, “I might’ve run into the woods and given birth like a squirrel. And Susan caught my afterbirth in an old stew pot. So. We’re doin’ you a favor.”

You stared at them, horrified. “This is not a favor.”

Abigail patted your arm. “Just breathe when it starts. Deep in through your nose. Don’t panic.”

“And for God’s sake, don’t let Morgan try to be helpful unless he’s boiling water or holding your damn hand,” Grimshaw said. “And make sure someone has fresh linen for the baby, a blanket for you, and whiskey for everyone.”

You just sat there, pale, clutching your biscuit like it was the last joy in the world.

“...Can I go now?” you whispered.

Abigail and Grimshaw exchanged a satisfied look.

“I think she’s ready,” Abigail said.

“For the talk,” Grimshaw clarified. “Not the birth. That’ll break her.”

“Fantastic,” you muttered, already planning to find Arthur and throttle him.

Maybe you had been insatiable these last few weeks.

But now?

Now, all you wanted was to shove a pillow between your thighs and never be touched again.

Arthur wandered up the path from the creek with a couple of rabbits slung over his shoulder, still damp from cleaning. He was humming, relaxed, blissfully unaware that you had just been emotionally waterboarded behind a wagon by two women with absolutely no filter.

He spotted you first, sitting frozen on a crate, a cold biscuit in one hand, your face blank with trauma.

He stopped. Brows furrowed.

“You alright?”

You blinked at him.

Then blinked again.

Then slowly turned to face him, voice flat as a plank. “Did you know it’s like pushing a melon out?”

Arthur tilted his head. “I mean… I reckon?”

“Out of my cunt, Arthur.”

“…Alright.”

“And I might shit myself.”

Arthur dropped the rabbits.

“What the hell-?”

Abigail leaned around from behind the wagon, smug as a cat with cream. “She’s learnin’ what’s ahead.”

Grimshaw joined her, sipping from a tin cup like she hadn’t just shattered your spirit. “Don’t worry, Mister Morgan. We told her not to let you look when the crowning starts. Don’t need you passin’ out and cracking your skull.”

Arthur blinked. “I-I wasn’t plannin’ on…what the hell’s a crowning?”

“I need you,” you interrupted, standing slowly, with the grace and rage of a woman on the edge, “to come here. Right now.”

He stepped forward cautiously, hands raised as if you were holding a weapon.

You stepped into his space. Stared him in the eyes. Then reached up and grabbed a handful of his shirt.

“Arthur,” you whispered, “if you ever put a child in me again, I’m gonna knock you clean out with Pearson’s stew pot.”

He blinked.

“Then I’m gonna tie your ankles to a horse and drag you behind it across the damn state while shouting every detail they just told me.”

His mouth opened. Then closed. “…Is this about the melon thing?” he asked warily.

“Yes, Arthur,” You pointed at Abigail and Susan, who looked extremely satisfied with themselves. “They ambushed me.”

Grimshaw lifted her cup. “We call it preparation.”

Arthur slowly, very gently, reached out and took your biscuit from your hand. “I’ll go get you another one. And maybe some tea.”

“Get whiskey.”

He hesitated.

“Arthur.”

“Right. Whiskey.”

He turned to go, muttering something about stew pots and demons and “Jesus Christ, Susan.”

You sat back down on the crate, arms crossed over your belly, scowling like the world had personally wronged you.

Grimshaw patted your shoulder.

“You’ll do fine, sweetheart.”

“I’m not speaking to either of you again until the baby’s walking,” you muttered.

Abigail just smiled. “You say that now. Wait till your water breaks on Arthur’s cot.”

You gave them both a murderous glare.

And then, despite yourself, you laughed.

Because, horrifying as it was, you couldn’t imagine going through it without women like them around you.

Even if they did describe childbirth like a battlefield.

–

That night, you were lying stiffly on Arthur’s cot, wrapped in a blanket and not speaking. Not reading. Not sewing. Just lying there, eyes pointed at the ceiling like you were seeing the face of God and He was deeply disappointing.

Arthur ducked into the tent, his boots scuffing the canvas.

You didn’t look at him.

He held something in both hands — a small cup of tea and a flask, which he hesitantly held out.

“I… uh… I brought whiskey… tea,” he offered. “Sorta both.”

You didn’t move.

“I also told Abigail not to talk to you again unless it was about biscuits.”

Nothing.

Arthur sighed and set the cup down. Then, slowly, he sat on the edge of the cot and rubbed a hand through his hair.

“I didn’t know it was gonna be… all that. Thought it was mostly just pushin’ and swearin’. Maybe cryin’ a bit.”

Your eyes slowly slid over to him. “Melon, Arthur.”

“I know, I know,” he said quickly. “That part got me too.”

“And tearing.”

Arthur went pale. “Okay let’s…let’s maybe not go over it again.”

You sat up slowly. “And there’s afterbirth.”

Arthur stared at you like you'd just told him he’d have to fight it.

“There’s a second birth?” he whispered.

You nodded solemnly.

Arthur made a small choked noise and ran both hands down his face.

Then he turned to you, all serious now, like he was trying to get this right.

“Listen,” he said. “I ain’t real smart about this stuff. Never seen it, and I damn sure never talked about it. But I know this-” he reached out and took your hand, lacing your fingers together, rough and warm, “you ain’t gonna do it alone. Not for a minute.”

You watched him carefully.

“I’ll be there,” he went on. “Right there beside you, even if you scream at me or tell me to go to hell. I’ll hold your hand, just like I am now.”

His thumb stroked across your knuckles.

“And I swear, I won’t look at your cunt… Not unless you ask me to.”

You snorted, just once, but it cracked the tension in your chest.

Arthur brightened.

“I’ll even hold a towel,” he added. “Or boil water. Or… or punch Dutch if he says anything dumb.”

Your smile widened, a little helplessly. “You’d punch Dutch?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You leaned against him, burying your face in his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around you, protective and gentle, pressing a kiss into your hair.

For a long moment, you just breathed.

And then, muffled into his neck, you murmured, “You’re still never getting me pregnant again.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough.”

Pause.

“But y’know…”

You pulled back and gave him a sharp look.

He held up both hands. “Just sayin’! I like the part that gets us there.”

You groaned and shoved him onto his back, flopping on top of him hip-first with a muffled oof.

He laughed, winded, holding you close anyway.

#twolafic #firewater #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead fanfic #rdr2 fanfic

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hermajestyimher · 10 months ago

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I Put My Faith in God - Not People

There’s been a lot of criticism about hyper-independence in women, but I personally can’t relate to those critiques. As someone who left home and moved to another country at 18, I’ve always had a strong desire to be my own person and work hard to achieve my goals. Depending on others for my survival has never felt right to me.

For some of us, being a “girl boss” isn’t just a trendy aesthetic—it’s part of who we are. We grew up watching our mothers and grandmothers suffer at the hands of men in their lives. We saw the women in our communities tied down because they couldn’t live without being married or financially dependent on men. Many of us witnessed domestic abuse and other forms of oppression and made the conscious decision to break those cycles.

I’ve learned that the only one I can fully trust in is God. He is not a man who will lie, and His ways are not like ours. He has been beyond faithful to me. If He sends me helpers along the way, I’ll gladly accept their assistance because I know it’s divinely guided, but I will never put my trust in men—never. People are flawed, self-centered, and imperfect. You have to navigate this world with the understanding that someone can present themselves one way and then completely change later on. By putting my faith in God instead of people, I know that whatever provision I receive is good and without strings attached.

Being hyper-independent when it comes to people is crucial to me and I will never allow people with conservative agendas make me feel guilty about it, but I will always remain fully dependent on God.

#things ive learned #level up journey #growth mindset #faith journey

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pretty-little-whorror · 10 months ago

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Rough House - Ash Williams

AvED Ash smut bc i still need him. This ones been sitting in my drafts since December ish so i thought i would finish it.

wc: 4.1k

tags: older man/younger woman(age is never specified, written in mind with a 20-something), "outdoor" sex, kinda public sex, car sex but not like normal, almost getting caught, p in v sex, oral(fem receiving), light nipple play, unprotected sex, cream pie, light fighting, mentions toward canon style violence. not completely proof read I just searched for the underlined words.

Ash sat in the aged lawn chair, watching as you grumpily worked to wash the Deadite guts off of his car. He was rather pleased with himself, finding not only a way to pawn chores onto someone else, but to ogle at your figure as you bent over the hood of his car. As for you, the hot summer weather does nothing to ease your mood. You grabbed another sponge from the bucket while you silently cursed Kelly and Pablo for running off on a grocery run before you had the mind to.

After finishing his beer with one long gulp, he crumpled it with his metal hand and tossed it somewhere behind him. Hearing the aluminum can hit the ground, your eyes met the sky impatiently. “Really?” You sighed, his behavior only adding to your aggravation.

“Hm?” He hummed in response as he leaned over in his chair to grab another can from the cooler placed next to him.

“Seriously? You can’t even throw your own shit out?” You turned to him, a soapy hand resting on your hip.

“Oh please, sugar, I hardly think it matters. I’ve done worse. Pick it up if it bothers you so much.” He shrugged, a careless grin plastered across his mug. The pop of the metal tab sounded deafening as he opened up his next beer.

“I swear to God, Ash if you don’t pick up that fucking can, I’m gonna shove it so far up your ass you’re gonna be burping aluminum for the next week.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender as he raised himself from the chair. “Easy there, darling, no need to get all worked up.” He walked back to where the can had landed. “I’ll pick up the ‘fucking can’” he mocked. You let out a sigh, deciding to ignore him for your own sake. You turned back to the car and used the sponge to push a chunk of what was maybe brain at one point onto the gravel. You winced as it landed with a heavy ‘splat’.

“Oh, come on now sugar, a little manual labor never hurt no one. We’ll be finished in no time, then you can go get your beauty rest.” He said as he settled back into his chair. “Or maybe do some sunbathing, I can always help with the sunscreen.”

“We?” You snapped back toward him. “There has been no ‘we’, Ash, just you working on getting day drunk while I clean your fucking car!.”

“Well then you can’t say I’m not working.” He winked with his trademark cocky, full-of-himself grin. “Besides, I’m supervising. Making sure everything is up to my incredibly high standards.”

“Then how about you finish this shit up then, yeah? It’s too fucking hot out for me to be dealing with you.”

Ash feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. “Oh how you wound me with your words. Can’t you see, baby? The sweat, the heat, the hard work, that’s all part of the Ash Williams experience. I’ve got to save my hands for more delicate matters.” He wiggled his hand with a wink. “Besides, if you do a good job maybe we can go get a drink.” He bounced his brows.

“Only if I can drown you in it.” You gave him a poisoned sweet smile with a glare.

He again rose from the chair and walked over to the car, standing next to you as you cleaned. “You just need a little bit more elbow grease, sweetheart. Once we're done we can try something else to ease those troubles of yours, hm?”

“Right now you’re my only frustration.” You remarked, turning your back to him. “Pablo should be doing this, he’s the one with the shit aim.” You sighed.

“Yeah and I’m making him buy our provisions as punishment. Besides, you have me here for moral support and expert supervision. It would be irresponsible of me to let you miss out on all the valuable life lessons I have to offer.”

You ignored him again, wringing the sponge out over the bucket before dipping it into the clean bucket full of suds.

“But, if you don’t think you have the mental capacity to learn a thing or two from my noggin, I can always find someone who can.”

“Now, you know better than to threaten me with a good time, Ashley.” You didn’t even turn to face him as you spoke.

“Oh, come one now sweetheart, once a lady gets a taste of what Ash Williams has to offer, they always come back asking for more.” He shrugged and took a sip from his drink as he turned to walk back to his chair.

Deciding that he had finally run your patience too thin, you let out an annoyed groan and chucked the sponge at his back. “Fuck you! Clean your own fucking car!” You shouted at him as he slowly turned around with a surprised, albeit impressed, look on his face.

“Oh fine, fine. Don’t get your panties in a twist, sugar cake. I can finish cleaning my baby. I’m sure she needs a gentle touch after what you’ve done with her.”

You rolled your eyes again but continued to walk away, deciding you were done with him until you found something, a lot of something, to drink. However, as soon as you were no more than a pace or two in front of him on your way back to the trailer, you felt a heavy stream of water hit your back. The unexpected force almost pushing you forward. You snapped around to see Ash holding the hose with the biggest shit eating grin on his face. Seeing red, you quickly closed the distance between the two of you and you swiped at his feet, sending him falling to the ground, dropping the hose on his descent.

“Jesus fucking Christ” He shouted as his back hit the gravel floor. “At least you're not throwing a temper tantrum.” He winced as he got up, wiping down his pants after his fall. You turn back around, trying again to go back to the trailer for the second time, but then his voice again grated against your ears. “Now do you have it all out of your system or did you wanna tangle a little more?”

Taking the bait, you turn around again and made the same move to knock him down again. Now prepared to use his years-honed reflexes, he sidestepped out of dodge as you lunged at him. As you went past him he grabbed your arm, using your momentum against you. He twisted your arm behind your back and pushed you up against the newly cleaned, still wet car with a firm grip.

“Oh come on now, baby, let’s channel that energy into something physical that’s a little less violent, hm?” He chuckled, his breath fanning against the nape of your neck.

You took a second to take in your situation, bent over the Delta by Ash and your face flushed red, however less from anger this time. Not caring for the predicament you whipped your head up, the back of your skull hitting his jaw, causing him to bust his lip open on his teeth. He stumbled back, allowing her to stand up. He raised his left hand to his bleeding lip, an expression of surprise once again painted on his face, however the corners of his mouth curled into a playful smile.

You looked over him, not able to take in his full figure given the lack of space between the two of you. Initially, you had resented the smile that played on his lips, but you almost felt a sort of release. Finally being able to take out your frustrations, not only from Ash, but from the continuous pile of shit you had been navigating through these past few months.

“Now where’s that spitfire when we need-”

Before we was able to finish, you bent down and grabbed the hose from off the ground and whipped it at his side. The stream of water avoiding him but spraying all over the side of the Airstream as a result. Ash yelped in surprise as he narrowly avoided his face being doused in water. He chuckled at your resourcefulness and raised his hands as a white flag. As worked his way towards you, you decided you weren’t done yet and again repeated the move to swipe his legs out from under him with your own. Only narrowly avoiding the move this time, he only tipped a little over your before regaining his balance. You balled your hand into a fist and pulled back, ready to throw a punch but he again caught your arm, pushing it flush against your chest and using it to maneuver you back to the car, the back of your legs hitting the side of the hood.

“You’ve gotta get another move in your deck, baby.” He chuckled. “Besides, I'm getting a little tired of this. Now are we done or do you have something else you’d like to try?” He pulled back on your arm, moving your torso forward just a bit as a subtle, but surprisingly un-obnoxious show of his current power over you. You didn’t talk back, just staring up at him. Luckily you had worked yourself up during your brief spat, allowing the blush coming over your face a pliable excuse. You wanted to say your next move was nothing more than impulsive but deep down you knew better.

You pulled against his grip, not in an attempt to free yourself, but instead to bring him down to your level. Still having to balance on your toes, you brought your lips harshly up to his, able to taste the blood you had caused to accumulate not more than five minutes ago. You could feel him smirk against your lips, but you were past getting annoyed at his hubris. His grip on your wrist loosened as he pushed into the kiss and you felt the cool metal of his right hand on your side through the dampened fabric of your t-shirt.

“Now that’s the kinda move I’m talking about.” He spoke, barely separating his mouth from yours.

“You’re not gonna shut up, are you?” You grumbled, completely freeing yourself from his wrist and running your hand over his clothed chest.

“Well there’s a few other things I can do with my trap.” He winked. You rolled your eyes again, he was always gonna be this cheesy.

“Why don’t we just focus on being quiet for now, hm?” You patted his chest as he smirked, closing the distance between your lips once again. He took the opportunity to pull at your bottom lip with his teeth, an unspoken request you granted by sighing into the kiss, your other arm wrapping around his shoulder in time.

As his tongue pushed into your mouth, his hands falling onto either side of your waist, gently running the distance between there and the curve of your hips before he gently patted your ass, a silent signal you followed by jumping up onto the hood of the car and spreading your legs enough for him to stand between. Now settled, his hands crept up beneath your shirt, separating the wet fabric from your skin as left snaked a path up to your bra, reaching around the back to expertly unclasp the garment in a single move.

Deciding it was well past your turn, your hands worked on undoing the first few buttons of the henley, allowing enough space for you to run a hand over his chest, your fingers lightly dancing through the dark hair peeking through. You then tugged the shirt out of the waistband of his pants.

His hands moved down, palming yours hungrily through the fabric of your jeans. He undid them quickly and lifted you slightly off the hood in order to discard them completely.

“Shit baby,” He murmured, his lips millimeters away from your ear, his hot breath fanning over the shell. “You’ve got no clue how long I’ve been waiting to get into your shorts.”

“Oh, I think I’ve got some sort of idea.” You teased back, undoing his belt and sliding it through the loops of his jeans.

“So you just let me sit there like a begging dog?”

“Consider it a test of patience.” You smirked as you brought your lips back to his. While you hoped that would have silenced him, he had proven you wrong.

“First test I’ve ever passed.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’d believe that.” You unlatched your arms from around his neck to get rid of your wet shirt and bra. “You barely passed this one.”

"It's hard to study when I'm hot for teacher."

You rolled your eyes at his remark as he explored your newly exposed skin, his hands cupping your breasts, the cool metal of his right hand a stark contrast to the warmth of his other. He circled his thumbs over your hardened nipples, eliciting a soft gasp from you. He pressed his mouth to your jawline as he continued to paw and knead at your breasts, slowly trailing a path from your neck, then down to your collarbone, to the valley between your breasts. His lips eventually landing on your nipple, tongue swirling around the hardened peak as his left hand fondled the other.

Eventually, he raised his head to bring his lips to yours again, kissing you hot and messy. His fingers moved down your stomach, undoing your shorts and pulling them down your legs, you helped to kick them off once they fell down to your ankles. He gave a quick nip to your bottom lip before pulling away. He brought his hands up briefly to gently push at your shoulders.

"Go ahead and lay back for me, sweet thing."

You complied eagerly, the cool metal of the car hood against your heated skin sent a shiver down your spine. His gaze was heavy as he raked over your body, taking in every curve and contour of your body sprawled out on his car. He couldn't help but smile at the sight before stepping away for a moment. You gave him a quizzical look as he made his way towards the lawn chair he had been sat in earlier.

"Uh, hello?" You spoke up, propping yourself up on your elbows. You watched with a raised brow as he brought the chair back over to where you laid on the car.

"Give an old guy a break, yeah?" He smirked, sitting back down. The old, beaten chair just low enough to place him right between your legs. He tugged at the hem of your panties, pulling them down your legs. However, instead of tossing them aside like your shorts, he pocketed the fabric into his jeans, giving you a wink as he did so. His eyes glinted with mischief and desire as his hands ran up and down your thighs, eventually propping them over his shoulders. He lips pecked on the soft flesh of your inner thigh before settling at the apex between your legs.

His tongue dipped into your folds, lapping at the arousal coating your core. He groaned as your taste coated his tongue, his grip on your thighs tightening.

His motions started exploratory, paying close attention to the reactions each movement was able to elicit from you. While his ministrations has started small, they quickly matched those of a man starved; you felt his nose bump your clit as he delved into your dripping cunt, savoring every movement as if this would be his last meal.

Your hand reached down to where his head was buried between your legs, your fingers weaving through his hair and gripping hard onto the locks.

"Goddamn, Ash." You sighed, arching your back and instinctively pushing your hips forward. You could hear him chuckle, the sound reverberating through you in a subtle vibration. His left hand that had been gently gripping at your thigh trailed up to join his tongue, his fingers dancing around your entrance, collecting the slick signs of your arousal on his fingertips.

He slowly pushed the digits in, causing your grip on his hair to tighten. He began to pump his fingers, the movements beginning as slow and tantalizing, however they quickly began to match his own impatience. The combination of his tongue eagerly lapping at your swollen clit and his fingers spreading you open causes that all too familiar and welcome tension to start tightening in your core.

"Fuck...Fuck I'm gonna cum!" Your words were breathless and whiny. His metallic hand patted your thigh encouragingly.

"C'mon baby," He groaned, his words becoming less muffled as he withdrew his head from between your legs, replacing the attention on your clit with pressured circling from his thumb. "Cum for me baby, all over my hand, c'mon."

It took only a few more deliberate movements before you came undone on his hand, a jumbled string of whines and curses expelling from your mouth in time. He slowed his movements, as if to help you down from the high before withdrawing his hand and standing back up, pushing the chair away with the back of his thighs. He leans down, kissing sloppily from the crook of your neck up to your lips as you came to all while muttering reassurances.

"Such a pretty, perfect little pussy for me. Not fair for you to be hiding that, hm?" You moaned into his kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.

"So pretty when you cum baby, want you to cum on my cock this time, yeah?" He pushed his jeans down, the cloth of his boxers going with them, allowing his hard and aching cock to spring free. He wasted no time positioning himself between your legs, the head of his cock brushing against your entrance.

"Ash," You whined. "Stop teasing." Your plea was met in reply with a confident smirk.

"Oh c'mon now, nothing you can't handle."

"Please..." You whimpered, your hips bucking up in an attempt to draw him in deeper. "Just fuck me already."

"Well if you're gonna ask so nicely." He grinned, slowly thrusting forward, letting you get accustomed to his size as he pushed himself in inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt. "Goddamn," He dropped his head as he hovered over you, his movements still. "So fucking good, so nice n' wet for me."

He began to move, his hips setting a steady rhythm as he pumped in and out of you, each thrust sending engulfing your nerves in red hot pleasure. As his pace increased, you could hear the car creak beneath the two of you, the sound mingling with your moans and the wet slap of skin against skin.

Ash used his metal hand to anchor him to the hood of the car, allowing his left hand to roam your body, eventually landing on again kneading the plump flesh of your breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers. You moved your legs up from his hips to wrap around his waist, pulling yourself closer and allowing him to plunge into you deeper and hitting that perfect, sensitive spot inside you with each stroke.

"Ash- fuck, right there." You gasped. "Just like that." You arched your back up, pushing your hips up to meet his each heavy thrust, tension again coiling tight in your core. He groaned in response to your words, his movements becoming more shallow but focusing on making sure he fucks you deep where you want him.

"You gonna cum again for me? Cum all over my cock?" His hand left your chest moved down to your hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he moved you in time with his thrusts, angling himself so that he was grinding against your clit every time his hips met yours. The combination of sensations pushing you closer to the edge, your body trembling as the increasing pleasure brings you to the brink of your orgasm.

"Gonna," You breathed out, "Gonna cum again, Ash." You whined, writhing underneath him.

"Yeah baby, me too." He groaned, closing his eyes as he tried to focus on his movements, regardless his thrusts had begun to turn more erratic and less focused as his own climax approached. The cool metal of his right hand came down to the other side of your hip, allowing his other hand to again move and slide between your legs. His fingers gathering some of your slick from where the two of you connected before circling tight over your swollen and overly sensitive clit. The added sensation causing an almost pornographic moan to slip through your parted lips. Your body tensed, muscles tightening in preparation for the heavy climax his actions promised you.

"Shit, oh my God-" Your words were cut off by a knife-sharp gasp as your orgasm hit you like a heavy wave. Your walls clamped down around him, pulsing in time with your heavy breaths. Feeling you tighten around him, Ash let out a guttural groan, almost baring his teeth.

"Fuck, baby, you're so tight. Gonna cum." He shuddered, his final thrusts rushed and erratic before burying himself deep inside of you as he found his own release, cock pulsing as he painted your velvet walls with thick ropes of his cum. You mewled, your oversensitive cunt feeling heavy from the passing bliss of your orgasm combined with sensation of the additional fullness of his release.

As the final moments of your climaxes subsided, Ash carefully pulled away from you, his softening cock slipping from your well-used heat, causing a quiet whine to leave your mouth, pouting from the sudden emptiness. He took a moment, still panting, before stuffing himself back into his boxers and up his jeans.

"Goddamn, sugar. Haven't had a fuck like that in years." He said, marveling and taking in the look of you still blissed out from your orgasm as if to commit it to memory. You lolled your head to the side lazily, thoroughly fucked out. He snickered, taking pride in how tired he had made you.

"C'mon princess, let's go inside and get you cleaned up." He patted your thigh encouragingly. You sighed, not wanting to get up but knowing he was right.

"Yeah, just gimme a second to make sure I can feel my legs." Your words were mumbled but not inaudible. You heard him chuckle.

"Ol' Ashley fuck you that good?"

You rolled your eyes, deciding that was the extent of a response he would get from you, knowing his ego didn't need further stoking. You took him in as he stood a few feet away from you. You stretched out on the car hood before slowly sitting up, taking a moment to get your bearings before sliding off the Delta. You began to pick your discarded clothes off from the ground, grumbling as you noticed they had become covered in dirt and mud, likely as a result from the earlier hose fight. As you bent down to recover your bra, you heard a loud 'slap' accompanied by a sharp sting to your ass. You snapped up, immediately glaring at Ash who just grinned.

"Don't think just because I let you fuck me that I won't kick your ass, Williams." You sneered, pointing a finger at him. He raised his hands in mock surrender, allowing you to pick up the remaining scattered garments, tilting his head and appreciating the growing red mark on your skin.

Your head again perked up as you heard the familiar roaring of a motorcycle approaching in the distance. You quickly walked over to where your shorts had landed before hurriedly trying to make your way back to the trailerr to shield yourself from the incoming eyes of Kelly and Pablo. The fact that they had been out slipping from your mind until now.

Before you could make it to the small set of stairs, Ash grabbed you by your waist, pulling you to his chest.

"Why in such a rush, sweet thing?" He chuckled as you squirmed against his grip.

"Let go!" You hissed, urgently trying to push away from his lumber arms as Pablo's bike pulled into the driveway.

"Oh, c'mon, you'll let me fuck you out here but the thought of those two seeing a little skin from you sends you running?" He teased.

"Ash, I'm not kidding." Your voice was firm, the thought of Kelly and Pablo seeing you like this making your stomach churn. He could sense the urgency in your voice and reluctantly releasing you from his grip, but still appreciating the view of your naked, reddened ass as you streaked into the trailer, slamming the storm door shut behind you.

#ash williams #ash williams x reader #ash williams smut #bruce campbell #evil dead #horror #ash vs evil dead #army of darkness #smut #kinktober #horror smut #slasher smut #the evil dead #evil dead ii #evil dead 2 #80s horror

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