my-life-andme

[my-life-andme]

Thinking about slut boarding school again.

By the end of the first week, most of the girls are broken in. They're well behaved, taking cock like good little girls, moaning on toys in class.

Everyone except me. I still fight, and the last couple days, I've hidden in my room to avoid the boys. During one of my classes, a professor has me stay back.

"You're not behaving," he tells me. "You haven't learned your place yet."

"I'm not going to behave," I say defiantly.

He comes up behind me, hands coming around me so he can grope my tits. He toys with my nipples gently.

"You need tutoring," he says. "Lucky for you, I'm a great teacher."

I try to protest, but he drags me to his desk at the front of the room, revealing straps that he uses to tie me down to it.

"My hypothesis is that the boys just haven't played with you enough," he says. "So I'm going to fix that. I'm going to play with you until you beg me to rape you."

"I'm not going to do that," I say.

His fingers trace the inside of my thigh.

"You will, little girl," he coos, and his fingers brush my clit.

He slides a finger into me. So torturously slow. He laughs at how wet I become instantly.

"After I've had my fun with you, you get to be the class slut. Up here on the desk every class, getting that tight little pussy pounded by all of your classmates."

His thumb brushes across my clit, and he adds a second finger.

He pumps them in and out of me, and when he adds a third, I can't help but moan.

"Good girl," he says softly. "Such a pretty little whore. I can't wait to rape you."

[my-life-andme]

A masked killer sneaks into your bedroom one night 🔪❤️

• Explicit / 18+

• TWs: dubcon, spanking, knifeplay, sadism/masochism

A hand covers your mouth. You wake, eyes widening as you notice the masked figure looming over you. A blade’s tip presses into the flesh under your ear. “Shh, don’t make a fucking sound, baby,” the man says. He wears all black, and his mask covers his entire face, not even his eyes left visible. His voice is raspy and cocky.

You whimper as he drags the blade down your neck, cackling as it leaves an angry red line on your soft skin. “Sorry I woke you, sweetheart. You should reeeeally lock your window, even if it’s on the second floor…” he says. He rips the covers from your trembling body. Your hard nipples poke through your top, and you lack pants, wearing only thin panties. His knee slides between your legs.

“Oooh my oh my, were you expecting me, doll?” he asks, tapping the knife’s tip on your navel. You stay quiet just as he told you, not wanting to anger him. He suddenly slides the blade into your panties and cuts them away. “That's better.” He turns the knife around and presses the handle up to your cunt. You shake your head, whining under your breath. “Nuh-uh, no noise,” he whispers.

He slowly pushes the knife handle into you, and to your horror, it slides right in, smooth and slick. “Theeeere we go,” he laughs. The handle is bumpy and ridged, and you can’t lie, it feels amazing as he thrusts it in and out of your rapidly moistening sex. Your hips start to roll and your back arches.

Suddenly he smacks your thigh hard. You yelp, shutting your eyes. He smacks you again on the other thigh, hard and quick. He starts to hit you, over and over, alternating between each thigh. You shudder and your breath catches in your throat. “You’re going to have some lovely bruising and broken blood vessels tomorrow,” he says.

You moan as the knife handle jams into your sweet spot. He spreads your wet folds and presses his thumb onto your clit. “Awee sweetie, your cute little clit is so hard!” He starts to rub it in quick circles. “Mmm yeah, there we go, that’s it, whimper for me, show me how much you wanna cum on my knife.”

You writhe and shake, cunt clenching around the knife handle. “Feels so so good doesn’t it? Getting violated by a stranger? You like it? You gonna cum your dumb little brains out?”

A loud moan escapes your throat as you cum hard, walls fluttering and clit throbbing, hands grasping the sheets as you sweat and your eyes cross. You hear a belt unbuckle, and suddenly he is holding his long, thick cock. “My turn,” he says as he pulls the knife away.

He lines himself up with your cunt and shoves himself inside. You grit your teeth as he stretches you, the tip of his cock ramming your sweet spot over and over as he roughly fucks you. “You don’t know my face, don’t know my name, but you’re sure as shit gonna get to know my cock.”

He grabs the knife. “Mmm still warm,” he laughs. He puts the blade to your thigh and presses down. You gasp, drool seeping from the corner of your mouth as he makes a slice in your flesh. “You like that?” he asks, making another cut on the other thigh. You moan and whimper, hips bucking as his cock impales you.

“Cute little pain slut,” he says, giving you more lacerations, blood trickling down your thighs. “Gonna cum again, is the pain gonna make you orgasm?” You close your eyes tight, feeling said climax approaching. He continues, slicing and pounding into your soaked cunt.

“Come on, slut, milk me dry!” he orders. One more cut, and you explode, cumming so hard your vision blurs. You hear him groan and feel his hot load flow into you. “Mmmhm, that’s good, take my cum, dumb little whore.” He pulls out, your slick mixing with his seed.

“What fun, but I really must be going,” he says. He slaps your cunt, making you yelp, then pushes his leaking cum back inside of your used hole. He goes to the open window and starts to crawl out.

“Remember, lock your window…..or don’t,” and he’s gone.

[my-life-andme]

Still thinking about how much I need to get onto a crowded bus in the morning to get to school. I wouldn't be wearing panties because I'm a filthy slut.

There wouldn't be any open seats, we'd be standing, pressed in like sardines. I'm pressed up against a guy. We hit a bump, and his hand slips. At first I think it's an accident. He didn't mean to touch my thigh.

But then his hand comes back, gripping my thigh, moving slowly up so that he can ghost his fingers over me. I shoot him a look, but he just whispers in my ear that I don't want to make a scene, do I?

He's right, I don't, so I'm completely silent as he dips a finger inside of me.

"Fuck," he whispers in my ear. "You're so wet. Your cunt feels so pretty, princess."

He fingers me for the entire bus ride there, just edging me. As we pull into my stop, I feel his fingers slide something inside me.

"Be a good girl," he whispers. "Don't cum, and when you get on tonight, you'll get off this bus with me."

I nod mutely, getting off of the bus and starting off to my class. My eyes widen as the buzzing starts, deep in my little cunt. Now he can edge me all day.

[my-life-andme]

hey so since i’m in the season of ovulation here is degrading simon riley feeding my size kink. i’m not ok send regrets. 18+

“beggin little whore f’me. not so smart now that i’ve got your brain leakin outta your cunt.”

——-

yeah. you’ve pushed it. simple as that.

and god, you knew better. you really did. but some might say you’re a sucker for punishment. others might say you’re a masochist.

you think it’s probably a bit of both, when it comes to simon.

maybe it’s because he’s a big mean brute. emotionless. big ol wall of mass and muscle. tough bloke like him don’t feel a thing, yeah? at least in your mind. makes it easy to needle - easy to poke and prod and toss little jabs about his eyes or mask or whatever slivered sign of life he might be displaying that day.

he’s contractually obligated not to kill you, might you add. that brings a level of safety you got comfortable with.

but what you didn’t get comfortable with — what you couldn’t possibly ever get comfortable with, is the size of him in your fucking guts. the growl of him in your ear. the clutch of him around your throat.

even big dead-eyed men like simon have a limit. and by the grace of god, you’d found it. the bottom of this particular mine shaft, if you will—

“y’alright down there?” his voice is slick. fuckin slick with glee. a first for him, you’re sure. “still with me, sweet’eart?”

you can practically feel the smirk barring those teeth to your neck. you try to toss something smart assed back, something to keep it goin, but he’s got your wrists pinned behind your back and his cock stretchin your walls in a way that screams he shouldn’t even be able to fit — yet you’re clenching around him like you’d die without it.

all that comes outta you is a moan.

and he laughs. bastard. fuckin filthy rasp right against your ear. “tha’s what i thought. mm. s’what i fucken wanted.”

your eyes roll. he’s so deep your hips hurt. he presses a palm between your shoulder blades to pin you harder to the floor of his barracks. all that pent up aggressions got you leakin down your thighs. pathetic. humiliating. delicious.

“tha’s it. fucken stunned now, yeah?” he thrusts deeper. free hand smacking your ass til it stings. “always mouthin off. startin shit—fuck—y’knew what this was. you’ve always known what’d it take t’shut you up.”

you hiccup when he hits your gspot. over and over. so goddamn good it hurts. “fuck—fuck you—“

“yeah. y’are.” his hips jerk, hissing against the back of your neck. “feelin every inch of me, aren’t you? go on. fuckin tell me how i feel. wanna hear y’say it.”

you bite your tongue. squeeze your eyes shut. he fucks deeper. harder.

“say it.” another smack to your ass.

“big—“ you gasp, choking on it. “fucking—huge—“

he growls like you’ve fed him. “tha’s right. eight inches buried so deep in your tight little cunt y’forgot how to lie.”

youve never heard him talk like this and all you can do is whimper - the airs gone thin. every inhale is like sandpaper scratching at your throat. every thrust is like being punched open. and when every sound you make comes out as something pathetic you know you’ve lost.

you twist your head to try and adjust for reprieve but he fists your hair to still you. “y’wanna tell me again you can’t take it? huh? wanna tell me m’too big?”

he is. he totally is. but it’s delicious pain. makes your eyes water and your walls flutter. something about you can’t help but egg him on.

“s-shut up—“

he slams forward. breath cuts sharp against your neck. “wrong answer.”

you jolt. cry out. the heat is a wildfire across your skin. “s-si-mon—“

“try again.” he breathes, curling his fingers from your hair to your jaw. “or i’ll just keep pushin till y’feel it in your fuckin spine.”

he makes good on the promise with a bruising thrust. you wail with it. vision blurring blue. “fuck! fuck i wanted this—but you’re so—you’re too—fuck please—“

and it’s that last little word. the syllables that slip past your teeth presenting pleas on a silver platter, that make him moan. fucking moan.

“oh yeah. shit. now we’re gettin somewhere.” he exhales with it, shifting just to drag at your walls and angle deeper. “beggin little whore f’me. not so smart now that i’ve got your brain leakin outta your cunt.”

you long to tell him to shut up, fuck off, goto hell — any other circumstances you might have. but the first fuck with simon riley after months of pushing and prodding ain’t one to be won. you’ll be lucky to walk tomorrow. the monster can only be poked so many times before it wakes with vengeance.

[my-life-andme]

THE CHASE

౨ৎ — beware of primal play, cnc, degredation, rough sex, hair pulling, breeding, creampie, and unprotected sex.

the forest is thick, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and pine. you’re panting, bare feet sinking into the mud as you sprint between the trees, twigs snapping underfoot. your heart hammers in your chest, adrenaline burning through your veins. you shouldn’t have run. you definitely shouldn’t have taunted him. but the second those dark eyes locked onto you, predator to prey, you couldn’t help it—you had to make him chase you.

a low growl rumbles through the trees behind you, sending a shiver down your spine. "thought you could get away, little slut?" simon’s voice is rough, dripping with menace. you whimper, stumbling over a root, but you don’t stop. can’t stop. you know what happens when he catches you.

a hand snags your wrist, yanking you back hard. you crash into him with a gasp, his body all hard muscle and heat. his grip is iron, fingers digging into your flesh as he spins you around and slams you into the dirt. the impact knocks the air from your lungs, leaves and mud sticking to your skin.

"fuck, look at you," he snarls, looming over you. his mask is off, those sharp eyes burning with hunger. "all dirty and desperate. knew you wanted this. knew you’d let me hunt you down like some fucking animal."

you whine, squirming beneath him, but he pins your wrists above your head with one hand. the other grips your thigh, hiking it up around his hip. you can feel how hard he is already, the thick outline of his cock pressing against you through his pants.

"s’that why you ran?" he growls, grinding against you, making you moan. "wanted me to fuck you in the dirt like the filthy little thing you are?"

"yes," you gasp, arching against him. "yes, simon, please—"

he doesn’t make you beg for long. a rough hand tears your clothes aside, and then he’s pushing inside you with a brutal thrust, stretching you open. you cry out, nails scraping at the ground as he fills you, hot and thick and perfect.

"fuck," he groans, hips snapping forward. "knew you’d take it like this. fucking made for me, ain’t you?" his hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back. "love it when you play hard to get. love it even more when i ruin you for it."

you’re so wet it’s obscene, the slick sound of him fucking into you mixing with your choked moans. every thrust drives you deeper into the mud, dirt caking your skin, but you don’t care. you’re too busy unraveling, too lost in the way he’s using you, owning you.

"s’that it?" he taunts, voice rough. "gonna come just from this? from being used like a cheap little fucktoy?"

you nod frantically, tears pricking your eyes. "yes, yes, simon, i’m—"

he slams into you harder, cutting you off with a gasp. "say it. say how fucking sick you are for this."

"i’m sick," you sob, clinging to him. "i love it, love being yours, love—"

your orgasm crashes over you, violent and overwhelming. simon groans, his thrusts turning erratic as he chases his own release. "gonna fill you up," he growls. "mark you up so fucking good. then i’m gonna make you walk back home just like this—dripping with me."

the thought sends another pulse of pleasure through you, and you tighten around him, milking his cock as he spills inside you with a ragged groan.

for a moment, all you hear is the sound of your ragged breathing. then simon leans down, lips brushing your ear.

"next time you run," he murmurs, "i’ll make it even harder for you."

[my-life-andme]

Still thinking about how much I need to get onto a crowded bus in the morning to get to school. I wouldn't be wearing panties because I'm a filthy slut.

There wouldn't be any open seats, we'd be standing, pressed in like sardines. I'm pressed up against a guy. We hit a bump, and his hand slips. At first I think it's an accident. He didn't mean to touch my thigh.

But then his hand comes back, gripping my thigh, moving slowly up so that he can ghost his fingers over me. I shoot him a look, but he just whispers in my ear that I don't want to make a scene, do I?

He's right, I don't, so I'm completely silent as he dips a finger inside of me.

"Fuck," he whispers in my ear. "You're so wet. Your cunt feels so pretty, princess."

He fingers me for the entire bus ride there, just edging me. As we pull into my stop, I feel his fingers slide something inside me.

"Be a good girl," he whispers. "Don't cum, and when you get on tonight, you'll get off this bus with me."

I nod mutely, getting off of the bus and starting off to my class. My eyes widen as the buzzing starts, deep in my little cunt. Now he can edge me all day.

[my-life-andme]

overstimulation is good for you, really

it builds endurance. sharpens focus. teaches obedience under pressure you want to be better, don’t you ? more trained. more useful this is how you get there

pushing through the aftershocks shaking and soaked and oversensitive but spreading your legs wider because i told you to. because you’re not done just because you came

you’ll cry you’ll beg you’ll say you can’t and i’ll say you can and you will

you needn't take a break. you need to stop whining you need to take it you need to be good

and if your thighs twitch and your brain goes fuzzy and your voice breaks every time you try to speak that just means it’s working

overstimulation is character-building you should thank me, really i’m helping you grow, one orgasm at a time

pinky promise

[my-life-andme]

who eats your heart

price x reader, 1.2K, 18+. MDNI content: alcohol, aphrodisiac, breeding, drugged sex, monsterfucking, noncon to dubcon, piss, unrealistic painful sex, hemipenes (two dicks) dividers by @/cafekitsune

thank you red5cars for letting me talk your ears off about points. (and thank you for letting me take your much better fic name, red 😹💚)

when you start to work with him, you don’t think anything of John’s offers for coffee, lunch, dinner. you’ve always been a moderately independent person, meal prepping everything so that you were always ready, so you just can’t bring yourself to be a bother. you don’t think about how often you turn him down, honestly. you remember the times you say yes to a morning coffee or a very early dinner before going home to continue to work.

a part of you thought he was quite sweet, in all honesty.

you couldn't have known he was trying to figure out how to help you realize that he was perfect for you, happy to help you come to the same point as him. it takes seven months of knowing you, seven months, to finally get you to agree to accompany him on a work trip. you don't think much of letting john handle everything, because you'll be meeting with another specialist and want to make sure you don't embarrass yourself… or john.

everything goes smoothly. you know you’ve both done well, and when you exchange emails with kevin, you can’t wait to chat with a new person in your field (and reading for fun, as it turns out you share some common interests). john is kind enough to offer his place for the night, where you’re able to make dinner together to celebrate and you don't stop yourself from having a glass of wine, even though this was work. the day had been truly… lovely.

you can feel your eyelids growing heavier as his deep voice rumbles through you, talking about his other work. you try to apologize as his strong hand touches your shoulder so feather light despite his size. when you look up, you swear his eyes are like jewels shining in the light. your words slur as they fall from your mouth and suddenly you feel like you’re slipping too.

the first thought to bubble back up into your head is that it’s so pleasantly warm. like a balmy summer night in your childhood, sleeping with the window open, listening to the frogs out there.

blue eyes like jewels stare into yours and you do not scream, but only because you cannot find it in you to scream, cold terror flooding your brain as you stare up at him, dazed mind still trying to fully comprehend everything, something, anything.

you'd always known there were other humanoids in the world, you just hadn't known john was a naga. you never would have even thought to guess he wasn’t a standard human. the realization is a heavy chunk of iced slowly settling low in your stomach as his thick scaly body moves, and you are made aware of how massive john price is.

his smoky words are so smooth but you don't understand them, brain still reeling and simultaneously slow cottony.

it's this lack of response that seems to draw his attention, leaning closer.

you don't know what spurs your next actions. you would never understand the thought that led you to rear up to bite him, to sink your blunt teeth into the heavily muscled spot where his shoulders joined his neck, desperately trying to break skin. some part of you must have been convinced the pain would make him let you go.

it was wrong.

his hiss so close to your ear makes your body lock up, fear making you fall limp like a ragdoll as the tip of his tail so gently begins to wind around your ankle. your bare ankle. a shudder courses through you as you try and bring all naga knowledge you have to the forefront of your mind, however, you... can't.

you're never felt so useless in your life.

you're just a rabbit caught in his coils.

you think you scream like one as his fangs pierce your neck, as he oh so lovingly begins pumping his venom straight into your veins.

you can feel the hot rush of piss between your legs but can do nothing to stop it, thighs shaking as if you’re freezing.

his breath hitches in your ear, you can feel the quick flicks of his tongue.

the splash of liquid startles you, makes you jump as your eyes shoot down and...you... you didn't know naga's really had hemipenes. the one currently splashing his musky piss on the underside of your tits, each drop that hits your nipple making you shudder, shares its brother's fat head, but it was definitely longer, thinner. you'd rather not focus on the other, avoid it as best you could.

the stream edges lower, coating your belly before he takes aim between your legs. your clit throbs at the contact, pulling a strangled moan from you as you throw your head back. you'd never — no one had ever — why did your belly feel so warm?

"there we go, darlin'," john soothes down at you, rough hand stroking the side of your face as his eyes meet yours. "knew you were perfect for me the moment i saw ya. and look at this, my venom getting my pretty bird in the mood, having her show how ready she is."

"gonna make sure your cute little cunt'll be full of me."

you want to correct him, to tell him you weren't his, that you didn't want whatever the fuck he seems to think you'll be doing.

but you can't move. and worse, it's not terror holding you still this time.

you can feel your clit swell, heart beat in your ear as his musky scent washes over you. oh. you can't stop yourself from moaning, hips canting forward in search of some relief. the room felt too hot. or maybe you were too hot.

but more importantly, you needed him.

when john chuckles, you can feel it, the heavy cockhead bumping against your aching hole with his amusement.

"deep breath, luv."

there's no real bracing for the fat intrusion, your breath catches and the next moment you've never been so full in your life.

you feel john speaking more than you understand it, his words are a rumble against your neck. when his thumb parts your lips, you start. or try to, really only accomplishing pulling your eyes back up to his face to stare owlishly up at him as the room continues to ring soundlessly around you.

it felt like he was right behind your bellybutton, which you knew was impossible, but-

you can't stop the moan that's dragged out with his cock, a high shuddering thing that seems almost punched out of you as a strong thrust has your hips meeting again. john tilts your head, keeps your eyes locked. you know you’re still rocking, still being fucked, trying to get him to hit that spot he’d grazed past upon sliding in. 

when he laughs again, he does. and you’re not proud, you wish you were, but it had been so long. your moan is instinctive, as you clench down on him, trying to keep the pleasure, follow it so that it continues to be just right. 

but you... can't.

your current position was too flat. 

a disappointed whine leaves your throat with the realization. 

leading to john's immediate freezing. 

his breath pants across your bare chest. “what do you need, luv?”

your tongue feels so thick as you stare up at him.

“more.”

[my-life-andme]

cw: explicit sexual content, morning sex, somno? but its consensual, unprotected sex, dirty talk...

You remember saying it once, half-joking, laying on your back in bed, still sore from the night before, your hair a mess, and Simon standing shirtless at the foot of the bed pulling on his sweats while you groaned dramatically and said something dumb like, “I wanna start every day with a good fuck,” and he’d turned to you with that lazy grin, all sleepy eyes and messed-up hair, and just said, “Say less,” like it was a promise instead of just something to laugh about.

And now? Now it’s a few weeks later, and the bed is warm, and your limbs are heavy, and the sun is barely up yet, but he’s behind you, his big arm slung across your waist, bare skin pressed up against your back, and your brain’s still halfway in a dream when you feel him shift just a little, nudge his hips forward and slot himself right up against you like he does every morning now, but this time it’s different—this time he’s already hard and pressed up right there, thick and hot and heavy between your thighs, and you let out this soft little breath when you feel the way he pushes forward just enough for the tip of him to catch and press right at your entrance.

“Still wanna start your day like this, sweetheart?” he whispers right in your ear, voice all gravelly and deep from sleep, because he hasn’t spoken a word until now, and you’re so tired and turned on already that all you can do is nod and whine a little, shifting your hips back into him like that’s permission enough.

And Simon, fuck, he doesn’t even wait—he kisses the back of your neck real slow, one hand sliding up your thigh, gripping your hip, and he just sinks in like he’s got all the time in the world, sliding inside you so gently but so deep that your breath hitches and your toes curl under the covers.

“There you go, baby,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear, hips rocking slow as hell, savoring it. “Nice way to wake up, yeah? All warm and wet f’me already… been dreamin’ about me, haven’t you?”

You manage to let out this sleepy little moan, eyes fluttering shut again as he keeps fucking you slow and deep, trying to draw those sounds out of you, wanting to keep you stuck right here between sleep and bliss, and his hand moves up your body, cupping your breast, squeezing it softly while his other arm tightens around your waist to hold you exactly where he wants you.

“You’re so good like this,” he whispers again, mouth right against your skin, breath warm as he keeps fucking into you in these long, unhurried strokes. “So fuckin’ perfect, lettin’ me in like this… every single morning, baby. Gonna spoil you rotten.”

You’re whimpering into the pillow now, body arching into his with every roll of his hips, and it’s slow, it’s so fucking slow you could scream, but it feels too good to ask him to speed up.

“Don’t even have to say a word,” he keeps talking, voice all low and cocky and sweet at the same time, like he can’t shut up when he’s this deep inside you, and he needs you to hear every dirty thought in his head. “Just wake up and take it, yeah? Always so ready f’me. Fuckin’ made for this, I swear.”

His hand slides down again, slow and lazy like everything else he’s doing, fingers finding your clit and rubbing little circles that make your whole body tense up and shake just a little under him, and he hums when he feels it, all proud of himself.

“That’s it, love,” he says, a little louder now but still all low and husky, still in your ear, still so damn close you feel every word. “Come for me. Let me feel it, baby. C’mon, let’s start the day right, yeah?”

And it’s too much, all of it—the warmth of his chest pressed to your back, the way his cock stretches you out so slow and deep, the constant soft praise in your ear, the way his fingers don’t stop even when your body’s twitching and gasping for air—and you come with this choked-out cry, biting down into the pillow to muffle it, legs shaking as he keeps fucking you through it, gentle but firm, holding you tight like he never wants to let go.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder, hips starting to move a little faster now, just a little, chasing his own release while you’re still trembling in his arms. “Takin’ it so good, always so good for me…”

You can feel it when he gets close—his breath starts coming faster, hips stuttering, arm tightening around you until you can’t even move, just feel him rutting into you, the way he groans low in his throat and presses his forehead against the back of your head, whispering your name like it’s the only thing keeping him together.

And when he finishes, it’s deep and messy and perfect, spilling inside you with this quiet, broken noise that makes you clench around him all over again, and he stays there, buried to the hilt, breathing hard, kissing your shoulder over and over like he’s thanking you just for letting him have this.

Neither of you moves for a long while—just breathing, tangled up, skin on skin, his hand rubbing slow circles into your belly now.

“Best part of wakin’ up,” he says eventually, voice all smug and soft and still out of breath, and you laugh into the pillow even though your thighs are still shaking and you feel like jelly.

“You’re an idiot,” you mumble back, reaching behind to smack his thigh, and he just laughs too, hugging you tighter, still inside you, not even thinking about pulling out yet.

“Yeah,” he says, kissing the back of your head, “but I’m your idiot. And I got your morning routine memorized now.”

You hum, smiling. “Good. Keep doing it. I’ll never need coffee again.”

And he just chuckles again, nuzzling into your neck like he’s getting ready to doze off all over again, still deep inside you, and that’s exactly where he plans to stay for the rest of the morning.

And honestly? There’s no better way to start the day.

-------------------------------------------------

hope you enjoyed this bc next up is angsttttt

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief

[my-life-andme]

propaganda a lot of y’all should fall for:

whispering “thanku” to your tea or coffee before the first sip.

telling your friends you love them when they least expect it. especially then.

googling “what kind of flower blooms twice” at 3 a.m. to feel hopeful again

deleting apps every two weeks and calling it a spiritual reset.

naming your plants like they’re ur friends. apologizing when you forget to water them.

believing ur younger self would still think you’re cool. even on your worst days.

using perfume before bed. for no one. for you.

making eye contact with yourself in the mirror when you cry. giving the pain an audience.

taking selfies when you feel awful. proof you existed even when the light wasn’t flattering :-)

[my-life-andme]

You were just having a laugh, just giddy to make him so flustered.

It started out like that, once when Soap said Simon's eyes looked bloodshot and you, mindlessly, took his chin to look him in the eye before you realised that the rosey glow peeking just over the silver of skin might be him blushing.

Then there was no stopping.

You deliberately placed your hand over his thigh, staring at him for too long until he would deck his gaze away, calling him all sorts of cutesy names, winking here and there, and not missing the flustered tug of his mouth disguised behind the quick roll of his eyes.

But it was purely accidental when your fingers nearly brushed over his groin on one of your playful thigh squeeze tactic and in one split moment you were on your back over the bench — wrists pinned in solid iron grip above your head as he leaned over, his lips dangerously close to yours.

“I...” You stuttered, all words and thoughts knocked out in one breathless exhale.

Simon smirked, slotting himself between your legs and which stupidly wrapped around his waist.

“Not one for games lovie.” He growled at your jaw, hot mouth pressing there once before you caught the glint in his eyes.

“I am sorry,” You swallowed, arching into his touch and hearing his merciless laughter.

“Ya been torturing me for weeks love,” Simon's nose nuzzled your neck, breath like fire lingering, “You will be sorry...very sorry.”

Masterlist

[my-life-andme]

Fuckboy! Simon has met woman with whips, with garters, with seductive lip bites.

He has known them all.

Yet when his shy nerdy roommate tip toes in stripped socks, hooking pinkie in his belt loop to pull him closer inside the room and — fuck, he could cum just by your silly innocent pout.

You dont even know what you're doing to him, do you ? Such a dumb know-it-all.

“Can you quiz me, if you aren't busy ?”

Simon groans when you withdraw your hands back, and fix your glasses.

He has plans with Jessica or Jenny, he doesn't remember now.

He doesn't see anything but you and what a hot mess you become during exams.

“Sure love —” he loves the way you get all so pink and troubled, “But what if ya' get a question wrong ?”

“I..er, I wo-won't.” you tell him hesitantly.

“mmm,” Simon sighs in his growing erection, and fondness which passes over him unlike his nature. His thumb mindlessly reaches up and holds your chin, he's not even trying to rizz you up like other hookups but adores your lil’ hiccup.

“Okay, Let's quiz ya lil' worm.” he walks towards the bed, covered in many notes and inked pens.

Simon sits down, his legs widespread. You perfectly situated between in his view.

“Do you have time ?” you wonder how he still passes all his classes.

“Ofcourse doll,” Simon murmurs, six button on your shirt so three wrong question ??

He can get that out of you.

“Lets start with Genetics, huh ?”

“Thats not what—”

“Perfect. C'mere nd answer me love.”

Masterlist

[my-life-andme]

Simon Riley pretends to be grossed out by you. Not like dramatically, but makes it obvious.

But he's actually in love with you.

You lick your lips and smirk up at him. "You look delicious today, handsome~"

He side eyes you. Wide eyed. "Fuckin' mental." But he's smirking behind his mask. And when you looked away he's looking you up and down to think of something nice to say back. He never did, because he didn't know how.

One time you came up behind him and hugged him tightly. You rubbed your face into his back and grumbled about college being the worst. And he's eyeing your arms, basking in the feeling of you against him.

He's not used to any physical affection, that's the whole reason. He wasn't shown much love when he was younger so of course it followed him into his adult age.

And he never tried. The women before you only used him and he did the same. It was something he was used to. And affection wasn't something he tried to do.

So maybe he started trying with you. And you don't notice it. (He thinks you don't, but you absolutely do and you're careful about it. Like carefully feeding a deer.) He starts to reach for you. Sitting on the couch, he's got his finger curled in your shirt. Driving, he would playfully slap your thigh, then sooth it like he was sorry, then leave his hand there.

You let him at his own pace. But you found that it you're talking and you reach for him, like his hand, he lets you take it and caress his knuckles.

He recognized that you were careful with him. You considered how he felt a lot of the times, and he saw that. Maybe that was why he fell harder for you than you realized.

Soon, he's pulling you into his lap so he could look up at you. He's pulling you in for long hugs. He's tugging your hands and putting them on his neck (you'd better scratch at his neck and back because he will never ask you to but he loves loves loves the feeling.) You've accepted that the man is kind of touch starved and will never voice it to you.

But he never stopped acting like a bully.

"Simon, you're so fuckin hot. I'd pay you to do filthy things to me." You stated so calmly that it made his eye twitch when he realized what just came out your mouth.

"Don't worry love, we'll find you that therapist soon." He shook his head with a sigh. And his heart leapt in his chest at hearing your laughter.

[my-life-andme]

simon didn't even say anything when you asked, he just complied.

"shh– 's okay, baby," he sushes your cries, hand brushing your cheek but his eyes are glued to where you two are connected. "i'm– shit— i'm halfway in already."

"halfway?!" you whine, and both of you giggle at the notion. well, nobody told you to ask your best friend to fuck you with his huge dick. "hate you, simon," you gasp, all bark and no bite.

he kisses your pouty lips, moaning at the way the movement makes him slip a bit deeper in you. "hm, tha' so, luv?"

no, you don't. he knows it and you know it, it only gets more obvious when he's bottoming out with a thumb on your clit and you're coming around him. he can only coo at you, "fuckin' hell– hate me, ya said?" slowly fucking into you. "don't think–" he's cut off but his own moan, you're still clenching around him as you come down from your orgasm. "don't think so, baby."

[my-life-andme]

(p4 of fae poly 141 x cursed human reader | cw: angst | masterlist)

A day came that none of them expected, even if they should have.

The day when the sky itself seemed to hold its breath, when the very walls of the castle leaned inward in aching dread and condensation dripped like tears over the aged stone.

You stood alone in the center of the courtyard, where the last warmth of the afternoon sun pooled around you like woven silk, threading through your hair and gilding your skin with a soft, fading glow. Behind you, the winter roses stretched in riotous, sorrowful bloom- petals like thousand tiny white fires blazing against the creeping gray of the castle stone. Their scent, sharp and sweet, filled the air so heavily it was almost suffocating, and yet you seemed untouched by it, adrift in a world slowly folding in on itself only in your eyes.

The fae and the creatures of the castle gathered without meaning to, summoned not by any spell but by the deep, instinctive pull of grief- small, winged sprites with trembling gossamer wings clinging to the columns, knot-spirits huddled in the ivy with their glowing eyes wide and mournful. Even the ancient dryads, so rarely seen, leaned from the twisted trees, their hair a veil of weeping vines, their mouths open in silent horror as they watched the terrible unmaking of something precious.

You turned in a slow, uncertain circle, the worn hem of your gown brushing softly across the stone, your bare feet tracing arcs in the thin dust. A frown pinched your brow, delicate and confused, and your fingers plucked mindlessly at the fabric gathered at your waist, the nervous gesture of a child lost in the woods. Your eyes, once so brilliant with laughter and cunning and love, were wide and glazed now, reflecting the world around you as if it were already slipping beyond your grasp- as if you were beyond your own grasp.

John was the first to move; his boots made almost no sound on the worn stones as he stepped forward, each step measured, careful, as though approaching a wounded animal who might bolt at the slightest wrong motion.

He smiled a smile so soft and broken it could have melted mountains, could have silenced the wars of old, had it been seen by any creature less consumed by confusion than you were. His arms opened, slow and steady, offering the only thing he had left to give you: his unwavering love- even if it was the chain binding you now.

"[]" he spoke, yet the words came out muddled to your ears, unpleasant and unwanted. The unshed grief in his tone, thus, escaped you. "There you are."

You blinked at him, once, twice, like trying to clear rain from your lashes, then tilted your head just slightly to the side, like a bird puzzled by its reflection in a mirror.

The frown deepened, and a tremor passed visibly through your frame, so fragile and uncertain that even the bravest of the castle's knights could not have borne the sight without flinching.

"...Are you speaking to me?" you asked. The words were soft, high and frightened- a butterfly trapped against glass. And the courtyard magic, already strained near to breaking, shivered under the weight of said words, rippling outward in a wave that left dreadful silence in its wake.

John’s heart thudded painfully once against his ribs, the force of it staggering him a half step forward, hands reaching out for you, always you.

Johnny gave a short, raw bark of laughter- too sharp, too desperate- as if clinging to hope that this was all some cruel jest, that any moment now you would laugh and scold him for being so easily fooled and pretty starpetals would bloom and everything would be fine.

But when your gaze swung to him, wide and unknowing, that flicker of hope died hard and fast and wretched in his chest, and he clamped a hand over his mouth to smother the wounded sound that escaped.

"You," You said again, voice cracking like thin ice. "You keep saying [], but… but I don't know if that's meant for me."

You stared down at your hands, as if they belonged to someone else, as if they might carry the answer hidden in their lifeline scars and soft, faded calluses. You wrung them together, desperate, helpless, a flickering figure of loss against the gathering dusk, and held your face in them. Your voice dropped then, so low, so broken, that the very stones seemed to lean closer to hear the death knell of hope:

"I… I don't even know what my name is anymore."

The courtyard magic buckled violently inward, like a ship struck fatally below the waterline, and the wind shrieked- a high, keening sound that rattled the stained glass windows in their ancient frames. The winter roses, once so proud, wilted black and sagged against their thorned vines, their life snuffed out as if by an unseen hand.

Because in the world of the fae, names are everything.

A name is the blood and the breath and the bone of existence; it is the song written into the fibers of the soul, the anchor to memory, to history, to self. The thread that weaves a soul into the tapestry of life. And without it, you were not merely lost.

You were unraveling.

The castle mourned deep within its foundations, stones weeping bitter, shimmering tears that ran in thin rivulets along the walls. Will-o-wisps, who had danced so joyfully once in your presence, fell from the air like extinguished stars, leaving behind only fading sparks that blinked out one by one- unable to withstand this tragedy. Even the sun, as if unable to bear witness to what was unfolding, slipped behind a mourning veil of silver clouds, casting the world into a dim, mournful twilight.

Thrain came forward then- mighty, ancient Thrain- and the ground trembled beneath his hooves, each step reverberating through the cracked bones of the courtyard. He lowered his vast, crowned head and pressed it gently, reverently to your frail shoulder, thick fur brushing against your skin; it was an offering, a lifeline, an ancient beast’s desperate attempt to anchor you to this world with the only strength he had left.

You barely noticed, your hands lifting only weakly to tangle in his fur, your eyes staring sightlessly beyond him.

Your men could only watch, helpless and hollowed out.

Johnny pressed his fists to his mouth, biting down so hard that the sharp tang of blood filled his mouth, but it wasn’t enough to ground him, wasn’t enough to stop the trembling.

Kyle, who had spent hours weaving a crown of meadowflowers to coax a smile from you, dropped it from numb fingers, the blossoms scattering at his feet like spilled blood.

Simon turned away from the sight of you, broad shoulders heaving once, a hand braced against the stone wall as if the weight of the moment had finally driven him to his knees.

But John stood very, very still; as though if he moved too fast, too wrong, you might vanish entirely.

He crossed the space between you with slow, reverent steps, falling to his knees before you in the dying light. The winter roses brushed against his shoulders, and where they touched him, their petals blackened and withered, unable to survive the depth of the sorrow bleeding from his soul.

"Listen to me." He begged, his voice rough, ragged, almost unrecognizable from the weight of his grief.

You turned your gaze to him then, confused, and John felt the last stronghold of his heart crumble to dust.

"You are you," he said fiercely, as if sheer force of will might weave your fraying soul back together. "You are ours. You are mine. You are not lost. I don't care what name you remember- your soul knows me. I swear it."

You lifted a hand, trembling, uncertain, and brushed your fingertips lightly through his beard, as though trying to remember what kindness felt like- and then you smiled.

A small, confused, heartbreakingly tender smile.

"I like you." You whispered, so simple.

It was the final blow; John the unshakable, the immovable, the king who had ended wars and torn down gods- folded forward, pressing his forehead to your lap, and wept, his shoulders breaking under the ache.

Not the quiet, dignified tears of mortal men. No, this was the weeping of ancient kings, of gods laid low. Ragged, broken, soul-deep sobs that tore free from him like the very earth breaking open, shaking him down to the marrow.

And all around you, the castle mourned with him: torches sputtered and went out; hearths dimmed to embers, and the very air turned heavy and thick, until even the wind could no longer bear to move. The creatures covered their eyes with their tiny, trembling hands, and the dryads wept openly, their tears falling like pearls onto the cracked stone.

And even Thrain bowed his great head lower still, his breath smoking in the chill air, his ancient heart breaking with yours.

That night, the castle was silent; no music drifted from the high towers, no dances lit the green halls and the stars themselves bent low over the ruined earth, their silver light dim and broken, as though mourning what was slipping away.

And only John lay curled around you in the vast, cold bed, the heavy silence broken only by his shattered voice whispering into your hair:

"I love you," he said, again and again, as if the words might build a bridge back to you even if he damn knew better. “I love you, even if you forget me. I love you, even if you forget yourself. I love you, even if the stars forget to rise. I will cure you, even if I must tear my own love apart and you’d hate me for the rest of eternity.”

And you, soft and small, lost and beloved- slept on, nameless and dreamless, but still, somehow, still wrapped safely in the arms of the man who would carry your memory when you no longer could.

Always.

p5

[my-life-andme]

You didn't know it, but your body made dying worth it.

Becoming a ghost was the worst. He couldn't leave his haunt, no one could see him, and the landlord took all his stuff. When you moved into the house, the ghost was annoyed at first. They liked having the space to themselves. That changed the first time he saw you naked. For the first time, he was happy to be a ghost. Because you never knew when he was watching.

He started small, just watching you shower. Loving the way the water ran down your breasts. Enjoying the show you didn't realize you were putting on.

But he wanted more.

You were asleep the first time he touched you. Gently fondling your breasts. When you didn't wake up, he slowly unbuttoned your pajama top. Exposing your tits. He spent the night playing with them, becoming intimately familiar with the feel of them in his hands.

The next night, you wore a nightgown. He was practically drooling when he lifted it, pulling it all the way up to your neck. Then he took off your panties. You stayed asleep as he admired your bare body.

The third night he couldn't resist anymore. He undressed you and spread your legs. You began to stir as he explored your pussy with his fingers and tongue. You moaned and spread your legs wider. You thought you were dreaming. He lovec watching you cum in your sleep, unaware that your "wet dream" was very much real.

When he finally fucked you, he knew he would never stop. Watching your pussy gape around his invisible cock, your breasts bouncing with every thrust, your sleepy moans...it was addictive. Every night, he'd be back to enjoy your compliant body. The perfect toy.

Being a ghost wasn't so bad.

[my-life-andme]

“You were made for me, doll.” Something something about Possessive Simon Riley who says it like he’s carving the words into you, like it’s not just sex—it’s claiming. Maybe it’s a vow. Maybe it’s a threat. You’re not sure. But you believe him. Right, lovie?

═════════════════════════

It’s always the same words, whispered in that low, darkened voice of his.

“You were made for me.”

He says it when you dress yourself up pretty for him, when his gloved fingers tilt your chin and his thumb smears your lipstick because he likes you messy.

He says it when you kneel, when you take him into your mouth and he’s gripping your hair, praising you through gritted teeth for being so good.

But when he’s inside you, when he’s got you split open on him, that’s when it feels less like a promise and more like a fact. A brutal, inescapable truth.

“You were made for me,” Simon growls, voice thick and dark, teeth scraping hot against your throat as his hips slam into yours. “Only me.”

His hand wraps tight around your throat, not squeezing, just holding—reminding you that he could if he wanted. That you’re his, and there’s nowhere else you belong.

You cry out, nails digging into his back, body trembling under the brutal pace he sets. It’s too much. He’s too much.

“Can’t—” you sob, voice breaking. “Si– I can’t”

But he’s already shaking his head, leaning in until his mouth is against your ear.

“Yes, you can,” he growls. “You will.”

His hand slides down, fingers bruising your waist as he pounds harder, deeper. “You can take what I give you, love. You were made for this. For me.” His voice is a dangerous rasp, but there’s something almost reverent underneath it. “Made for me to fill up. For me to ruin.”

And fuck, if you don’t believe him.

It hurts. Your body’s shaking, stretched too far, too full—but you need it. Need him.

Because he’s right. You were made for him.

And you’ll let him ruin you, wreck you, all over again—just to hear him say it again.

═════════════════════════