On Your Knees, Because I Own You.

Tumblr's great, it's so nice meeting people who share my incests I mean incests I mean incests I mean interests

ig credit: ardently_adele

𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

summary: there's nothing quite like being pampered by your partner after coming home from a fight... at least in childe's eyes

pairing: childe x gn! reader

warnings: fluff, a smidge angsty towards the end, mentions of fighting/ wounds; just a scene i had to exorcise from my brain since i'm ridiculously down bad; this is either a modern au or a 'teyvat has blow-dryers now' au, pick whichever one you fancy

genshin masterlist

“Watch it,” you threatened, though your voice lacked any sort of real bite. How could you be truly mad when Childe was grinning up at you, all boyish and playful, a strand of his wet bangs stubbornly falling back into his ocean-hued eyes?

“I wouldn’t have to if you just joined me,” the ginger hummed with no remorse, wet fingers dancing along the hem of your already soaked shirt, itching the creep under it. No doubt, he had already thought about just pulling you into the bathtub with him. “Or you could just take off your clothes if you’re so worried about them getting wet.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s the only reason you’re proposing that, huh?” You cocked your eyebrow at him, gently sweeping his hair back again. Even after you shampooed and conditioned it, it was as unruly and wilful as the guy it was attached to. “No ulterior motives whatsoever, I presume.”

“No ulterior motives whatsoever,” Childe echoed, though his voice carried the same mischief as it did right before he splashed the first wave of water over you. “I’m just looking out for you, darling.”

“The only thing you’re looking out for are your best interests,” you snorted, grabbing the body wash and sponge, motioning for him to turn around. “Now sit still, you literal child. I don’t want to accidentally reopen the wounds I spent so long dressing.”

“You got it,” the ginger laughed, clearly not as concerned with the deep scratches littering his back. Though you really didn’t want to meet whatever had caused them, Childe had excitedly told you all about his scuffles as he came home, still high on adrenaline as you ushered him into the bathroom and peeling off his many layers of clothing.

You shook your head, dispelling the thoughts that started clouding your mind. It was a conversation you have had plenty of times before. Instead you concentrated on the way his lithe muscles flexed and relaxed under your touch, his skin as always pleasantly warm and smooth despite the faded scars littering it. You knew the origins of most, having spent many nights tracing them as you listened to the stories behind them. Sure, some were from thrilling battles, but there were also smaller, odd ones like the one where Teucer accidentally nicked him as he taught his younger brother how to prepare a fish they caught together.

When you were certain your boyfriend was all clean again, you got some fluffy towels as he clambered out of the tub, purposefully not meeting his smug expression as he caught you eyeing the water droplets running down the dibs of his abs. You were also sure there was no need for his arms to flex as much as they did as he towelled his hair dry, leaving the white fabric to rest around his neck. 

Though there was a shirt set out next to his sweatpants, he forewent it completely and you sighed as you followed him out of the bathroom with the blow-dryer in hand. Idly, Childe sauntered over to the bed, sitting down with his back to the frame waiting for you to take your place behind him like you always did.

Gingerly, you rested your legs over his shoulders, feeling his calloused palms wrap around them, his fingers tracing random shapes into your thighs and calves as his bare body radiated heat. Watching the stream of hot air tussle his fluffy strands, your thoughts couldn’t help but circle back to the bloodied wounds on his back. None of them were too deep this time, but…

There was a tap against your calf.

“What are you thinking about?” Of course, Childe would pick up on your dip in mood; he always could. He could probably also guess the direction your thoughts had turned, it wasn’t an uncommon point of discussion. “And you’d better not say it’s nothing.”

“I know I tell you all the time and you always tell me not to worry. And I do have more faith in you than anyone else, but can you be at least a little more careful?” In that moment you were glad your boyfriend was turned away from you, certain your voice would shake even more if you were to look into his eyes right now. 

Running your fingers through his soft hair, you busied yourself with parting the sections to resemble a somewhat orderly hairstyle in order to keep your hands from trembling. Still, Childe easily caught your wrists, sliding his fingers between yours as he twisted to face you.

“You really do worry too much. I’m fine, right? See, everything still attached and working,” Childe smiled, drumming his fingers across your knuckles.

“Yeah but what if something happens? Something that is outside of your control and you don’t—“ You cut yourself off, not daring to speak your worst fear into existence. It would make it seem so much realer. “Just… Ajax, if you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you, if the other side of the bed was cold—“

“Hey now, none of that,” Childe soothed, reaching up to smooth out the crease of your brows. “You’ll never have to go to sleep alone or wake up to an empty bed. I’ll always come back home to you, I promise. Nothing could keep me away from you.”

The heat of his kisses spread from your knuckles all the way up to your heart, warming you from the inside out as his words soothed your frayed nerves. The logical part of your brain knew he couldn’t actually prevent all bad turns of events from happening but you willed those thoughts away. 

As you curled up under the blanket with him that night, his arm draped securely over your waist to pull you close to him and into his safe embrace, you reminded yourself Ajax had never broken his promises before. So, as the moon bore witness to his vow sealed with more kisses, you decided to believe him.

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WHILE WINTER HOLDS ITS QUIET BREATH

a visit to childe's home

pairing: childe x gn!reader

themes/content: fluff. mentions of his family, violence, blood, he gets called his birth name, basically just a character study i guess. 18+ MDNI (wk: 3.4k)

a/n: nobody look at me

"Winter collapsed on us that year. It knelt, exhausted, and stayed." - Emily Fridlund, History of Wolves

Ajax smells different in Snezhnaya.

Coming from the shower on your sixth morning in his home, steam fading from his skin, it takes a moment for your mind to register that it’s him standing in the doorway, to connect the neurons and cells that know him, the ones that would recognize his curves and muscles draped in a burgundy towel. In Liyue, you’re used to the heavy scent of metal hanging on him, mingling with spices and clove, musk and sweat. It’s still him, of course, but there’s something else here, something closer to the earth that bore him.

He doesn’t notice the way your thoughts stall, already rambling about what his mother is planning to cook for dinner, where Teucer wants to go in town today. His steps fall the same, though, as he moves through his childhood bedroom, the floorboards barely creaking under his familiar weight. This house seems to remember him, although it’s only ever known this version of him, the one who smells like pine and rosemary, who loves to ice fish and hike and laugh, the one whose shoulders rise easily, whose eyes crinkle and flutter when snowflakes land on them.

Truthfully, the thought of asking you to join him on his journey home made his stomach ache. When it finally came time to make the request, he had returned only a few hours ago from some far-off city you’d barely remembered the name of, one with too many vowels in it, you think, one that took him away from you for too long again, his freshest scars already beginning to heal.

“My mother wants to meet you,” he hummed, nuzzling his face into your neck. “Tonia, too.”

Your heart lurched in your chest, and you were just as glad his eyes had strayed from yours to hide the way warmth began creeping up your neck. “They know about me?”

“Of course they do, silly” he pulled away, grinning. With a pinch of your cheek, he rubbed his nose against yours. “Who do you think I write all those letters to?”

When you didn’t respond, he hid his face back in the den of your shoulder.

“Would you come with me when I go back to Snezhnaya? To meet them? Just for a week.” Tightly, he closed his eyes, afraid of what your eyebrows or the corners of your mouth might say, things he didn’t want to hear. The journey is too long or I’m needed at work or I don’t love you, Ajax. But the words never came.

“Of course I’ll go,” you whispered instead, sweet like the honeyed wine you served with dinner. The waves crashed softly outside the open window, carried by the other sounds of the harbor, ones of labor and ships and travel.

In the haven of your skin, his lips curled into a smile.

The first day you arrived, his family greeted you behind the thick wooden door. Teucer lugged your bags upstairs, each thud as they collided with the old wood came with a giggle. His mother hugged you, and she smelled like cinnamon.

“Is that the only coat you brought?” she asked, rubbing the worn leather that draped your shoulders.

Before you could respond, she was already turning away, rummaging through the closet. Inside, you caught glimpses of old brooms and half-patched stockings before she thrusted a piece of cloth into your arms.

“Here! It’s not perfect, and it’s certainly not new, but this should treat you much better.”

She smiled with her teeth, like the grin that slips from Ajax on nights when the two of you sat outside and counted the stars. Devoid of second meanings, of control or deceit.

Unfurling the item, warm wool rubbed against your fingertips in the shape of a soft grey outer-jacket. The buttons held on by single threads, and the pockets had holes, and you pulled it into your chest.

“Thank you,” you said, and you hugged her.

Later that evening, his father showed you where they stored wood for the fire as Ajax swung a rusted axe, each crack echoing against the silent trees.

“It gets cold here at night, so make yourselves comfortable,” was all he said before ducking back inside. You slept in Ajax’s childhood bed under three layers of blankets, his limbs intertwined with your own.

On your second day in Snezhnaya, Tonia insisted on going into town.

“You’ll love it,” she promised, dragging Ajax by the wrist out the door. “You have to see it.”

He huffed some retort, but his eyes glimmered when he looked to you, reflecting the sky that seemed almost too blue here, unsoiled by humidity and sweat.

The city itself was busy, or at least, busier than you expected for a place known for its unforgiving climate. The worn-down cobblestone lended itself to easy steps, the sound of chatter bouncing off the brick buildings. Everyone moved easily past one another, like salmon in the harbor, all traveling back to the depths of the sea.

Suddenly, Ajax turned to you. “I have to run some errands. Don't get into any trouble, you two,” he winked, glancing down at Tonia who only giggled in response.

“We won’t!” she reassured; as he faded into the crowd, she looked up at you. “Now, I can show you the really cool stuff.”

With her hand clasped firmly in yours, she led you through narrow alleyways until you emerged under the bright, cold sun. Tall glass panels greeted you, lining the storefronts. Behind each one, layers of gold and jewels were carefully displayed, reflecting spots of light onto the marble like small fish eyes watching your every move.

“That one’s my favorite,” she stated, pointing through the window that fogged under her breath. An icy sapphire sat in the center of the arrangement, nestled into rich black velvet.

Just as you opened your mouth, a firm hand landed on your shoulder. “Now, don’t tell me you’ve taken a liking to these, or do you want me to go broke?” Ajax chuckled from behind you, his sudden presence making Tonia squeal in delight.

As the three of you made your way home, Tonia clinging onto his back and resting her head in the fluff around his coat, a light snow began falling, and without wind, it hung in the air. Ajax stuck out his tongue, pink and warm, to catch them; Tonia followed, opening her jaw as wide as a child could to capture the melting crystals.

That night, around the fire, Ajax quietly pulled something from his pocket: a small, black velvet pouch. Without a word, he handed it to Tonia. Her eyes widened, and with careful fingers, she pulled a bright blue gem from inside. She screamed and leapt towards him, rosy cheeks pushed high.

“Now, don’t you go losing that, okay?” he said, pulling her into his chest.

“It’s perfect, it’s perfect, it’s perfect!” she exclaimed, encircling his neck in thin arms and knobby elbows.

In bed that night, wrapped in blankets, he held his hands to you. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. Gently, he placed something cool in your palm, metal. “And, open.”

A silver ring nestled itself into your skin, glowing under the flickering candlelight, a wire-wrapped opal held in the center that sparkled like the moon.

“It’s beautiful,” you finally got to say.

“It reminded me of you.” Like the sun and the clouds and the stars and anything that shares the pleasure of orbiting you, he thought.

His lips are warm and soft when you kiss him, like melted snowflakes, and the ring fits perfectly around your finger.

His hair falls differently in Snezhnaya, too, you realize. It dries lighter after being dampened by wind-carried flurries, less heavy than the unfiltered city water of your home, where the shower always ran red as it circled the drain. Even the sea would leave its own mark when he swam in the harbor, salt and brine adding crisp edges.

But here, he’s all fluff, and you wonder if he ever feels like he’ll get blown away with a strong enough gust. Maybe that’s why his parents said he seemed too mature for his age - when his hair lets him stand two inches taller, it’s easy to say he must be older, larger, wiser.

By your second day, you noticed he never lets Teucer go into the woods alone, in spite of his little brother’s incessant begging, in spite of how he stepped through the front door just moments ago and his fingertips ached from the walk back from town. He always redressed, pulling on his jacket and buckling his boots. He always put Teucer’s hat on for him, too.

On the third day, a blizzard tore through the woods and blinded everything in white. The children played upstairs with their father, and the wind howled through the window panes, a whistling and lonely sound. There was no sun, so instead, candles were lit in every corner, the warmth of the fireplace beckoning you to its hearth. Bottles of firewater made their way through you, poured with a heavy hand into ceramic cups, ones with paintings of trees and a child’s handprint.

“You know, when Ajax was four, he tried to fight a bear,” his mother began from the silence.

Ajax, in turn, groaned, rolling onto his side and resting his head in your lap. “Mama, not this story again.”

“Hush, hush,” she giggled, taking another drink from her mug. “He was out by the lake, and his father had gone back to the house with the fish. He heard something in the trees, and so he grabbed this tiny little fishing knife.” With her free hand, her fingers drew out a three-inch space in the air. “Just as his father returned, he saw his little boy facing the woods. ‘Papa, run!’ he called. ‘There’s a bear!’ But what kind of father would he be to let his son face that danger alone? So, just as he began to run towards him, this-” she laughed, liquid nearly spilling from over the top lip of her cup, “-this teeny bunny hops into the clearing! The terrifying bear Ajax was ready to fight was just a little rabbit!”

Burying his face in his hands, Ajax once again groaned. “It was scary for a kid!”

“I know, I know,” she hummed, wrinkled hands patting his shoulders. “And you were very brave for a kid, too.”

The fourth morning you awoke in Snezhnaya, the bed was cold. Your muscles shivered and you reached for him, but found only empty sheets and blankets bundled around your shoulders.

The stairs still creaked under your weight, not yet used to the way your feet landed on them, stepping on tired and aching bones. In the kitchen, his mother greeted you with a soft, “Good morning.”

Without another word, a warm mug was placed before you, its steam rising into the wooden rafters.

“I hope it wasn’t too cold in that old room last night,” she began - words seemed to flow easily from her, some motherly instinct to comfort, to keep out the silence. “Yesterday was one of the chillier days we’ve had. I’m glad you two didn’t have to go anywhere.” She sipped from her own cup - tea, you presume from the bergamot hanging in the air. “Have you been sleeping well? I can bring up some more quilts if you need.”

You took a drink, letting the liquid scald your tongue, and stifled a wince (the burn isn’t too bad after this long in the snow, you suppose). “Yes, we’re sleeping very well, thank you.” Your fingers tapped on the wooden countertop. “Have you seen Ajax?”

“Oh, yes! I think he’s out by the lake.”

Grateful, you hummed into your hands, letting them be warmed through the ceramic.

“May I ask you something?” she suddenly spoke. It was so unplanned, no hint of the trickery or underhandedness you were accustomed to - when someone in Liyue asks a question of this sort, one must think on it, must contemplate their intentions and how to use it against them - you couldn’t help but nod. She blurted, “Does Ajax seem happy?”

Her gaze fell to the table, tracing its familiar knots and veins. “It’s just…” her thumbs twirled around the handle, nails clinking, “you see him more than me. I mean, at this point, you certainly know him better than me.”

The only thing you could think to do was reach your hand to hers. It was warmer than your own, more wrinkled and crooked, a tree with a life well-lived. “I do. I do think he’s happy.”

That morning, you buttoned your coat yourself, careful not to rip the remaining buttons from their threads. It was a slow task, one that required more precision than you were used to, but it got done all the same.

The walk itself was pleasant, the wind having settled and only dusting the occasional batch of flurries from the trees that danced under the morning sun like birds. You wondered if there were many nests here, if the fledglings could survive these winters. Beneath your boots the fresh snow shifted, and at the edge of the whitened path, a small flock of red flowers poked through the frost.

The lake was still beneath the ice. Ajax sat with his back towards the trail, but didn’t flinch as you approached. He didn’t speak, either.

Instead, he let you sit beside him on the old tree stump, his fingers clutching the fishing rod as its invisible string delved into the icy abyss below.

“Have you caught anything?” you asked.

”Not yet.” He didn’t look at you, he didn’t move a centimeter, not even to breathe. “You know, after so long doing this, you’d think I’d be better at it by now.”

”Is fishing something you can really get better at?”

His lips parted in a grin. “I suppose not. It’s mostly waiting.”

“Are you good at that?”

“No,” he laughed.

“Do you like it?” You leaned onto his shoulder, letting your hair spill over the fur of his coat. It used to smell of salt - now, it was all smoke and wool.

“You aren’t wearing a hat,” he observed.

“I must have forgotten.”

He nodded, a leather-clad hand reaching up to cover your ears. In the wind, the branches shook, and his lure left the water’s surface as smooth as glass.

“Do you think my family is alright?” he finally asked, to no one in particular - perhaps the trees would have answered if they could. But in their stead, you’d have to do.

In the distance, a bird called out its tune, a lilting whistle, and the snow danced in time. “I think they are.”

Beneath your weight, his shoulders relaxed.

“Your mother loves you,” you continued. “Tonia and Teucer, too. They all do.”

Silently, he reeled in the line before placing the rod upright in the snow. When he looked to you, he was smiling. “Let’s go back home.”

The longer you stay, the softer his skin seems to get, in spite of the way the frigid air digs cracks into your own. With each move of your wrist a new crevice makes its way to the surface, rubbed raw and dry. And yet, his fingers still trail lightly over them, soft lips ghosting over bloodied ravines.

“The cold never really bothered me,” he told you years ago, and you thought it strange, but here’s proof: warm, smooth hands, unfrozen. Each joint moves freely, each blood vessel pumps easily, as though they were made for this. He fidgets less here - maybe he always ran hot in Liyue. The heat makes people jumpy, you know.

Yesterday, on your fifth day in Snezhnaya, the snow crunched below your feet as he led you through the woods. You had asked to see the trails that led around the house, and although silently, he nonetheless helped button the grey coat his mother loaned you, tugging a hat over your ears.

He spoke too much while you walked, the sounds bouncing off the frail and peeling bark. “And there are animals out here, if you know where to look,” he rambled. “Rabbits, and bears, you know, and deer, too. You can trace them by their footprints, and it’ll lead you to their dens. Sometimes you have to seek them out, but it’s easy once you know what to look for.” His eyes closed, and you realized his boots left no indentations in the hardening snow. “Some people think the animals are dangerous, but they won’t hurt you, not while you have me here.”

Off in the distance, a branch cracked. Ajax flinched.

Wide eyes scanned the horizon, frenzied. A gloved hand reached for yours, and he pulled you behind him.

The air in his lungs burned cold, and he held it there for three seconds.

“Oh, must just be an old tree,” he laughed, and he took a few steps to hide the way it shook in the wind. “The snow is heavy, especially this time of year. It gets wet and icy, like a hard shell. Sometimes the older trees can’t take it anymore, and they fall.”

You hummed, the breath in front of your lips foggy. The walk continued, and he spoke and spoke and spoke, and the trees listened. You tried to listen half as attentively.

The questions began to stick in the back of your throat, ones you wanted to spit out, ones that tasted thick and bitter and burned your esophagus, ones about the abyss: if it was dark, if the moon shone down there, if he could see the stars or feel the snow. If he remembers where he fell, where the earth opened beneath him and swallowed him whole. If he’d been back there (he hadn’t), if he’s still afraid (he’d tell you he’s not).

He knew the woods well, even though he was only a child in them. 

When you returned home, his cheeks were pink, and he smiled as you unbuttoned the coat bunched up around your neck. In the kitchen, meats and vegetables stewed over the stove, their scents drifting as his mother stirred with her wooden spoon. The logs in the fireplace shifted, sending sparks into the air. His shoulders relaxed, and he hung his own scarf next to yours. It was harder to pick out his freckles through wind-reddened skin, but they’re always there, of course: you know where to look.

You wondered if this is how he carried himself, how he felt, how he smelled, when he was young. If the fourteen-year-old boy who went into the woods was chased because the wolves could smell the smoke and spices and fear lingering on him.

He sounds different here, too.

You’ve rarely heard him speak his native tongue: “It’s a rough language,” he always said; and yet, each consonant that falls from his lips is soft like wool; “You wouldn’t even understand anything I say,” and yet, when he turns to his mother and says “спасибо,” as she hands him his morning tea, the love it carries is enough.

She always smiles and pulls him into a hug, and he always laughs, bright like the crackling flames in the fireplace. She never calls him Tartaglia or Childe; here, he’s always ‘Ajax’ or ‘my son’ or ‘my precious boy’ (he says he hates that one, but he lets her preen his hair, and fidget with his coat, and tell him he looks too serious for his age, too angry).

Here, he has no titles, no violence or conflict or nobility to stare over his shoulder. Here, he’s not a Harbinger, he’s not a killer, he’s just Ajax: a kind boy who wears knit scarves and catches snowflakes and likes to ice fish.

Today, on your sixth day, the mattress shifts under his weight, and his warmth spreads across the bedding as he blankets you, still damp and smelling like the earth, like the trees and the herbs and his childhood. Fresh from the shower, one where the water ran clear instead of red, where there were no crimes or sin to wash away. Droplets land on your cheeks and he giggles as you try to shoo him away with a gentle shove to his shoulders; he lets you push him back onto the quilt his mother made for his tenth birthday, one with images of heroes and swords and the sun. There’s snow falling outside the frosted window and landing heavy on the trees, the ones that don’t mind holding it. Soft hands cradle your skin, and he whispers “I love you,” and his breath is warm, and he smells like pine and rosemary.

A very small puppyboy shota that just whines like a dog every time I thrust into him (I'm a woman, but still)

confession #218

She was supposed to be at school. That’s what he thought as he unlocked the front door but the house wasn’t silent. From upstairs, he could hear it—soft, muffled gasps, the creak of a bed frame, and a rhythm that made his pulse quicken. He stood frozen in the doorway, the key still in the lock, his mind racing. That can’t be what I think it is.

But it was. The sounds were unmistakable. She’s here. His daughter. She’s— He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He should have turned around. He should have left, pretended he hadn’t heard anything. But his feet moved on their own, carrying him up the stairs, step by step, each creak of the wood beneath his shoes making his heart pound harder.

The door to her room was slightly ajar, and the sounds were clearer now—little whimpers, the slick sound of her fingers moving between her legs, the soft moans she couldn’t hold back. He could see her through the crack in the door, lying on her bed, one hand tangled in the sheets, the other buried between her thighs. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling with each shaky breath.

He should have stopped. He should have walked away. But he didn’t. He pushed the door open, just enough to step inside, and said, “Keep going.”

Her eyes flew open, her body freezing in an instant. She stared at him, her face flushed, her chest heaving. “Dad?!” she gasped, her voice trembling. She tried to sit up, to cover herself, but he stepped closer, his eyes locked on hers.

“I said, keep going,” he repeated, his voice low, firm. He could see the confusion, the fear, the flicker of something else in her eyes. She hesitated, her hand still pressed between her legs, her body trembling. “Don’t stop,” he said, softer this time. “Let me see you.”

She didn’t move, didn’t breathe, her wide eyes fixed on him. He could see the war in her mind, the way her body was torn between pulling away and giving in. Slowly, nervously, her fingers began to move again, her eyes never leaving his. She was so exposed, so vulnerable, and yet there was a defiance in her gaze, a willingness to let him see her like this.

He stepped closer, his eyes roaming over her body—the way her legs were spread, the way her fingers worked her pussy, the way her breath hitched with each touch. Her skin was flushed, her nipples hard, her body so sensitive, so alive. He could see the wetness glistening on her fingers, the way her hips moved with each stroke, the way her body was begging for release.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He reached out, his hand brushing against her thigh, and she flinched, her breath catching. “Relax,” he said, his touch gentle, reassuring. “Just let me watch.”

Her fingers slowed, her body tense, her eyes wide and uncertain. But when he didn’t stop, when he kept staring at her, kept touching her, she began to move again, her fingers sliding through her wetness, her breath coming in short, shaky gasps. He watched her, his hand resting on her thigh, his thumb brushing against her skin, sending shivers through her body.

“You’re so wet,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He could feel the heat radiating from her, the way her body was trembling with every touch. His fingers moved higher, brushing against her hand, against the slickness between her legs. She gasped, her hips lifting, her body arching into his touch.

“Dad…” she whispered, her voice breaking, her eyes pleading. But he didn’t stop. His fingers joined hers, sliding through her wetness, exploring her, teasing her. She was so soft, so warm, so ready. He could feel her trembling, her body so close to the edge.

“Shh,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. “Just feel it.”

His fingers pushed into her, slowly, gently, and she gasped, her body arching, her hands clutching the sheets. He could feel how tight she was, how untouched, and the thought of it made his cock harden, his desire burning hotter. He moved his fingers inside her, her wetness coating them, her body clenching around him.

“Oh god…” she moaned, her hips moving with his hand, her body so sensitive, so desperate. He could feel her getting closer, her breath coming faster, her body trembling with each thrust of his fingers.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her neck. “Let go.”

Her body tightened, her breath catching, and then she was coming, her pussy clenching around his fingers, her body shaking with the force of it. He held her, his fingers still inside her, his lips pressed against her neck, until her body went limp, her breath slowing, her eyes fluttering closed.

He pulled his fingers out slowly, her wetness coating them, and he brought them to his lips, tasting her. She watched him, her eyes wide, her body still trembling. He leaned down, his lips brushing against hers, and she gasped, her body stiffening. But when he didn’t pull away, when his lips pressed against hers, she softened, her lips parting, her body melting into his.

His hand moved to his belt, unfastening it, pulling his cock free. He was so hard, so ready, and when he pressed the tip of his cock against her wet pussy, she gasped, her body tensing.

“Daddy…” she whispered, her voice trembling, her eyes wide with fear. But she didn’t push him away, didn’t tell him to stop. Instead, she reached up, her hands resting on his chest, her body trembling with anticipation.

He pushed into her slowly, carefully, the tightness of her pussy making him groan. She gasped, her body arching, her hands clutching his chest. She was so tight, so warm, so perfect. He moved deeper, her wetness coating him, her body stretching to take him in.

“Relax, baby” he murmured, his lips brushing against her neck. “Just breathe.”

She nodded, her breath shaky, her body trembling. He moved slowly, carefully, giving her time to adjust, to feel him inside her. She was so small, so fragile, and the thought of taking her virginity made his cock twitch, his desire burning hotter.

He began to move, his hips rocking against hers, his cock sliding in and out of her wet pussy. She gasped with each thrust, her body arching, her hands clutching his chest. He could feel her pussy clenching around him, her body trembling with each thrust.

“Oh god daddy…” she moaned, her hips moving with his, her body so sensitive, so desperate. He could feel her getting closer, her breath coming faster, her body trembling with each thrust of his cock.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her neck. “Such a pretty baby.”

Her body tightened, her breath catching, and then she was coming, her pussy clenching around his cock, her body shaking with the force of it. He held her, his cock still inside her, his lips pressed against her neck, until her body went limp, her breath slowing, her eyes fluttering closed.

He moved inside her again, his cock sliding in and out of her wet pussy, her body still trembling from her orgasm. He could feel his own orgasm building, his cock twitching inside her. He thrust deeper, harder, his body pressing against hers, his lips brushing against her neck.

“Oh god…” he groaned, his cock twitching inside her, his orgasm washing over him. He came hard, his cum filling her pussy, his body trembling with the force of it. He held her, his cock still inside her, his lips pressed against her neck, until his body went limp, his breath slowing, his eyes fluttering closed.

They lay there for a moment, their bodies entwined, their breath slowing, their hearts racing. He pulled out slowly, her wetness coating him, and he rolled onto his back, pulling her into his arms. She lay against him, her body trembling, her breath shaky.

“Dad…” she whispered, her voice trembling, her eyes wide with fear. But she didn’t push him away, didn’t tell him to stop. Instead, she buried her face in his chest, her body trembling with fear and desire.

He held her, his hand stroking her hair, his lips brushing against her forehead. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’m here. Daddy's here.”

Realest comment ever

I'm not attracted to blondes but AARON WARNER>>>>>

does anyone have a proship based discord server that’s 18+? I wanna meet more proshippers but a lot of the servers are full of kids and teens and I’m old so I don’t wanna interact with them