homegirl

⸻ cw. based on this. g!p megan, mentions of cuckolding, degradation, mentions of anal sex, dubcon… not everyone’s cup of tea, you’ve been warned.

well, let’s just say that after this, megan really learned her lesson.

for the next few days after daniela’s visit, she acted a little off, it was just weird for her to look at you and remember how her cute little girlfriend was moaning like a whore on another person’s cock… even tho she kinda of agreed with the whole situation, it felt strange for her now, but you acted normally and that’s what really pissed her the fuck off. how could you act so normal and loving after telling her those mean things? after telling her she doesn’t know how to fuck you, how to make you feel good… ugh, that really upset her.

g!p megan x sub fem r

first sex with megan.. <3 it won’t fit :( smut slight dubcon in the middle fluff aftercare size kink g!p content

the air in your bedroom is thick with anticipation, a silent, humming energy that vibrates between you and megan. her hands are gentle on your hips, her thumbs stroking circles over the bare skin there as she leans in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. it’s not the first kiss, not by a long shot, but it feels different. it tastes like a promise, like the edge of a cliff you’re both about to step off together.

“you sure about this?” megan murmurs against your mouth, her voice a low, soothing rumble that you feel in your bones. her eyes, dark and sincere, search yours for any hint of doubt.

you nod, your throat too tight for words. you want this. you want her, every part of her, with an intensity that borders on terrifying.

she smiles, a small, knowing curve of her lips. “okay, baby. just relax for me. let me take care of you.”

she shifts, settling between your thighs, and the reality of the situation crashes down on you. you’ve seen her before, touched her, but the weight of her now, heavy and hot against your entrance, is a different beast entirely. she takes herself in hand, guiding the thick, blunt head to your slick folds, dragging it through your wetness. the feeling alone makes you shiver, a full-body tremor of want.

“ready?” she asks softly.

you bite your lip and nod again, gripping her shoulders.

she begins to push inside.

the initial stretch is a shock, a sharp, stinging burn that steals the air from your lungs. your eyes fly open wide, a gasp catching in your throat. it’s too much. she’s too much. it doesn’t fit. it’s an impossible, searing pressure against your tight, unprepared muscles, and for a wild, panicked moment, you think it’s never going to work.

megan freezes instantly, her entire body going still. “hey,” she breathes, her brow furrowed with concern. “look at me. breathe, baby. just breathe.”

you can’t. you try, but all you manage is a shaky, pathetic whimper. your eyes well up with hot, embarrassing tears, and you turn your head, burying your face in the warm, fragrant skin of her neck. you feel your cheeks flame with a mixture of pain and humiliation. this was supposed to be beautiful, and it just hurts.

“shh… it’s okay,” she coos, her voice a balm against your frayed nerves. she doesn’t pull out, doesn’t move away. instead, she wraps her arms around you, holding you close as she presses soft, sensual kisses to your temple, your cheek, the sensitive spot just below your ear. one hand runs up and down your spine in a calming rhythm. “you’re doing so good. just breathe with me. in… and out. that’s it.”

her praises are a low murmur against your skin, a hypnotic chant that slowly eases the tension coiled in your belly. you focus on the feeling of her lips, the steady beat of her heart against your chest, the warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the blush on your cheeks.

as you relax, just a fraction, she takes it as her cue. she pushes forward again, a slow, deliberate slide that feeds another thick inch of her length into your aching core. the burn is still there, but it’s different now, blurring at the edges into a deep, overwhelming fullness. you cry out softly, muffled against her neck.

“shh.. you’re doing good baby, just a little more,” she whispers, her voice laced with a deceptive gentleness. she kisses your shoulder, her tongue darting out to taste the salt of your skin. “you’re taking me so well. look at you.”

her words are a heavy drug, and you cling to them. you’re doing good. you’re taking her well. you want to believe it. you want to be good for her.

but she’s lying. or maybe she’s just being kind. because as she says “just a little more,” you feel her press forward again, and again, and again. each slide feels like a mile, a slow, relentless invasion that splits you open. there’s so much more of her, an endless, thick column that seems to have no end. your body is a taut, trembling bowstring, stretched to its breaking point, and every new inch she feeds you feels like it might be the one to snap it.

the tears flow freely now, silent tracks of heat against her neck. you’re not sure if they’re from the pain or from the sheer, overwhelming intensity of being so completely, utterly filled by her. you feel impossibly full, stuffed to the brim, and still, she’s not even halfway in.

“almost there, baby,” she soothes, though you know it’s a lie meant to calm you. her hips rock in a tiny, shallow motion, a gentle thrust that grinds her deeper. “you feel that? how perfect you are for me? made to take me.”

her voice is thick with a primal satisfaction that sends a jolt of arousal straight through you, cutting through the pain. a fresh gush of slickness eases her path, and she takes advantage, sinking another two inches in a single, smooth glide that punches the air from your lungs.

“angh!” you sob, your hands clenching into fists against her back. your entire body is thrumming, a live wire of pleasure and pain. you feel her everywhere, pressing against every sensitive spot you have, creating new ones you never knew existed.

megan’s own control is starting to fray. her breathing is harsh in your ear, her kisses growing more demanding, more possessive. “that’s it,” she grunts, her voice no longer soft, but thick with lust. “take all of me. gonna give you all of it.”

and with one final, decisive push of her hips, she seats herself fully inside you, her pelvis flush against yours. the world goes white. a choked, broken cry tears from your throat as you’re forced to accommodate every last, thick, magnificent inch of her. the pain is a blinding, all-consuming fire, but beneath it, a different kind of heat is starting to bloom, a deep, resonant pleasure that makes your toes curl.

she stays there, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust. her body is a heavy, comforting weight pinning you down. she kisses your neck, your jaw, your lips, swallowing your little sobs and whimpers.

“see?” she murmurs, finally pulling back just enough to look at your tear-streaked face. she brushes a damp strand of hair from your forehead, her expression a mixture of awe and raw desire. “i told you. you were made for me.”

the world slowly comes back into focus, the white-hot pain receding like a tide, leaving behind a landscape of deep, throbbing fullness. every nerve ending is alive, humming with a new, unfamiliar song. you’re still crying, but the tears are silent now, a release of the overwhelming tension that had held you captive. your face is still hidden in the crook of megan’s neck, her skin damp with your breath and tears.

for a long moment, she doesn’t move. she’s a solid, grounding presence inside you, a heavy weight that anchors you to the mattress. you can feel the frantic beat of her heart against your ribs, a mirror to the wild pulse deep within your own core. her hands are gentle now, stroking your back, your hair, her touch a constant, soothing reassurance.

“breathe with me, baby,” she whispers, her lips brushing against your ear. “just feel it. feel us.”

and you do. you feel the impossible stretch, the way your body has yielded to hers, the intimate pressure of her filling you so completely. it’s a feeling of possession, of being claimed, and a strange, heady power washes over you. you did this. you took all of her.

megan begins to move.

it’s not a thrust, not yet. it’s a slow, deliberate roll of her hips, a subtle grinding motion that sends a jolt of pure, unadulterated pleasure through you. the movement shifts her inside you, dragging that thick length along your inner walls in a way that makes your breath hitch. the lingering pain is eclipsed by a sudden, sharp wave of arousal that leaves you dizzy.

she does it again, a little deeper this time, and a soft, broken moan escapes your lips. it’s a sound of surrender, of pleasure you didn’t know you were capable of feeling.

“megan…” you breathe her name like a prayer.

“i know, baby. i know,” she murmurs, her voice thick with satisfaction. she finally pulls back, just an inch, the drag of her length against your sensitive flesh making you shudder. then, just as slowly, she pushes back in, a smooth, gliding stroke that sheaths herself to the hilt once more.

the pace is agonizingly slow. a torturous, beautiful rhythm. each retreat leaves you feeling empty, aching for her return, and each advance fills you completely, stoking the fire building low in your belly. your tears have stopped, replaced by soft, helpless sounds of pleasure. you lift your hips tentatively, trying to meet her next slow thrust, a silent plea for more.

a low chuckle rumbles in her chest. “that’s it. move with me.”

her hands slide down your body, gripping your thighs to hitch them higher around her waist. the new angle allows her to sink even deeper, and the new position makes you gasp. she sets a languid, unhurried pace, her hips rocking in a steady, hypnotic rhythm. her eyes are locked on yours, dark and intense, watching every flicker of emotion that crosses your face.

“you’re so beautiful like this,” she praises, her voice a low, husky murmur. “all flushed and teary-eyed, taking my cock so well. look at you, falling apart on me.”

her words are as potent as her touch, and you feel your inner muscles clench around her in response. the pleasure is building, a slow, cresting wave that’s pulling you under. every long, deep stroke pushes you higher, every retreat leaves you wanting. it’s a slow, sweet torment, a deliberate unraveling of your senses.

she leans down, capturing your lips in a deep, sensual kiss. it’s a kiss of ownership, of passion, of love. her tongue explores your mouth, mimicking the slow, deliberate rhythm of her hips. you’re lost in her, in the feeling of her inside you, on top of you, all around you. the world has narrowed to this: the slow slide of her body into yours, the taste of her mouth, the sound of her praises whispered in your ear.

the coil in your stomach winds tighter and tighter, a delicious, aching tension that promises a spectacular release. you can feel yourself getting wetter, easing her way, the sounds of your joining growing slicker, more obscene in the quiet room.

“please,” you whimper against her lips, not even sure what you’re begging for. more? faster? for this to never end?

megan seems to understand. she breaks the kiss, her forehead resting against yours. her breath comes in harsh pants, her control clearly fraying at the edges.

“almost there, baby,” she grunts, her rhythm finally starting to quicken, just a fraction. her strokes become a little harder, a little deeper, each one pushing you closer to the edge. “come on. let go for me. i want to feel you.”

she reaches between your bodies, her fingers finding your clit, swollen and sensitive from the relentless stimulation. the first touch is electric. a sharp, searing jolt of pleasure that arches your back off the bed.

“oh god!” you cry out.

she circles the sensitive nub in time with her thrusts, and that’s all it takes. the coil inside you snaps. your orgasm crashes over you with the force of a tidal wave, a blinding, all-consuming rush of pleasure that steals your breath and your vision. you cry out her name, your body convulsing around her, your inner walls clamping down on her thick length as wave after wave of ecstasy washes through you.

megan groans, burying her face in your neck as your body pulses and clenches around her. she continues to move through your orgasm, drawing out your pleasure until you’re a boneless, trembling mess beneath her. only then does she let go, her own release a deep, shuddering groan as she buries herself inside you one last time, her warmth flooding your core.

she collapses on top of you, her weight a welcome anchor. you’re both panting, slick with sweat, your bodies still joined. you wrap your arms and legs around her, holding her close, never wanting to let go.

you press a soft, tired kiss to her shoulder, a silent thank you. for the pain, for the pleasure, for the overwhelming, beautiful way she had taken you apart and put you back together again.

for a long time, the only sounds in the room are your mingled breaths, slowing gradually from ragged pants to soft, even sighs. megan is a heavy, warm weight on top of you, her body still connected to yours in the most intimate way. you feel utterly boneless, replete, a pleasant, lingering ache between your thighs that’s a testament to the thorough way she claimed you. you never want to move again.

you hum contentedly, nuzzling into the sweat-slick skin of her neck, feeling a deep, sated bliss settle over you. this was it. this was the first time, and it was perfect, even with the pain. it was real, and it was yours.

then, she shifts.

it’s a subtle movement, a slow roll of her hips that sends a jolt of oversensitivity through you. you gasp softly, your body twitching at the unexpected stimulation. she’s still hard inside you, a formidable presence that your body is just now getting used to.

“megan…” you murmur, a sleepy protest on your lips. “no… i can’t.”

she lifts her head, her dark hair falling around her face. her eyes, which were soft and sated moments ago, now hold a new, hungry glint. a predatory light that makes your stomach clench with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

“just one more, baby,” she whispers, her voice a low, persuasive rumble. she presses a soft, almost chaste kiss to your lips, a stark contrast to the wicked intent in her eyes. “please?”

you shake your head weakly, your hands coming up to rest on her chest, trying to push, but it’s a feeble gesture. “i’m sore. it… it was a lot.”

“i know, i know,” she coos, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. she kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, her lips a trail of fire. “that’s why we have to do it again.”

her logic is twisted, intoxicating. “that doesn’t make any sense.”

“sure it does,” she says, her hand sliding down your side to grip your hip. she begins to move again, a slow, shallow grinding that has you whimpering. it’s not painful, not yet, but it’s overwhelming, a pleasure so sharp it borders on agony. “think about it. the next time i want to be inside you, i don’t want you to hurt. i want you to be ready for me. we need to stretch this pretty little pussy out, make sure it remembers the shape of me.”

her words are filthy, a dark promise that makes your core clench traitorously around her. you can feel fresh slickness coating her length, your body betraying your mind’s exhausted protest.

“just one more round,” she murmurs, her voice a hypnotic chant against your skin. “let me make it all better. let me stretch you out nice and good so it won’t hurt next time. i promise, baby. i’ll make it feel so good you’ll forget all about the pain.”

she punctuates her promise by pulling back slightly, then sliding back in, a single, slow, deep stroke that steals the air from your lungs. the ache is still there, but it’s already transforming, melting into a deep, throbbing need. your body, it seems, has a mind of its own. it wants more. it wants her.

tears of frustration and exhaustion prick at your eyes. you’re torn between the blissful idea of rest and the terrifying, exhilarating promise of more. “megan, please… i’m tired.”

“shh, i know,” she soothes, her hips beginning a slow, steady rhythm. it’s different this time. there’s no resistance, no sharp burn of entry. you’re already open, already slick with her and your own release. she glides into you with an easy, possessive stroke that buries her deep inside your aching core. “just lie there and let me do the work. let me take care of you. let me get you ready for all the times to come.”

her words are your undoing. the thought of a ‘next time,’ of ‘all the times to come,’ is a potent aphrodisiac. your body goes pliant beneath hers, your protests dying on your lips as a fresh wave of arousal washes over you. you’re tired, you’re sore, but you’re hers. and if she wants to stretch you out, to mold your body to fit only her, who are you to deny her?

you wrap your arms around her neck, pulling her down for a kiss, and she takes it as the surrender it is. her pace is still slow, but it’s deeper now, more deliberate. each thrust is a claiming, a reminder of who you belong to. and as the pleasure begins to build again, a slow, inexorable tide, you know she’s right. this isn’t just about tonight. it’s about every night after this. and she’s going to make sure you’re ready.

the slow, deliberate rhythm is a hypnotic dance, a languid possession that erases the memory of pain and replaces it with a deep, resonant ache of pleasure. your body, once a taut string of resistance, is now a pliant thing in her hands, molding to her will, accepting her every slow, deep stroke. the exhaustion is still there, a dull hum beneath your skin, but it’s overshadowed by a rising tide of need, a primal urge to be taken, to be used, to be thoroughly and completely hers.

megan’s hands are everywhere, exploring your body with a renewed sense of ownership. she maps the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the swell of your breasts, as if committing you to memory. her touch is both worship and conquest. she shifts her weight, propping herself up on one elbow, giving herself the leverage to change the angle of her hips.

the next thrust is a revelation.

it’s slower, more controlled, and it drives the thick head of her cock directly against a spot inside you that makes you see stars. a sharp, electric jolt of pleasure shoots up your spine, and you cry out, your back arching off the bed.

“there it is,” she murmurs, a smug, satisfied grin on her face. she found it. she found the secret ‘button’ that turns you into a whimpering, pleading mess. “right there, isn’t it, baby?”

she does it again, aiming for that same spot with unerring accuracy. the pleasure is so intense it’s almost painful, a sharp, sweet agony that has you clawing at her back, your nails digging into her sweat-slicked skin.

“megan! oh god, megan, please,” you sob, the words torn from your throat. you don’t know what you’re begging for. for her to stop? for her to never stop? the distinction no longer matters.

“please what?” she taunts, her voice a low, husky growl. she sets a new rhythm, a slow, torturous grind that targets that sensitive bundle of nerves with every single devastating stroke. “tell me what you want. you want me to stop? or do you want me to stretch this little pussy out until it’s perfect for me?”

her filthy words are gasoline on a fire. you can feel yourself getting wetter, the slick sounds of her moving inside you growing louder, more obscene. your body is clenching around her, a desperate, rhythmic pulsing that pulls her deeper, begging for more even as your mind reels from the intensity.

“more,” you finally choke out, the word a shameful, desperate whisper. “please, more…”

that’s all the encouragement she needs. her grin widens, a flash of white teeth in the dim light. “good girl,” she praises, and the approval in her voice sends a fresh wave of heat through you. “that’s what I wanted to hear.”

her pace quickens, just enough to push you closer to the edge. the slow, gentle lovemaking is gone, replaced by a more purposeful, powerful rhythm. she’s still stretching you, still claiming you, but now she’s chasing her own pleasure as well as yours. her hips snap forward, a little harder, a little faster, each thrust a declaration of her dominance over your body.

you’re completely lost, a ship tossed in a storm of sensation. the coil in your stomach is winding tighter and tighter, a magnificent pressure building to an explosive release. you can feel it coming, a terrifying, exhilarating precipice.

“look at me,” she commands, her voice firm. “i want to see your eyes when you come for me.”

ut takes every ounce of strength you have to force your eyes open. her face is above you, a mask of raw, unadulterated lust. her jaw is clenched, her eyes dark and feral, locked on yours. the sight of her, so powerful, so completely consumed by you, is what pushes you over the edge.

your orgasm tears through you with the force of a hurricane. a silent scream rips from your throat as your body convulses, your inner walls clamping down on her like a vise. the pleasure is blinding, a white-hot wave that obliterates everything in its path. you’re dimly aware of megan groaning your name, her own release triggered by the violent clenching of your body. she buries herself deep inside you, her hips stuttering as she spills into you, a warm, possessive flood that seems to go on forever.

when the tremors finally subside, you collapse against the mattress, completely spent. megan follows you down, her body covering yours, her face buried in your hair. you’re both panting, your bodies slick with sweat and other fluids, the air thick with the scent of sex and satisfaction.

you’re empty now, as she’s slipped out of you at some point during the throes of your shared climax, and the loss is palpable. a dull, throbbing ache settles between your legs, a constant reminder of the thorough way she’s claimed you, stretched you, remade you.

after a long moment, she lifts her head, her expression soft and sated. she brushes a damp strand of hair from your forehead, her touch infinitely gentle.

“how do you feel?” she asks, her voice a low murmur.

you can only manage a weak, breathless sound, something between a laugh and a sob. you feel wrecked, ruined in the best possible way.

she smiles, a slow, triumphant curve of her lips. she leans down and presses a soft, tender kiss to your lips. “good,” she whispers against your mouth. “now you’re ready.”

the silence that follows is different from the one before. it’s not charged with anticipation or heavy with exertion, but soft, comfortable, and intimate. the only sound is the gentle hum of the air conditioner and the slowing rhythm of your breathing. megan’s weight is a welcome, grounding pressure on top of you, but after a few minutes, she shifts with a soft groan, carefully rolling to the side.

the sudden loss of her warmth makes you whimper, a small, pathetic sound you don’t even realize you’re making. you feel empty, achingly so, and a profound sense of vulnerability washes over you. the cool air hits your sweat-slicked skin, and you shiver.

“hey, shh, I’m right here,” megan’s voice is immediately beside you, a low, soothing balm. she props herself up on an elbow, her dark hair a messy halo around her face. her eyes, once sharp with lust, are now soft and full of a tenderness that makes your chest ache. she gently brushes a stray tear from your temple with her thumb. “don’t move. i’ll be right back.”

she’s as graceful as ever, even when she’s moving on wobbly legs. you watch her pad across the room, her naked silhouette a thing of beauty in the dim light. you hear the sound of running water in the bathroom, and then she’s back, a warm, damp washcloth in her hand.

she sits on the edge of the bed, her expression gentle. “open up for me, baby,” she murmurs.

you feel a fresh blush creep up your neck, but you obey, parting your thighs with a wince. the feeling is tender, swollen, a testament to her thoroughness. she’s incredibly gentle as she cleans you, her touch reverent, careful. the warm cloth is soothing against your sore flesh, and the intimate, caring gesture is almost more overwhelming than the sex itself. it’s not about passion now; it’s about care. kt’s about her making sure you’re okay.

when she’s done, she tosses the cloth aside and pulls the duvet up over both of you, tucking it around your shoulders before pulling you into her arms. you immediately burrow against her, seeking her warmth, hiding your face in the familiar comfort of her chest. her skin is still damp, but she’s solid and real, her heartbeat a steady, reassuring thrum against your ear.

her arms tighten around you, one hand stroking your hair in long, calming passes. “you okay?” she asks again, her voice a soft rumble you feel more than hear.

you just nod, your face still pressed against her. you’re not ready for words yet. you’re trying to process the tidal wave of emotions crashing through you—the pleasure, the pain, the overwhelming love, the sheer intensity of it all.

she seems to understand. she just holds you, letting you come back to her in your own time. after a few minutes, she speaks again, her voice barely a whisper.

“was I too rough?”

you shake your head immediately, pulling back just enough to look up at her. her eyes are searching yours, a flicker of genuine concern in their depths. “no,” you manage to say, your voice hoarse. “it was… perfect.”

a small, relieved smile touches her lips. she leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “good. i just wanted to make sure. i meant what i said… about getting you ready. i never want to hurt you.”

“you didn’t,” you whisper, and it’s the truth. the initial pain was a fleeting thing, a gateway to something so much more profound. “you took care of me.”

“always,” she vows, her thumb stroking your cheek. she looks down at you, her expression so full of love it takes your breath away. the raw, dominant lover from moments ago is gone, replaced by the soft, devoted woman you fell in love with.

you reach up and cup her face, your thumb tracing the line of her jaw. your heart feels too big for your chest, swollen with an emotion so powerful it’s almost painful to contain.

“i love you,” you breathe, the words feeling inadequate, but they’re all you have. they’re the truest thing you’ve ever said.

her smile widens, her eyes shining with an unshed sheen of their own. she leans in, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s soft and sweet and full of every unspoken word between you.

“i love you, too,” she murmurs against your mouth. “so much.”

she settles back against the pillows, pulling you with her until your head is resting on her chest, your limbs tangled together under the warm blankets. the ache between your thighs is a dull, pleasant reminder of the night, a brand of her possession. you feel safe, cherished, and utterly, completely hers.

as you drift off to sleep, wrapped in her arms, you know she was right. she has stretched you out, remade you, and prepared you. not just for the next time, but for a lifetime with her. and you’ve never been more ready for anything in your life.

brasileiras! katseye x leitora

cw. você namorando as kats (como se conheceram + headcanons). na maior parte fluff, mas tem conteúdo sugestivo (menos pra yoonchae). leitora é femme. escrita bem informal. parte 1/2. tudo escrito é puramente ficção. nada disso reflete a imagem dos idols citados.

parte 2.

DANIELA.

como se conheceram.

a little blood drunk Vampire!Megan x freaky Dani I doodled based on @herestoallmytgirls's meizini one shot "Taste" bc IM OBSESSED with Vamp Megan

She's a messy eater :)

you can read it here

[part two drawing here]

More Vamp!Megan x (freaky)Dani, this could count as a continuation of the last meizini drawing i did

Clean, bloodless version under the cut!