𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒

[saltburntmods]

MISFIRES

a rambunctious duo in salt has stuck their nose where they shouldn't and now you can all reap the rewards! this is a MISFIRES meme. post a header for your character, and receive accidental texts from your local saltburntian guests. nudes, nasties, confessions of a certain persuasion? things you'd otherwise never write or send? they're all on the table. (meme threads aren't game canon, but they're not not game canon either, right)

Comments

[ripher]

I

[ He starts, then his gaze happens to slide up to the top of the message app, where he sees her name -- 💖Buffy💖, as she'd typed out herself, so you remember I'm your favourite -- and his world stops.

Stops.

I just needed my Daddy.

Stops, like a heart attack stops everything. Except --

Cumming inside me

-- god, what had he said to her, why didn't he check? Why did he let this go so far -- why is he still hard in his fist, why hasn't he let go of himself, why is there a sick-guilty throbbing in his balls and the root of his dick stronger than he's felt in years, why can't he look away from what she'd written --

Cumming inside me

-- and she must have known, she must have known who she was talking to, which means something he can barely stand to think about, and he's still hard, why is he still hard, he has enough trouble getting it up most days and now, and now --

She's next door. At some point, her music has turned off, so there's just silence. Into it, he says, like someone else is using his voice: ]

Buffy?

[bronze]

( her stomach bottoms out, heart seizing. caught, deer in the headlights, lines that can’t be uncrossed that buffy just barreled through without a thought. and yet — more than fear, more than shame, her hurt burns brighter. she hates the idea of sharing giles, and she always has — when she was a girl and her tantrums were more about leaving his side than feeling his protectiveness, when going to school was a pain because she wanted to be at her father’s side all the time, warming his knee, watching him type, watching him adjust his glasses, watching him set a needle on a record. now?

slippery, she tiptoes onto her feet, coquettishly crossing the hallway to her daddy’s room. heart in her throat, she turns the knob and opens, peering inside, short skirt and cropped tank, thighs wet, nipples taunt. her eyes instinctively fall to his cock, teeth sinking into her lower lip — but she manages to keep her chin up, surpassing him and walking to his bedside table, turning off one of the lights to make it darker for giles’ benefit, shadows casting across both their faces. when she moves again, it’s to straddle his lap, a motion that is oddly familiar and comfortable for her, although the context had always been more innocent, back when she was his good little girl, when she’d never even consider leaving her room without underwear on, let alone plop in his lap with her warm, drippy cunt exposed to him.

whining, buffy leans in, pressing her forehead to his temple, letting out a warm, cherry scented breath against his cheek, hands finding his to guide them away from his cock and onto her hips, wherever they’re most comfortable. she’s not sure what to say, so she bites her tongue, guiding her daddy’s cock into her with a sharp gasp from the back of her throat — no wiggle room, no space for him to deny her as she sits down flush, hot cunt squeezing hard around him, buffy’s quiet moans coloring the space with intention.

it’s — she doesn’t know what’s happening to her. her pussy clenches, again and again and again, strangling her daddy’s cock with the pressure, and then she’s choking out a ragged gasp as she cums, halving down to bury her face in his neck, whining, almost crying, embarrassed and hungry and jealous, jealous, jealous. )

[ripher]

[ A memory from their sun-warmed California kitchen. Joyce, six months pregnant, carefully unboxing her latest acquisition, some wooden Ghanaian fertility figurine from a collector in Chicago, turning it back and forth in the light to examine the flaws in the carving. Smiling, but still rolling her eyes. Rupert, please. You treat her like she's the only girl in the world. Of course she doesn't want to let you go.

It hurts, but it's a sweet pain, a pure pain. Nothing compared to the complex ache in his body as he watches Buffy cross the room towards him, a little unsteady, flushed in her cheeks like she used to get when she would cling to his leg and refuse to let him go, crying herself into hysteria because she was so convinced he would leave and never come back.

When she turns off the light, she has to reach past the half-empty whisky bottle on the nightstand -- another reason why he should be flagging, not hard as iron in his fist, and something else he can blame for the way he doesn't stop her. Doesn't say a word, not even her name, as she climbs up onto the bed, the four-poster frame creaking with the added weight. He's already letting go of his cock when she reaches for him, mouth opening on the nothing he's prepared to say, the nothing he's prepared to deny her, not even as he feels her hot slippery skin meet his, and he groans instead of chiding, groans and clutches at her, fists up her skirt, his daughter's skirt, to hike it even further up her thighs.

His eyes shutter closed; she's so wet he enters her without stopping, slick and already tightening and clenching around him. He's helpless, utterly helpless, unable to feel anything except her warm body against his, the weight and softness of her, the sweet smell of artificial cherries and her deodorant and her shampoo, girlish, childish, and they shouldn't be doing this but they are, his Buffy, his girl, the only girl in the world --

He turns his head to press his brow against hers, a single ragged breath and hands hard on her hips as he feels her starting to come, right there along with her, face in her hair now, filling every part of his awareness as the twitch of her hips sends him over the edge and he utters a low, hoarse sound of loss and longing as he cums harder than he has in years, thighs flexing, throbbing and spilling into her in breathless waves. ]

[bronze]

( it’s wrong and she knows it — and it hurts because it feels like she hasn’t earned it, like this was all for some other girl and buffy just happened to steal it like a greedy thief, making sure no part of her father’s life goes without the taint of her. but it also feels good, better than good, feeling giles’ whiskey breath gasp against her mouth, his cock swelling up in her, his cum coloring her insides like stuffed cream. it’s all she ever wants, really. being as close to him as physically possible, a new addiction seizing her by the throat, nails digging into his shoulders as terror seeps into her, that ever present worry of being divided, of being left behind. she has to snuff out the idea of pushing her away before giles ever thinks it — he’ll break her if he does, and she makes sure he knows it, clutching and clinging as desperately as she had when she was a baby, crying and wanting her dad’s touch.

her eyes are wet when she pulls herself back, lashes formed in spiky little clumps, but she’s not sad, or she at least can’t blame her tears on her sadness. she’s overwhelmed. she can feel his cock softening inside her, but she’s not ready to let him go, so she makes sure not to move her body an inch in any direction, using him like a plug for his orgasm, nestled deep inside her. close isn’t close enough. buffy noses against his cheek, mouthing wordlessly against the corner of his mouth, trying to find the right thing to say to him. the words, whatever they are, have to alleviate his guilt, have to tell him she loves him in a desperate and terrifying way, that she wants him to keep cumming in her until he’s filled out all the voided, empty spaces inside her.

instead, it’s all needy, unconscious, hungry. she doesn’t know what to say, only that she wants more, that her feelings are hurt, that he called someone else his little girl and that title can only ever belong to her. )

Why? ( she isn’t her daddy’s virginal daughter, and he knows that. she knows his cock is probably overly sensitive, that he’s older and it’s hard for him to keep getting it up, but she wants him to fuck her and can’t resist rolling her hips, cum leaking back on his cock obscenely. ) Why do I have to share you? I hate it. I don’t want to, I don’t want to. I don’t, not with anyone.

( wet eyes, broken voice. she kisses the side of his nose and whines, grinding her clit on the base of his cock. buffy peels back long enough to lift the shirt up and over her head, tits bouncing. )

Daddy — please? Why can’t I be your good girl?

[ripher]

[ It's obscene, what he wants to do to her in that moment. What he's already done to her. Where they're joined, they're wet and slippery with each other's fluids, each tiny movement reminding him all over again. He wants to keep fucking her, to get her naked and touch her all over her body, to map out the familiar unfamiliarities of the girl he made, raised, lost, found. Lost again. Obscene, the feeling of her cunt twitching around his cock. The way the tears in her eyes remind him of those terrible days after they lost Joyce, all three of them, when she'd wanted answers he couldn't give, wanted comfort he was in no place to provide.

She leans into him; he kisses her cheek, clumsily, automatically, the way he used to when she had nightmares. He feels emptied and full at the same time, seesawing between the two. Absurdly, he wants to apologise, though he doesn't know what he wants to apologise for. Ignoring her. Sending the texts to the wrong girl. Letting her mother die. All of it, every failing, every way he was supposed to be there and couldn't be.

Instead -- obscene, obscene -- he finds himself growing hard again inside her, thumbs circling over her thighs, lifting himself a little to meet the roll of her hips. He's not aware of the own tears in his eyes until he blinks them away. ]

Buffy. [ His voice cracks on her name. More skin, bared by the loss of her shirt. He wants to put his mouth all over her. ] I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Here. Here, let me --

[ With shaking hands, he reaches up behind her to undo her bra, pulling it away, tossing it aside. ]

[bronze]

( his tears make her heart ache. he’s so sickeningly loved by her, she can’t help but find his pain its own brand of beautiful too — the wrinkled corners of his eyes she’d watched get deeper and deeper over time, the emotions there twinkling in his bright eyes like diamonds, caught by the lowlight. she moves up, pressing a kiss to his eyelid, lapping up the salt. him being emotional makes it easier for her not to be, babying him, consoling. encouraging, hands at his cheeks, moving him to her bare chest and her pink nipples, swaying each hard bit of flesh against his mouth. eternally needy, not interested in letting any part of her go untouched by him. body slick and easy for his stiffening cock, relief outsources through her body. he’s not going anywhere, he doesn’t want to. he’s here, right here, and buffy was born with talons for hands — she’s not letting him go anywhere.

still, even here and like this, buffy can’t help but be greedy. want more from him, feel stiffed for not getting it. eventually, she pulls his head back, hips rolling in slick, lazy circles, her hand grabbing giles by the chin — thumb on one side, pinky and ring in the other, the leftover digits pressed into his mouth, soft pads pushed against his lower teeth. )

Say it. ( biting, almost aggressive. buffy’s body lifting and falling, pussy swallowing up his cock, too slow to be satisfying, too slick for friction. she moves his jaw a little, like she wants him to say: ) You’re my good little girl. You’re it.

[ripher]

[ Unable to stop himself, he closes his mouth on her fingertips, looking up into her eyes as he tastes her -- kisses her? Sucks on her fingers? It's more than one thing, and not just sexual, a reverse of the times he used to feed her when she was growing up, when she'd cry for anyone except him. Her fingers taste salty-sweet; he throbs inside her, aching and slippery. ]

Buffy -- [ He attempts it, reverent, almost pleading, like he wants to keep saying sorry. His hands move on her body, stroking up and down her sides, her warm bare skin. ]

You've -- you've always been my good girl. [ She doesn't look it right now; bare-breasted and flushed, she looks wanton and beautiful and like every teenage boy's dream of the slutty girl next door, definitely not good. Good is too small a word for what she is to him in that moment.

He makes a noise a little like a sob, a choked and hungry sound, half-pushing and half-lifting her to get more friction on his cock. Absurdly, he's reminded of bouncing her in his lap, and isn't sure whether he wants to laugh or cry. Let's play horsie! Instead, he lets out shaky breaths and tries to find the words she wants, letting them go in a strangled voice. ]

There's.. there's nobody else but you. Buffy. For god's sake, if we're doing this -- if we're -- don't stop moving.

[bronze]

( her body has a natural, unquenchable reaction to the words — tightening up, leaking out, breath sawed out of her on a gasp, like every raggedy edge inside her is a defense mechanism towards not being good enough. you've always been my good girl. she feels like, if only for a second, like the most loved person in the entire world, like every bad decision she's ever made hasn't really effected what her father thinks of her, like she is still his golden, blonde, perfect princess. that his cock is steel rod unyielding inside her is a slant fact, parallel to his love. or — the physical manifestation of it, she likes the thought of that. that she's getting off, rocking and rubbing her hips up against, squeezing and slickening up her father's adoration. it's happy.

buffy's grip on him lessens, hands soft instead of demanding, one arm snagging around his shoulders and the other on his cheek, keeping him pressed against her. )

Thank you, thank you. Okay. ( nodding against him, breath caught. it's hard to deny herself — but giles, her daddy, being needy is like a thousand cherries on top of the world's largest sundae. don't stop moving. she'd take any instruction from him, listen to any order, if it always sounded like that. ) Yes, Daddy.

( part of her feels the desire to lay belly up or face down, to feel giles' weight on top of her — but it's more important right now that he's trapped, that he has no choice in the matter, her captive. that's fine for buffy too, who is all shared parts athletic flexibility and olympian endurance, who can skate for hours through burning lungs and sore muscles, who doesn't even feel a strain as she starts bouncing on his lap, songbird moans pouring into his mouth. at least until she breaks that final barrier and kisses him, open mouthed and whining, like even a muffle can't stop buffy's own natural born neediness. eventually kissing turns into words, all pressed up against and poured into him, )

More, Daddy, please.

[ripher]

[ The kiss is sweet and shocking, but only because it's not shocking at all. It feels as natural and normal as any other kiss, clumsy and open-mouthed and wanting, tongues and teeth and the faint taste of her lip gloss. If he closed his eyes, she could be anyone -- but he finds that he doesn't want to close his eyes; he doesn't want it to be anyone. He wants it to be her, wants it to be Buffy, and he barely has room inside him for that revelation as she crowds desperately into him and slides herself up and down on his cock, grinding and bouncing in his lap.

He shudders with it, crying out softly, and leans in to kiss her again, one hand rising so he can push his fingers into her hair and hold her there while he kisses her, hard, full of guilt and grief, joy and love and desire. When he breaks away it's so he can put his forehead against hers for a moment. ]

Buffy. [ Broken, shivering -- he's close again, unbelievably enough. ] Buffy, I love you.

[bronze]

( there's no real mystery to the things that get buffy off — it's the same as when she was a little girl, afraid of a life without her father in it. now, it's the reassurance that gets her there, not just an i love you, but an i love you despite or an i love you because. she doesn't think he'd say it if he didn't mean it — and part of her knew, the way adored and spoiled children always know, that her father loves her most of all. hearing it, like this? despite the mistake being made, or because of it. despite that she looks like the spitting image of her dead mother at nineteen, or because she's a little, living part of her still to this day. in the end, she doesn't care about all the reasons giles might give to love her, and instead finds satisfaction just in the fact that he'd say it, pressed against her lips, dick diamond hard inside her.

bleeding affection is molten and thick inside her, some different kind of armor than giles offers. it feels like a fist in the center of her stomach, buried in her cunt — sharp and a little scary, rampant bouncing growing needier, more desperate the closer she gets. buffy gets louder, crying out, cunt slick, sensitive, hungry. )

I — Giles, I love y-you too. So, so much.

( it doesn't register to her that calling her dad by the last name they share is weirder than weird, though not exactly at fucking your dad levels of weird. it feels natural to say while her body fractures apart, throwing her face into the crook of his neck while she's convulses around him, legs shaking as the pressure of an orgasm courses through her in waves. she goes from moaning to whining, palming sweaty hands around his shoulders and neck, eventually lapping up the salty side of his throat to moan into his ear, voice babydoll feminine, sultry. )

I don't like it when you give it to other girls. ( her teeth sink into his lobe, nipping, humming in his ear. her pussy still slides up and down his dick like a pole, because buffy is a giver — because buffy doesn't think any of it is worth it, if giles doesn't give her a treat at the end. good kitty. ) You're mine, mine, mine. I want you to fill your baby girl up, and put your come right where it belongs, Daddy. Can you, please? For me?

[ripher]

[ They've never done this before, but Giles already feels as though he knows every inch of her -- why not, when she's part of him, surely the very best of his body and mind, the part he values the most walking out in the world? He's held her during moments of joy and sadness, dried her tears and brushed her hair, caught her to stop her falling, watched over her when she slept. He's argued with her and laughed with her and admired her from a distance as she described arcs and circles across the ice. The newness isn't new, not really; he knows those hands and tear-wet eyelashes. He sees Joyce in the curve of her bare shoulder and the way she catches her breath in a hiccup of pleasure. But most of all it's just Buffy. Undeniable, demanding, brave, tireless.

It's only the second time he's seen and felt her come, but this time it's better, deeper and stronger. He puts his arms around her and kisses her temple, her ear, the damp strands of her hair, groaning as her body clamps tight around his cock, muscles pulsing against him.

Mine, she breathes in his ear, low, debauched. Put your come right where it belongs, and she's right, how could it belong anywhere else? If anyone's earned it -- if anyone needs it -- it's Buffy, his darling girl. He wants, desperately, to make things right, to give her anything she wants as long as it means she'll be okay, that she'll be his girl a little while longer, and not lost in the world of darkness and sickness and monsters -- ]

Buffy. [ He moans, and it's all the warning she gets as he slides his hands under her thighs, lifting her up and turning in the same movement so he can roll them both over, almost throwing her down onto her back on the bed, cock still sliding wet and slick between her legs so he hardly misses a stroke.

Gathering a knee under himself, forearm braced beside her head and the other hand stroking her face, he fucks into her in long deep thrusts. Close, so close, but wanting to hold on to every moment, to memorise every part of how this feels. He drags a clumsy hand over her forehead, brushing back her hair, looking down into her eyes, so like her mother's. Each movement of his body against hers sounds wet and obscene; it only makes him want her more. ]

Buffy, ah -- tell me you want this.

[bronze]

( she's still more of an orgasm than a girl, barely registering being rolled over, body still hot, tight, clenching around him, thighs shaking at his sides. she might black out for a second, just under the pressure of how good it feels, long swaths of sweaty skin lined up together, giles in and around every inch of her. heaven. pouty mouth stuck open and gasping, her breath hiccups on every perfect slide forward, hips instinctively dancing back on his cock, mourning his loss on every thrust out. there isn't a corner of buffy that can't be described as needy, starving, wanton — every part of her is inching closer to him, pink fingernails on his shoulders, demanding he stay close, that he never leave.

there's already a nod in her motions before he gets the words out, a natural yes, daddy, whatever you want, present for anything he could want from her. she'd give it, no matter what. heavily, her eyes blink back open, stars in her vision, staring giles in the eye while he fucks her, watching him do it. her hands flatten on his cheeks, chin tilting up to kiss him, nodding against him. )

Want it. ( it comes out whiny, pleading. how could he think otherwise? she kisses at his mouth, around his face — peppered, brief kisses on his nose and his eyelids, like she can't stop herself. chanting, ) Please, please, please, pleaseplease. Daddy — ( eventually she just can't get close enough, arms tangling around his neck, crushing him to her, trying to get all his weight on top of her. ) Need you, please.

[ripher]

[ They're making a mess of the bed, sheets and blankets rucked up, a spreading damp patch underneath their bodies. The frame creaks and rattles with each thrust, but Giles doesn't hear it, his world made up of the fuck-drunk look on Buffy's face, dishevelled and tasting of sweat and desire. He breathes open-mouthed into their kiss, chasing her back when she pulls away, groaning underneath her words, her devotion.

How could he ever have doubted her? That she was his, that she would always be his. Somewhere in the back of his mind he berates himself for leaving her, for every time he left her, for every tear she shed, for every moment he wasn't there, the foundation of this need. The rest of him is occupied with fucking her as thoroughly as he can, not caring if this is a mistake, making it worth it. ]

Buffy, Buffy -- [ He drags himself away from her kisses, mouthing her name against her cheek, her sweat-damp temple, into her hair. His orgasm builds and builds, tight and hot inside him, until his movements become automatic, hips stuttering and shuddering, grinding into her half-forgetting where and who he is.

He comes like that, gritting out a curse between his teeth as he spills into her for the second time, throbbing and shaking on the raw edge of it. As it crests and breaks, he catches himself on his arms above her, muscles trembling, panting, nose pushed up against her cheek. His pulse beats hard in his chest and his dick. ]

Buffy.. [ He whispers her name. Reality grips him like a hand on his shoulder. He wants to shake it off. He should leave. He doesn't want to move. ]