#‘fuck you!!!’ (becomes a bowling ball)

[intriga-hounds]

mars didn’t cry on the cold towel today but she did fuck my shit up

[merakidoll]

ෆ 𐙚 onynnie back in full effect!

warnings | chubby black reader. bi! onynnie ( no bxb -_- ) all consensual sex, bondage, watching, ony tells reader that she has to say her safeword .. thats all!

“y-yall gone play like this?” the room was in it’s usual high sexual tension state. but instead of it being you bonded for the free use of the two men. it was now onyankopon’s turn - and he wasn’t happy about it.

you tried ignoring him, bobbing your head on his long length, spit bubbles on the sides of your lips and dried cum all over your face. your tummy bubbled in anticipation for another load, to taste the savory ropes that ony always gave you. your brain was so gone from the room, just enjoying the fullness of your mouth at a good pace, all until ony bucked up in your mouth making you choke. “you hear me ma?” you moved up from his dick taking deep breaths and looking at his low eyes with your watery ones. he was mad, you knew it, he knew it, and connie - the man who’s whole idea it was, and who was watching everything happen from the kitchen with a small bowl of popcorn waiting for the chocolate man to pop- knew it.

“untie me baby. then daddy won’t be too rough” ony held no question in his words, his dick jumping when you looked down at the bed and bit your lip shaking your head. “no?” he said aloud. his voice made you flench, but you were far from scared, in fact it excited you. onyankopon let out a deep chuckle making both you and connie shiver, before anyone knew it the pink cuffs were broken. ony’s wrist stinging as you let out a loud gasp, falling back onto the bed, while the man above you teased his fat tip between your pussy lips.

“you like games yea baby?” ony wasn’t worried about connie at the moment, right now it was all about turning you back into his good girl. you both held deep eye contact, your big eyes scanning over his facial features while your tummy bubbled in anticipation. onyankopon pumped into you hard; his full length stuffing your cunt that you chocked on your spit at the fullness. “b-break daddy!” you cried, voice low and chocked. ony, shook his head, using the pads of his thumb to wipe your cheeks from the salty tears that painted it.

“bad girls don’t get breaks” throwing his head back, he stilled in your pussy when you clenched down hard onto him. his mind went blank for a second, cock waiting to let out its seamen but he was holding himself back- at least until he knew you learned. “y-you want me to stop? say your safe word baby” his balls slapped against your ass, pace speeding up quickly, so fast that your had to bite down onto his shoulder to hold back your screams. in the kitchen connie’s popcorn was long gone, his hands clean and his eyes glued to the ipad while he fisted his cock. he was on the brink of a second orgasm, your cries and mean ony always making his cum so quickly.

he licked his lips when onyankopon whispered in your ears, his eyes focusing on how your own rolled back screaming how you’d be good. a splash coming from between you and ony, while his second lover stilled in your cunt, pearly white teeth gritting together as he came, a small ‘good fuckin girl’ passing his lips. “mm fuck” connie whispered to himself, his hand becoming slimy with his on release. his breath began to slow, connie not paying attention to what you two were doing on the screen. his eyes closed in a high bliss. all until a large hand wrapped around his throat. he slowly opened his eyes, teeth immediately tugging at his lower tip as the man above was fuming.

“you’re next” was all onyankopon said, and those words told so much.

[guiltyasdave]

home

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

word count: ~1.1k

summary: A slice of life about Joel living in Jackson and living happily ever after. It's real in my head okay.

tags/warnings: post outbreak, jackson!joel, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, baking, very fluffy fluff, joel's pov

a/n: he's fine, i'm fine, we're all fine! nothing bad happened! episode 2? i don't know her :)

thank you @sizzlingcloudmentality for putting this idea into my head and writing fluff with me <3 shoutout to the raspberry rolls that i made for our easter brunch two days ago that very much did not rise and inspired this story lol

dividers by @saradika-graphics who is amazing <3

full masterlist here / follow @guiltyasdavenotifs and turn on notifications for fic updates!

When Joel gets home from patrol, he spots you through the kitchen window that faces the front yard. He waves at you and watches you look up at the movement. Your face lights up, and he can’t help but smile to himself as he kicks his boots off before stepping over the threshold. 

“Hey, babe!” you call out. Your back is turned to him when he steps closer, both your hands hidden in a large mixing bowl. 

Leaning against the doorframe, he clears his throat and lifts the small bouquet of wildflowers that he knew would make you happy. The smile that spreads across your face is worth Tommy’s sniggering remarks about how soft he’s become, how tame. It’s worth the pinching muscles in his back from crouching down to pick them. 

“For me?” Your voice is sweeter than the warm summer’s day outside, sweeter than the scent of the flowers in his grasp. One of your cheeks is streaked with a pink-ish cream, and dough covers your hands up to your wrists. 

“Of course,” he murmurs, closing in and pressing his lips to your cheek, kissing the cream off your skin. “Hi, darling.” 

You giggle, watching as he fills a glass with water and places the flowers on the windowsill, purposefully leaning into you and trapping you between the kitchen counter and his chest. 

“Patrol go okay?” 

Humming a yes, he practically watches as the tension eases from your shoulders. He doesn’t like that you worry about him. 

“What are you making?” he asks, licking the traces of sugar and raspberry off his lips. “Tastes good.”

“Raspberry rolls.” Your brow furrows a little, your bottom lip jutting out when you glance into the bowl. It’s adorable. “At least that’s the plan. I’m not sure if the yeast is working.” 

“Looks alright to me,” he shrugs and you huff, swatting at him and leaving a floury handprint on his t-shirt. 

“That’s because you know nothing about baking. Go wash up, old man,” you grin, pecking his lips before you turn back towards the dough.

Grumbling under his breath just to make you giggle again, he makes for the stairs, before you call back to him. “Hey, Joel?”

“Yeah?” 

“Thank you for the flowers.” 

“You’re welcome, darling.” 

Tommy’s right. So fucking soft. Can’t say that it bothers him. 

As the water from the showerhead rains down on him, he wonders how he ended up here.Twenty-five years into an apocalypse, and somehow he managed to come home bringing flowers to a woman who’s baking in his kitchen. 

It’s so domestic, so normal. He’s never been much of a baker, or a cook for that matter, but whenever you can get your hands on enough supplies, the scent of baked goods floats through the house. The house that, by some miracle, you chose to live in with him. Something he never knew he wanted, until now. 

The stairs creak on his way back downstairs. His hair is dripping into his collar, the strands longer than they’ve been in years, but you refuse to cut them. Pouting about how handsome he looks like this whenever he brings it up. He doesn’t know about that, but he can’t deny how nice it is when you run your hands through the locks, gently tugging his face closer.  

He has gotten so soft, so so soft. Can’t say that he doesn’t like it, actually.

In the kitchen, he finds you mumbling to yourself, staring down a ball of dough like it offended you personally. Your hair has become dotted with flour while he was gone. 

“It’s not cooperating?” he asks, trying hard not to chuckle at the exasperated sigh you let out. 

“No,” comes your disgruntled answer. “It’s not rising, look at it!” 

He wraps his arms around you, stopping your pacing. Afternoon sunlight is spilling through the window, illuminating your face, reflecting off the specks of color in your eyes.

Joel can’t help it, he has to kiss you, really kiss you. His lips find yours, soft under his touch. His tongue gently coaxes them to part, eliciting a soft sigh from you when it slips into your mouth. Your taste is sweet, drawing him in, too tempting to ever resist. Melting into his touch, wanting him just as much. He could stay, just like this, forever. 

Still, he eventually pulls away, grinning when your lips follow his, unwilling to stop. He presses another kiss to the corner of your mouth, then caresses your cheek. 

“It’s gonna be delicious, I promise.” Another kiss, on the other side this time. Full of glee when it makes you smile. “Everything you make is.” 

“I suppose…” you say softly, shy at the praise. “Help me?”

You never need his help, never actually let him do anything, but you like having him there with you. Dutifully, he takes his place behind you at the counter, his chin resting on your shoulder, watching you work. When you knead the dough and roll it out, his fingers come to rest over yours. He can’t imagine that it makes the whole thing easier at all, but it makes you laugh, your body vibrating against his, and what more could he want, really? 

“Want another taste?” you ask when you spread the raspberry cream. An affirmative is hummed against your neck and he smiles at the goosebumps forming there in reaction. You dip a finger into the pink sweetness and lift it to his lips. Closing them around the digit and swirling his tongue to get every drop, he gets rewarded with another giggle. 

“Very good,” he whispers into your ear, watching more goosebumps spread over your skin. 

Despite your frustrated huffs, he watches you cut perfect pieces and place them in the baking pan. While he’s doing the dishes, you’re crouched on the floor and squinting into the oven, chewing on your lip. The scent of sugar, dough and fruits, warm and freshly baked, starts wafting through the kitchen. This is what home feels like now, Joel thinks. 

“Look! I think it’s rising,” you exclaim, your voice eager with excitement. 

He leans down beside you, trying to see what you see. He doesn’t, but he kisses the crown of your head anyway, mumbling told you into your hair. 

Later, when the slowly setting sun paints the sky in hues of pink and orange, you’re both out on the porch, sinking your teeth into the pastries. You’ve tucked yourself into his side, your warmth seeping into his skin where his arm is wrapped around you. 

“‘S perfect,” he manages through a mouthful of sweetness, loving how your face lights up. 

Yes, he has become soft. But that’s okay, because he’s at home here. With you.

thank you so much for reading!! <3 i feel kinda silly and needy writing this, but i feel like the interaction with fanfics has gotten worse again, so please: if you enjoyed this, it would absolutely make my day if you told me. it really means so much and keeps fanfic writers going. i dreamed this up for myself, but putting it into (i hope) somewhat decent writing because i thought others might enjoy it too takes a lot of time and effort and it's really fucking nice to get some acknowledgment for that.

[mintseung]

I don't like waiting baby

PAIRING ୨୧ Boyfriend!lee heeseung x fem!reader GENRE ୨୧ pure Smut — MDNI WARNINGS ୨୧ swearing | pussy sucking | p in v | rough sex | unprotected sex | Pet names (slut / baby) | slight choking? | Nipple sucking ( tell me if I missed one )

💌: Don't mind my typos and grammar (I suck at grammars lol)

You heard the door opened, "Hey, baby," your boyfriend said as he opened the front door, removed his shoes, placed them on the shelf, and throw his bag on the couch. "I'm home," he smiled, walking towards you in the kitchen.

He hugged your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder, inhaling the aroma of the food you were cooking. "Mhm, I love the way you cook my ramen," he said with a contented sigh. "It's so much better than instant ramen."

"Tired from the work, baby?" you asked, turning off the stove and facing him as you wraped your arms around his neck.

He buries his face in your neck and mumbles. "Hungry already, love?" you ask as you pat his head. He slowly kisses your neck.

He looks up at you, then at your lips, and presses his lips to yours, making the kiss hard and passionate.

He lifted you up onto the counter and started to remove your shorts with your lips still attached with his, when you stopped him. "Not right now, baby," you said.

"Why?" he asked, pouting.

"I'm on my period right now, baby," you said as you kissed his cheeks. "But I've been craving for you all day!" He whines as he start to squish your tits hard making you moan softly. "Love, we just had sex this morning" you cross your arms while glaring at him.

"but I want right now" he looks at you with his Bambi eyes. "I have my monthly period baby, we can't have sex"

"I'll make your period gone for 9 months then," he said smirking, leaning in to kiss you while squishing your tits, but you stopped him.

"Wait for a week baby be patient, okay?" you said as you gracefully stepped down from the counter to fetch bowls for both you and Heeseung leaving him pouting while he looks at you walking away.

A week later you found yourself in bed with your legs on heeseung's shoulders as he pound himself inside your warm walls.

"Fuck baby, I missed your pussy so much" his balls hitting your skin every pound, while he lowers himself to suck your harden nipples.

"Keep your legs up" heeseung grunts as he watches your boobs bouncing up and down.

"Slo-slow down heeseung!" You said as you tried to touch his stomach signing him to stop.

Heeseung smacks your ass again, watching it turn red and becoming more aroused. He thought his cock was about to burst at any moment. "Such a little slut" he says. Heeseung leans over you and puts his hand back on your neck. His lips are practically on yours, He chokes you as his thrusts are never ending.

You let out a loud moan, Heeseung went down to your ear and whispered. "yeah? you like how i fuck you, baby? like how my cock stretches you out?" he smirks as he hold your throat.

Heeseung touches your lower abdomen feeling his bulge moving in and out inside you.

He smirks and throws his head behind as he poke his tongue to his cheeks.

His thrust getting harder, harsher, faster, you gasps and roll your eyes up into your skull feeling your orgasms closer and closer. "Mhm so tight, missed my dick so much hm? " He bites his bottom lip.

"sh-shit fuck wait-wait- it ah-eung" you squeak feeling his hot warm cum filling inside your hole, dripping to the bed sheet. "Such a good slut hm?" his hand starts to rub your swollen clit. He starts thrusting slow, pushing his cum inside you more, as he pull out and went to your pussy and start sucking your sensitive bud. After that he lay down beside you.

"Can't wait to see you pregnant with my child~" he teases as you playfully hit his shoulder.

Oh yeah did I mention this was your 27th round with him? 😉

[jo-harrington]

Antiquing v. Thrifting (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Summary: You have a little booth at the local antique market and the owner of the neighboring booth tends to get on your nerves.

Word Count: 2.5k

Pairing: Older!Eddie Munson/Reader

Warnings/Themes: Slight enemies to lovers, meet cute, misunderstandings, fluff, banter

Note: This is a late birthday gift to one of my fandom loves who has become an amazing friend IRL too. @bettyfrommars. Betty thank you for being one of my weirdo soulmates, loving old gameshows, wishing we could live in a mid century modern house with all of the original fun appliances. You are one of my favorite people and since I can't send you my bowling ball (one day) I've written this for you. Love you.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

--

There was not much to drive you to want to murder someone. In fact, you would say that you were probably one of the most easygoing people you knew. And you knew plenty of people.

But the person at the receiving end of your ire, and the target of your bloodlust, was one of the most inconsiderate assholes you knew.

Actually, you didn’t even know who it was.

You’d been one of the vendors at The Little Traveler's Antique Market for years. You had a booth along the back wall, acquired when you realized your love of vintage Pyrex was getting a little too overzealous for your shoebox-cum-condo. Besides, the thrill of the hunt was the real thing that you enjoyed: estate sales and rummage sales and thrift stores were filled with treasures just waiting for you to find.

So a few shelves of Gooseberry and Butterprint went up, and eventually it turned into a haven for all sorts of vintage pieces. It was a shrine to your whims, rather than any real desire to find monetary value. Of course, people seemed to flock to it, so the cash you made from it was nice..but that was neither here nor there.

It was something you were good at, and something you loved. You'd met some very interesting people--and some of your closest friends--because of it. Heard the best stories.

Unfortunately, you'd also met some of the most insufferable people because of it too. Or rather, in this case, one insufferable person you pointedly had not met.

It had started when a bunch of Royal Doulton character mugs showed up in your space. And they weren't terrible, but they just weren't yours. Your hand-picked selection of Hazel Atlas glasses had been carelessly shoved to the side on a vintage mahogany sideboard you'd painstakingly hauled in, and in their place were Paddy and Toby and George Fucking Washington, all staring goofily up at you.

Ok, so maybe the Anne Boleyn one wasn't bad.

It was the principle of it. There were unspoken rules in an Antique Market. You just didn't encroach on someone else's space.

You painted the kindest smile you could manage--which, in all honesty, probably looked more like you were baring your teeth--and headed up to the front to confront the manager of the market.

"Margie," you began with a saccharine tone. You set the Anne Boelyn mug down on the counter. "May I kindly ask who Seller 86 is?"

"Oh, that's our new guy," she laughed, oblivious. "Ed. Great guy. He's got some fun stuff."

"Yeah, real fun."

"We did a little shuffle over the weekend," she continued, diving into one of her rambling midwest-isms. "Jim wanted to downsize, which opened a bigger space for Michelle to move into. One thing led to another, and I put Ed in Chelle's old space, next to yours. Hope you don't mind."

What could you say except a cordial of course not? Even as you were left to grumble and mope back to your booth to move all of the Royal Doulton back to Ed's new space. You set them out on a folding table he had in the corner, very nice and neat, which was your standard.

You might have also left a little, tiny, friendly, scathing note.

No big deal.

And you wouldn't lie, you snooped a little.

Come on, everyone else would, too. It was just...shopping. Not snooping.

You couldn't judge the wild array of things he had for sale; much like you, it seemed that everything in Ed's booth was suited to his tastes, because there was just a vibe of "who in their right mind would put some of this shit together." Little taxidermy animals playing poker, postcards from the most random places, vintage beer and coffee cans that, though empty, looked as new as the day they were bought. Garfield and Snoopy memorabilia. And mugs...so many mugs, as far as the eye could see.

It was charming, you could admit that, as long as it all stayed on his side of the vaguely-defined boundary between your booths.

Unfortunately, it did not.

It was never anything major but it was enough to annoy you. Books left out on a table, vinyl records in a crate in a corner, gaudy biker costume jewelry thrown in one of your mixing bowls. Each time you went to restock your booth, you'd have to find whatever treasures he left behind and return them, along with another note.

It was like finding the secret little corner where your cat pissed because they were mad at you. Admittedly, this might've been worse because you were proud. So very proud of your booth. It was a snapshot of you, after all. But that was sullied by little pieces of Ed, a guy you didn't even know, who seemed to enjoy pissing strangers off.

Every week, he metaphorically photobombed your snapshot at the last second and your perfect polaroid had bunny ears.

Or a crude gesture.

Or sometimes even his whole, bare ass.

And you were simply not vindictive enough to do anything about it.

It just wasn't worth the trouble to actually return the favor to him, or better yet, get him kicked from the market altogether. What if his little booth was his livelihood? What if this was how he made ends meet? Your pride wasn't worth ruining something for someone else.

Yes. You were a pushover.

You, surprisingly, got a reprieve for a few weeks.

Each time you'd gone to restock your booth with fun new treasures, there were no hidden trinkets waiting for you. Actually, Ed's booth didn't even look like it had been restocked or touched at all. There were holes in his displays where his wares had been purchased but not replenished. Was he on vacation? Maybe he was under the weather.

You took it upon yourself to spend a few minutes shuffling his mugs like a good neighbor would.

It was a disappointment relief.

Why wouldn't it be a relief? It wasn't like you'd started looking forward to what and where you'd find Ed's little surprises. It wasn't the thrill you'd get when the adrenaline spiked with your anger.

No, not at all.

"What's got you so pouty?" Margie asked as you trudged through the doors about three weeks after Ed's initial disappearance. "Did Dunkin get your coffee wrong again? That's how I know my morning is gonna be shitty."

"Must've woken up on the wrong side of the bed," you gave a weak excuse and headed towards your booth.

You were juggling an armful of tote bags and your coat, so you didn't notice the stranger standing in your space as you approached, until they turned around and spotted you.

"Oh, hey, lemme help you with that," came the rasp of a friendly voice as you rounded the corner. You looked up, surprised, as a set of hands hoisted the heaviest of your tote bags from your grasp.

He was like a relic, frozen in time. In a good way, though, like a well-kept polaroid from the 80s. Faded band tee, bootcut blue jeans, leather jacket that looked butter-soft from eons of wear. His hair was on the longer side and tied back; salt-and-pepper streaks proudly confirmed his personal antique status, along with the crows feet surrounding his deep, warm brown eyes.

He was a gentleman...and he was cute.

You felt like an idiot as your eyes slid down to his left hand on instinct. But there was no ring, so that self-loathing feeling disappeared. Well, no wedding ring, actually. He had a gunmetal band on his pointer finger, and a silver signet ring on his pinky.

Time returned to its appropriate speed as he hauled the tote onto your folding table just a few feet away.

"Jesus, what've you got in here? Bricks?" he laughed. "Are you trying to put Home Depot out of business?"

"Uh..." You floundered for words. "P-pewter tea pots. One of my regulars is getting married. Asked me to keep an eye out for them for her centerpieces."

"Never seen that at a wedding before."

"How many weddings have you been to?" You questioned.

"Well, my buddy Gareth alone has gotten married 3 times." He folded his arms across his chest and leaned his hip against your sideboard. "So I think I've got a pretty good chance that I've seen it all.

"Is there anything I can help you find today?" you asked, laying your best customer service voice on thickly. You busied yourself with unpacking your bags so you wouldn't have to look at the charming, crooked smile that settled on his mouth. "Was there anything that caught your eye before my hopeless self stumbled over here?"

"Ah," he pushed off the sideboard and tilted his head up so he could scratch along the length of his neck. "I, uh, was looking at your cookie jars, actually."

"Oh yeah?" You looked up at that and glanced over to the hutch in the corner that held an array of Pillsbury doughboys in various, charming poses. "Can I tell you a secret? I used to hate watching commercials with Poppin' Fresh. That claymation was frightening. I think he's pretty cute now, though."

You abandoned your unpacking and approached the hutch to try and figure which cookie jar he'd been intrigued by. You picked up a jar that had its lid askew and were about to ask if he wanted you to bring it up to the counter for him, when you lifted the lid and looked inside.

And found a rubber-banded stack of Metallica cassettes carefully nestled inside.

You felt your face get hot as you stared at the track listing and colorful cover art of Ride the Lightning. Coincidentally the same album that was on this newcomer's t-shirt.

"So," you huffed and slammed the lid on the cookie jar, careless of any damage it might cause. "You're Ed, huh?"

He chuckled behind you, "Eddie, actually. I prefer to go by Eddie. But yeah, that's me." You pivoted on your heel and glared at him; he faltered under your burning gaze. "Nice to, uh, meet you. Neighbor."

And with that, you let him have it.

You might've blacked out at some point during the absolute barrage of a verbal dressing down you gave him. How dare he not respect the etiquette of the market and stay within the confines of his allotted space, how dare he waste your time week after week as simply minded your own business and sold your trinkets, and how dare he ignore every single note that you left behind.

The fucker had the audacity to look amused with every word that fell from your lips.

In the end, you stood there, huffing and puffing as you caught your breath and felt several months of anger finally extinguish.

"You done there, killer?" Eddie asked with a smirk. "You feel better?"

"Yeah," you shouted one last time, then lowered your voice. "Yes I do."

"Alright, good." He nodded. "Gotta get it out sometimes, otherwise you might get an ulcer. Or develop alcoholism."

"Might be close to both, to be honest," you muttered.

"Shit, then I'm extra, extra sorry that I put you through all of that, sweetheart." He laid a hand over his heart. "This is my first rodeo selling in a place like this, I didn't realize that everyone was so...territorial."

"Yeah, well. Most of the time I'm not." Lies. You were a liar. "I think the thing that pissed me off more is that I kept leaving notes for you and you kept ignoring them and messing with my shit."

Eddie looked bashful all of a sudden. "Oh shit. See I thought you were just flirting with me."

Talk about a record-scratch moment; what...what had he just said?

"Flirting?" you asked.

"I mean, yeah, not to sound cocky either because I was definitely flirting right back at you. What do they call it in the movies? A...meet cute moment? I thought it was fun. You leave me a sarcastic, threatening note, and I leave you a little treasure hunt to solve. Like a...fucked up version of You've Got Mail."

"That's nothing like You've Got Mail," you pointed out.

There was a beat.

"I think this is a really good time to mention that I fell asleep halfway through You've Got Mail," he explained with a laugh. "Regardless, I read things wrong. That's on me. But I'm sorry. I'll never do it again."

He held his hand out to you and his brows shifted upwards and behind his dated bangs.

You worried at your bottom lip for a moment and tried to claw at the vestiges of your anger for a second, but this guy...he looked like such a kicked puppy...and you suppose that it was a cute way to flirt with someone you'd never met.

God, you really needed to work on that pushover thing.

"It's alright," you told him as you slid your hand into his and accepted his apology. "As long as you don't do it again."

"Cross my heart," he nodded enthusiastically.

You introduced yourself, formally, and offered your help in the future if he needed it. He introduced himself and told you that he would appreciate any pointers that you had to give.

"I'm pretty new to this whole...thrift thing," he shrugged. "I've had a bunch of this stuff in storage for a while. I used to move around a lot, you accumulate a lot of junk. And then my uncle...some of this stuff is his. Was his. He passed away last year. Finally decided I couldn't keep hoarding it all anymore. Turns out, I had a lot more shit than I thought I did."

"Story of my life," you laughed and offered your condolences. "It's hard, deciding what to keep and what to get rid of."

"Tell me about it."

"But, I do have one main lesson for you," you offered.

"Oh yeah?" he smirked. "Already? Just when I thought I couldn't fuck it up any more."

"It's an Antique Market," you told him. "Not a Thrift Store."

"There's a difference?" Eddie asked sarcastically, although a blush bloomed on his cheeks. "Guess the learning curve is much steeper than I thought."

"It's alright. You'll get it sooner or later." You smiled at him, trying to be as friendly and supportive as you could.

He stared at you for maybe a few seconds too long, then shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked forwards on his heels.

"Maybe you could explain it to me, in-depth?" he questioned. "Antiquing, thrifting, whatever."

"Of course," you agreed, but he cut you off before you could say anything else.

"Over lunch?" He asked with a nervous smile. "There's a great diner up the road. And I figure I owe you one for all the anguish I put you through anyway."

You stared at him in shock for a second, wondering how to respond. First there was the comment about the flirting...and now this. What if he was a creep? But he didn't seem like as much of a jackass as you thought he was...and he was cute.

Oh, what the hell.

"You know what? Why not? I'm a girl who loves a free patty melt," you winked at him bravely. "It's a date!"

[blueberrybloom2]

♥︎ 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 ♥︎

[MonsterxMaleReader]

Smut Warning

AN: I had a thought and idk what happened

Your boyfriend, sweet and slightly dim, has recently been acting strangely while having sex.

His muscular frame towered over you with a dazed expression.

"It’s not enough to have you...I need you to bear my offspring. Then no one can take you from me," he rumbled stupid with lust.

It's like the moment he's balls deep inside you he becomes more dumb. Always saying something along the lines of pregnanting you as if it was possible to rut you into a medical miracle. If you could get pregnant, you would already be knocked up with how much he pours into you everyday.

"Keep dreaming -Ah"you managed to gasp out, as he began to move, pounding into you with inhuman strength and speed. The bed creaked and groaned under the force of his thrusts, the headboard slamming against the wall. You could only hold on sheets as he fucked you silly.

"You’re not going anywhere. Not until I know you're carrying my offspring," was all you heard as your mind when blank from the intense pleasure.

As you woke, still half-asleep, your hand stretched across the bed, trying to find him. But when you opened your eyes, the bed was empty.

You sat up, blinking against the morning light, your gaze falling on the mess between your thighs and the tangled sheets remnants of last night’s chaos. The memories hit you all at once: his massive cock stretching you wide, his drunken, lust-druken grunts mixing with your own moans as he fucked you nonstop.

Apart from feeling sore and aching, you felt annoyed. He had left without saying a word, leaving you all messed up and alone without any aftercare. It was honestly shocking because he never done something like that.

“Bastard,” you muttered, your voice hoarse.

The room still reeked of sex, sweat, and musk but something else caught your attention. You sniffed the air and turned your head, confused.

Smoke.

You got up, limping your way toward the kitchen, still mumbling, “Bastard,” under your breath, blaming him for everything especially how much it hurt to move.

When you reach the kitchen, you found him wearing an apron and frantically waving smoke away with a rag. Aside from that it looked like a a natural disaster passed by. Every pan and bowl you owned had been used and discarded across the counter as the sink was full. Flour dusted nearly every surface, and wooden spoons and spatulas were scattered everywhere. On the table sat several plates with something that looked like coals.

When he saw you, he leaned over and smiled brightly.

“Good morning, love!” he said sweetly.

“Morning,” you replied, sinking into a chair in disbelief, completely at a loss for words.

Soon, he placed a plate in front of you with decent-looking pancakes, drizzled with honey and topped with blueberries.

“I was going to bring them to you in bed,” he said, beaming.

He's still sweet, right? Just not bright...𖹭

Author Note: Help, I made my own dividers! tell me why the bow one looks lopsided kekeehehe

[errriiie]

Right now you're mine

shauna shipman x fem!reader minors DNI, all characters are 18 y.o

TW: smut, shauna shipman, jealousy, co-dependent relationships (?), dubcon extra tags: fem!reader, y/n mentions, porn with so-little-plot, jealous sex, degrading, possessiveness, fingering (r! receiving), dark themes, knife play word count: 3k not proofread english is not writer's first language!

Shadows dancing on the sheets If you obey I might give you a treat. There's something weird about you with Shauna. She's kind to you, then mean, but you never talk about it. She gives you mixed signals every damn day, and you're not quite sure what to make of it. You've been hanging out with Lottie lately because you thought it was okay. Shauna didn't like it. She made that clear. And she just wanted to wipe your nose and wipe the smug smirk off your face the way she knew how to do it best. (Also, you're a little like Mari here)

Your team won the treasure hunt. You were good at running - it was something natural, something that couldn't be taken away. You and the other girls were jumping up and down in a big happy ball, hooting happily, knowing that all day long you would finally be able to rest for at least a day from all this work for the good of your little camp. You tried not to bother anyone, although when Mari or Gen teased one of the losers once again, you did not try to hold back your smile. You finally felt some semblance of dominance, having fun with your friends and also letting off some arrogant comments. You knew that Shauna lost to you, being on the opposite team. Really, you did. But you tried to ignore her unreadable glances, from which her frown and disfavor towards you were given away only by her eyebrows, drawn together to the point of transference, when she snorted and whispered something in the ear of Melissa, who had so inopportunely formed around her.

It pricked your heart, but you couldn’t quite say why. There had never been anything formal or complete between you and Shauna one way or another. There had been some strange looks, awkward touches, but nothing serious, especially since the end of this winter, when the cabin had burned down. Shauna scared the shit out of you, but you couldn't bring it up. There was just something unnerving about her all-encompassing hatred and the way she separated herself from everyone. From you included. Well, it wasn't like you were friends or anything more. You dressed in the rags that Lottie, with whom you had grown a little closer in the last couple of weeks, called "sacred and appropriate" and proudly sat at a chair with the others. You were having a feast, followed by a ritual for those who had died in the winter. You shared grins with your team, cheerfully tapping your fingers on the table, unaware that Shauna was the one bringing you your food. You felt her presence twenty centimeters from your body as she came close. Everyone was busy with each other. In her hands was a deep bowl with something obviously tasty, and even if not, in your circumstances, you had no choice. You looked into her eyes - she looked into yours and, spat, sent a wad of saliva straight into your stew.

"Bon appetit." She placed it in front of you. You did not understand what had just happened. Your eyes widened while Shauna did not even think to move from her place. Then the realization of the disgusting gesture came. The desire to fight for justice followed.

"What the fuck, Shauna? Why did you just spit in my food?" you didn't expect your voice, fueled by the feeling of offense, to become loud enough for others to hear.

"Me? No. I'm not." The look she gave you sent shivers down your spine. She sounded like it was the most natural response, and it almost made you feel like you were the crazy one here.

"Fuck, Shauna, did you spit in her food? Seriously?" Natalie's tired and genuinely confused voice came from your side as she stood up. For some reason, you stood up too.

"No, and the mere suggestion offends me." she replied. Oh, you just got angrier. Apparently no one believed her. But Shauna didn't look like she needed it at all. "You should eat, y/n. I worked hard on this food."

You weren't going to swallow that. Not with so many curious eyes on you and Shauna. You grabbed the cup and pointedly, with one swift movement of your hand, dumped the entire contents on the ground. Shauna was furious because she clearly expected there to be no fight. She thought she knew you well. She thought you would bend to her will. The lack of the desired reaction was like the safety catch being released. Shauna leaned forward, grabbed your hair, tangling her strong fingers in the tangled mass and literally bent you over, smashing your cheek into what was left of the spilled stew. Not the smartest way to dispose of food. "I told you to eat, bitch!" she screams, letting you whine in humiliation and the efforts you make in vain to get out before the girls pull you apart. "Okay, I've had enough!" Natalie is pissed, and she's the queen, she's the leader of your little group, and you look completely confused as you try to wipe the dirt and stew off your face. "Both of you. House arrest. And no arguments. Don't ruin our evening with your bullshit." But you're hurt. You're literally the victim, you've done nothing to Shauna fucking Shipman, and you've definitely never wished her any harm, so why the fuck did she humiliate you in front of everyone and make you look so pathetic? You wrenched yourself free of the girl who was holding you and screamed furiously. "Fuck you all, this is bullshit!" you turned on your heels, trying to pick up the remains of your battered, pathetic pride and walked in the direction your tear-stained eyes were looking. Your back was literally catching sympathetic glances, especially Lottie's, and this only made you look smaller in this whole situation.

You clung to a tree, staring at the green crown of the spruce above your head. Damn Nat, who decided to punish you too. Damn everyone who decided not to intervene in time. Damn Shauna, who... the crunch of branches made you shudder and look around. You turned around, seeing a familiar figure in ordinary clothes. Dirty flannel, jeans stained with what looked like old blood, a knife... a knife? You look scared now. You stares at Shauna, takes a warning step back. "Whatever you're going to do to me, don't you fucking dare. Everyone will know." Your voice is menacing, and your eyes are watching the knife a dozen times more than they are watching Shauna's expression and intentions. "What the fuck have I ever done to you, Shipman? I didn't harm you in any way!" you try to defend yourself. Shauna's knife hand twitches at the word harm, moonlight catching the blade's serrated edge as she takes three slow steps forward. Her flannel clings to sweat-damp shoulders, that same earthy musk from pinning your face into the dirt still clinging to her knuckles.

"Done to me?" A bark of laughter scrapes her throat raw. She taps the knife's flat side against the pale line bisecting her left eyebrow—the scar from when you "accidentally" elbowed her during that stupid lake ice fight last winter. "You breathe. That's what you do."

The blade drifts lower, cold steel brushing the hollow of your throat. Shauna's other hand snakes out to fist in that infuriatingly soft shirt, yanking you close enough to smell the forest rot clinging to your hair. Her breath hitches—just once—when your noses almost touch.

Fourteen days ago. Midnight watch shift. Your laugh carrying from the tree line, leaning into Lottie's shoulder like you hadn't spent last Thursday letting Shauna braid wolfsbane into your hair.

"You wanna know what I'm gonna do?" Shauna murmurs, thumb swiping through the mud still smeared on your cheekbone. You presses yourself against the damn pine tree—or fir, it doesn't matter. You look wary, scared, and you trying to control your breathing so as not to show your fear to Shauna. Your head shoots up almost instinctively because you want to press youself against the tree trunk, just so Shauna doesn't slit your throat. "I... I actually hope you don't do anything," you says uncertainly, not knowing on what you supposed to be looking at: Shauna’s knife or Shauna’s face. "You know it'll cost you dearly if you kill me." The blade trembles—just enough to nick skin—as Shauna's mouth twists into something bitter and hungry. Pine resin sticks to your back, sharp and medicinal, mingling with the iron tang blooming at your throat.

"Cost me?" Shauna drags the knife downward, popping the first button of your shirt with surgical precision. "You think Nat gives a shit if I skin you like a rabbit?" You winces as a thin, shallow cut, small but bleeding, blooms across your throat. You can't even see it, and fear overwhelms you. You always thought this would be a rush of adrenaline, but your body just doesn't move as you mercilessly endures Shauna apparently undressing you.

"You're fucked if you kill me, I mean it," you voice is more of a tremor and a terrified bleat than anything else. The cougar bares its teeth even when cornered by a bear. "You know it's true, don't play with me."

Shauna's knife hand goes still when your breath hitches. The second button parts with a snick of steel through thread, exposing a sliver of collarbone that glows blue-white in the moonlight. Her free hand digs into your hip hard enough to bruise, pinning you against sticky bark.

"Cost," she repeats, dragging the blade lower to trace the curve of a breast through thin cotton. "You still think we're debating philosophy in the Literature class? That Becky MacCoy is gonna tattle to mr. Devis?"

The knife tip finds the third button. "They'll thank me." Cold metal slips between fabric folds, grazing nipple. "Burn your clothes for kindling. Use your bones for broth." Her knee jams between your  thighs, pressing up hard. "But you?" The blade retreats, comes to rest against your lower lip. "You'll just be... inconvenient."

You whimpers as Shauna's knee presses so nastily—and so good—on your clit. Fuck, you doesn't even know what's happening. Your mind is all mixed up with the holy and the sinful, and you doesn't understand who Shauna is to you, or if you going to die today. Or if you going to cum, either.

"W-why are you saying all this? Why are you doing all this?" you asks, looking worriedly at the knife on your bottom lip, but you has to admit, you looking into Shauna's dark eyes more often. "I don't even... hate you. Why the hell are you doing this to me, you fucking sadist?"

Shauna's thumb presses the blade flat against your tongue, metallic bitterness flooding both their mouths. Her knee grinds harder, friction burning through denim as she leans in until their foreheads touch. Sweat-damp strands of hair cling to your temple—you smells like fear and elderberries, Shauna notes with vicious satisfaction.

"Sadist?" She twists the knife handle, making light catch the saliva-slick steel. "You begged for this when you let Lottie braid those fucking daisies in your hair last week." The accusation comes out hoarse, unexpected. Her free hand snakes under your shirt, nails biting into soft belly flesh.

That afternoon by the creek. Your head in Lottie's lap, flower crowns and shared jerky. Shauna gutting rabbits twenty feet away, blood dripping hotter with each peal of laughter.

The knife withdraws. Shauna licks a stripe up the column of your throat, tasting copper and pine sap. "You want reasons?" Her teeth close around an earlobe, biting just shy of breaking skin. "I'm the butcher. You're the meat." You lets out a low moan in Shauna's ear, because it's hard not to. But your head is a storm, and you itching to defend yourself. You've always been quite the fighter. Maybe that's why Shauna wanted to break you so much. "I will be the last one to be meat. I'm the meat if I ever draw the queen card. But right now, I'm not meat at all," you mutters in Shauna's ear.

"You want to know why I was hitting on Lottie a week ago? Why I had daisies and wolfberry and sea buckthorn leaves in my hair? Because I wanted to fucking suck up to Lottie a little. I don't need her at all, if you're wondering." you speak with surprising clarity, as if there's no lie in your words. "Are you jealous of me, Shipman? Or are you jealous of her? I think if you were jealous of her, I'd be a fucking corpse right now."

Shauna's blade slips between the fourth and fifth buttons, parting fabric with a sound like cracking ice. The knife tip traces the valley between your breasts—too sharp, too precise to draw blood unless she wants to. Her other hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back against the tree.

"You think I care about your pathetic games?" The blade dips lower, slicing through waistband elastic. Cold night air hits bare skin as denim pools around your ankles. Shauna's palm slams against the tree beside your head, forearm flexing as she crowds into your space. "Jealousy's for people who don't know how to take what's theirs."

Her teeth find the juncture of neck and shoulder, biting down hard enough to bloom a bruise. You twitch in pain, but to Shauna's satisfaction, you have nothing to counteract. The knife clatters to the forest floor as Shauna's hand replaces it between your thighs, fingers pressing ruthless circles through damp cotton panties. "You don't get to be meat," she breathes against the fresh bite, "until I say you're meat."

It's too much for you. You twitches, and damn Shauna for being so fucking strong compared to you. Even in the past, you had always been known for your speed and tact, but not for your strength, which Shauna had in abundance.

You moans, softly and loudly, haltingly, trying to say something but unable to start a new sentence. You whine, and feels your teeth wound ache. You see the blood from the bite mark on Shauna's lips and leans forward, kissing them and biting her bottom lip before Shipman can say anything. You didn't understand what you were doing, but you really wanted to save your life. You already understood that Shauna had no intention of killing you. Yet. Fucking you was probably more interesting. You had fantasized about it a couple of times when you had to press yourself closer to Shauna's body in the winter because you had no choice and had to endure this forced closeness. You didn't remember when exactly you started liking it. Shauna freezes when your teeth catch her lip—a split-second of stillness where the forest holds its breath. Then her hand flies to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in sweat-damp hair to crush their mouths together properly. The taste of her own blood blooms between them, metallic and primal, as she licks into your mouth with the same ruthlessness she uses to field-dress deer. The kiss tastes like violence.

Her free hand rips the remaining buttons off your shirt, nails raking down pale ribs. The abandoned knife lies forgotten between pine needles as Shauna shoves her knee higher, denim seam grinding against soaked underwear. "Still think you're not meat?" she growls against swollen lips, biting the question into your jaw. Her thumb finds the hollow beneath your ear—that spot she'd mapped weeks ago during forced proximity—and presses hard enough to make your eyes roll back.

You moans hoarsely, your hips jerking against Shauna's knee between your legs. You need more, you want more, and you both so turned on right now. "Sh-shut up..." you moans, your cheek pressed against Shauna's for a second before your hands slide under Shauna's flannel and t-shirt, your nails raking painful lines down her back. You're such a fucking mess. Both of you. "P-please, do something. Give me your fingers back." You almost begs, biting you own bottom lip. Her knee isn't enough.

Shauna's laugh comes out ragged, more breath than sound, as she drags her bloodied lip across your cheekbone. "Begging already?" Her teeth catch the shell of your ear, biting down just hard enough to make you gasp. The hand at your neck slides much lower, calloused fingers hooking into the waistband of those ruined panties.

With a sharp tug, Shauna tears the cotton aside. Her middle finger slides through slick heat in one brutal thrust, curling upward on the retreat. "This what you wanted?" she rasps, palm slapping against clit with each punishing stroke. Her other hand clamps over your mouth, muffling the sounds she'd die before admitting she's memorized. "Or you need me to carve the answer out of you?"

The forest floor swallows yours mingled breaths—pine needles crunching under shifting weight, distant owl cries drowned out by the wet slap of skin. Shauna presses her forehead to yours, brown eyes gone feral in the moonlight. "You'll take what I give," she growls, adding a second finger that stretches tight muscle, "and fucking thank me for it." You look at Shauna blurrily, your eyes unable to find focus, so bright and blue usually, so enchantingly deep now, looking so faded with sexual arousal. You moans in mild pain - it's been a long time since anyone has stretched you from the inside, and you feel sick from the unfamiliarity. That nice, fucking good feeling down there becomes clearer as you whispers. "I'm going to c-cum," you doesn't know why you warning Shauna about this, leaning almost all your entire body on her. One of your hands falls from Shauna's neck and lazily tries to pull Shauna's jeans down, but they won't budge. Of course. They're fucking buttoned. Shauna catches your wandering hand mid-hip, slamming it back against the tree with enough force to dislodge bark. "You don't touch," she snarls, the knife suddenly reappearing in her periphery—plucked from the forest floor and pressed sideways against your heaving stomach. Her fingers never stop moving inside you, the heel of her palm grinding relentless circles as sweat drips from her jaw onto exposed collarbones. "Think I'd let you sully these?" Shauna jerks her hips forward, denim-clad thigh rubbing against your bare one. The blade traces lazy patterns over damp skin without breaking it—this time. "These hands skin bears. Butcher does the taking."

Her thrusts turn jagged, knuckles whitening with the effort of keeping you pinned. The knife falls again, forgotten as Shauna's teeth find purchase on a peaked nipple through torn fabric. "Cum then," she demands against salt-damp skin, voice cracking like dry kindling. "Prove you're more than Lottie's fucking lapdog. More than just another dumb bitch who's content with her measly victory."

Moonlight catches the wild glint in brown eyes as Shauna watches—always watching—the exact moment your body betrays you. Her free hand digs into the soft flesh of your thigh, blunt nails leaving crescent promises that'll outlast dawn. You shudders, whimpers, and as if on cue, cums all over Shauna's fingers with a soft moan. Your head snaps back and hits the tree trunk. You hisses in pain, but it doesn't matter as you recovers from the intense orgasm. You doesn't even look at Shauna, simply because you afraid to look her in the eye after that.

"Was that all necessary?" you mutters, but not with aggression or irritation. It sounds like a strange question. Shauna withdraws her fingers slowly, deliberately, watching yours body twitch with oversensitivity. She brings glistening digits to her mouth, tongue swiping through the mess with a predator's grin. "Necessary?" The word drips with mockery as she steps back, adjusting her flannel with hands that don't quite steady.

She stoops to retrieve her blade, thumb wiping pine resin off the hilt. The night air bites at sweat-slick skin as she turns toward the tree line, shoulders rigid. "Don't flatter yourself." The words hang between them like a noose. "Just needed to shut you up before the coyotes came."

Her retreating footsteps crunch through underbrush, leaving you half-dressed against the pine. Dawn's first light catches the blood drying on Shauna's collar—proof of teeth marks she'll spend tomorrow's watch shift tracing with her tongue. She leaves you alone. Confused and half-naked. You awkwardly pull up your wet underwear, dress as best you can - your clothes aren't in the best condition, and you knew it was unwise to lose them like that. You came, but was it worth it?

You swallow your resentment as you slip into your hut. You just want to sleep.

[aquasoftware]

❝I am the captain and he the lieutenant!!❞

FT | Fem!Reader ✘ Satoru Gojo.

Desc | Of all the people your boyfriend’s been with, none of them ever took the lead—until he began dating you, now he’s addicted to your voice, your preferences, and your taste like a drug.

CW | (smút proceed with caution 18+ ⚠️) Fem!dom/Subby!Toru, semi service dom!Satoru, bossy!reader, práīse kīņk (Receiving and giving), petnames: angel, baby, princess, sweet cheeks, usage of "good boy," ørał fīxatīón (f), fīngérīng brèąsț/nīppłe płay, sqųírting, brāt tāming, hair pǔlıing, sqùìrt drīnkīng (?), a pinch of crack, (1) dragon ball reference, + round 2 implied.

WC ➜ 1.1K ♪ ML

6 min read & Ficlet.

Satoru didn’t know he had a thing for bossy women until he met you.

The first time he ever realized, he was in between your plush thighs.

His soft pink lips wrapped around your puffy, aching clit, sucking harshly as if he had a bone to pick with it, causing you to sharply hiss, muscles forming slight wrinkles from scrunching up your face while your manicured nails curled yanked into his snowy strands.

“Mmm-mm, I want you to use your tongue slower,” you condemned, voice silky like a lavish coat, yet firm knowing exactly what you wanted and how you wanted it.

Satoru’s breath caught for a moment, bright cerulean blue eyes widening at the command.

That was a rare first, none of his previous partners had once told him what to do before but his greedy mouth didn’t stop.

He groaned in protest, but his filthy tongue did as you instructed, moving in slow, sensual deliberate circles like he was making out with your pretty pussy.

When you let out a seductive breathy moan, his dramatic ass mentally swore it was a singing angel touching his heart and soul.

“F–fuck,” You stammered, tilting your head back against the array of giant fluffy pillows.

“Like that, ‘Toru. Worship my pussy.”

He raised his head slightly to catch his breath, his eyes looking up at you with astonishment written all over his face “Yeah? – You like how that feels, baby?”

You nodded vigorously, mind slowly turning into a big bowl of soup as the pleasure started to overwhelm you. He grinned immensely at your response, eyes bouncing between your legs and the sweat droplets sliding down your hot cheeks, that somehow managed to sneak away although the air conditioning was full-on blasting.

“Now add your fingers.” You demanded, giving him his next step.

“I already know how to eat pussy, sweet cheeks.” He retorted, pridefully rolling his eyes at the assertion.

“Just shut up and do what I tell you.” your voice was sharp, laced with fire.

Then something just snapped–something inside of him, your man wasn’t sure why that statement hit so hard for him but it did, and it only fueled his raging desire to please you more.

Sensitive veins on his cock throbbed at your words, the power you had over him making him insanely dizzy, becoming desperate for you by the second.

“Whatever you say princess.” Satoru huffed out a breathless chuckle weakly hiding how much it turned him on, clearly amused—but obedient.

He didn’t need any more encouragement. He eased two digits into your dripping pussy, curling them in a precise rhythm. His eyes locked onto yours as he sucked and flicked your bud, adding the perfect amount of pressure. The sounds of your mewls and wetness echoed in the room, and he couldn’t help but press deeper into you.

Maybe it was the way you clenched around his six-inch fingers so tight. Or maybe it was the way you ordered him around.

However, your thighs instinctively slammed around his head, back arching as high as a skyscraper—hips continuously rolling against his mouth. You were so soaked the sheets were screaming to be changed after.

The sloppy mess coating his lips and chin was sinful—he knew he could drown in you and die complete.

Then while one of his big hands remained buried in your warmth, the other wandered up to your chest, pushing your black tank-top further before cupping your tender breast.

His large palm kneaded your soft flesh, thumb rolling over your hard nipple in lazy circles while his wet muscle lapped at your clit, adding the perfect amount of pressure. He moaned against you when your back arched into his touch, clearly adoring how your body responded to everything he gave it.

“You’re so greedy, baby,” you gasped, breath hitching when he gave your nipple a teasing pinch. “Can’t..keep..your..hands offa me, huh?” You purred in between moans.

Satoru so badly wanted to have a counter, too bad he was busy getting addicted off the natural taste of your slick.

“Mmph, that’s it,” you crooned, voice oozing arousal. “Just like that. Make me cum, ‘Toru.”

Your words rolled off your tongue like thick sugary honey, making his absolute solid dick twitch in his grey sweats. You sounded so in control over him, he nearly rolled his eyes back from it.

Your legs started to tremble around his head, and Satoru knew. He could feel the flutter of your walls around his fingers, the way your moans turned breathless, high-pitched, desperate.

He hummed low in his throat, letting the vibrations ripple against your nub as his fingertips curled again, right into that perfect spot. He was so fucking obsessed with the way your body reacted—like you were made to be devoured.

“Good boyyyy,” you praised, dragging out your words.

Satoru whimpered in response, tongue flicking slowly in tight, controlled circles as his strokes picked up speed. Your hips lifted off the bed, trying to chase the wave building, trying to force yourself down on his face, and he loved it. He didn’t want to pull away. Not until your body jerked and twitched, too sensitive, too fucked out to handle more.

“You gonna cum, angel?” he asked, panting against your bundle of nerves, voice muffled, teasing. “Am I doin’ a good job?”

“Yeah you’re doing so well, keep going f’me, ’m so fuckingclose—”

And then it hit, drastically.

Your orgasm crashed through you like a violent tide. Heat and electricity unraveling from the pit of your stomach all the way to the tips of your already curled toes. Your moan was rough, guttural, a noise that made his cock create excessive precum.

Your hands fisted his hair stronger than before, pulling his warm breath ridiculously closer as your cunt pulsed like a heartbeat around his fingers. A familiar sensation coursed through you, feeling as if you had to pee.

The next thing you know you squirted, gushing a whole tsunami all over his face, except your boyfriend didn’t stop at just making you feel pleasure; he had the audacity to open his mouth wide, moaning a cheeky “Ahhh!” like you were feeding him grapes off a silver platter.

You only giggled at his silly actions, telling him in a sing-song voice “Swallowww.”

Satoru listened instantly, groaning enough for someone in the next country to hear when you gently stroked his chin as a small reward.

Only then did Satoru lift his head, flushed cheeks, swollen lips glistened with a mix of spit and your fluids, and a glint of pure lust in his eyes.

“Holy shit,” he heaved in awe. “I need to eat you out again… Please.” He practically begged.

Your half-lidded eyes met his, a satisfied smirk tugging at your lips, knowing you’ve successfully tamed him.

Divider/Boarder creds | omi-resources

➜ Masterlist

➜ A reblog, like, or comment is highly appreciated!!

Note | Big ole freak is my fav meg song 🧏🏾‍♀️ I had to write something for this!!

[yeonjuns-beanie]

As It Was

warnings: 18+, weed usage, smut, unprotected sex, soulmate au(kind of), little hatefuckin before real fucking, reader is a brat, mentions of suicide, oral(f receiving, logan is an EATER), claws come out when he…, little bit of primal play, breeding kink, daddy kink, implied age gap cuz i think it’s hot, im prolly gonna write him like an animal, think that’s it!! LOL

Logan Howlett x female!reader

summary: after saving his world from extinction, wade brings home a wolverine. you feel a tether to him but can't quite figure out what it is, but logan does. as the days go by you slowly chip away at the wall between you two and things slowly return to as it was.

word count: 4.5k

title is inspired by the hozier song of the same name....

It’s been three months now and you still couldn’t figure out the pull you felt toward Logan. The moment Wade brought him through the door, Mary Puppins in hand, you felt a tie to him. Now, it was as if the Red String of Fate was punishing you for not remembering your connection with him. It was haunting, aggravating, and pushing you towards sexual frustration because no matter how much you tried to remember, your thoughts would instantly become clouded with your attraction to him. He was brooding, grumpy, and humorous when he wanted to. The stoic exterior of him was just that, a shell. You just weren’t quite sure how to crack his nut yet.

You were sat in the main room of the apartment grinding up some green to pack a morning bowl. As you were getting ready to fill the glass you heard Wade’s voice echo through the apartment.

“You always grind Aunt Mary so hard. Don’t you think she would like to be loved tenderly, sugarbear?”

“And the last time I gave you the grinder there might as well have been a whole nug in the bowl. You damn near burned half my stash.”

“You’d think living with three addicts would be fun, but it’s more like babysitting toddlers fighting to see who can ruin my day first. Spoiler: it’s everyone.”

You chuckled, slotting the bowl into the joint of the bong, and pointed at Wade with it.

“You wanna hit this or not?”

“‘Course I do. How could I pass up a wake n bake with my girl?”

Wade jogged over to you, plopping dramatically on the seat next to you. Rolling your eyes, you took the first hit letting Wade finish off the remaining smoke in the shaft. Exhaling you spoke while the smoke billowed out of your mouth.

“Wade, baby, I love you, but I’m not your girl. What about Nessa?”

Before he spoke, he had his coughing fit like clockwork. Every time, no matter the method, resulted in a cough so bad he looked like a drooling dog. It was free entertainment but you tried your hardest not to laugh out loud because every time you did, it made it worse.

You couldn’t hold it

It was like watching a court jester and when Wade finally caught his breath he was staring off at a wall in the apartment mindlessly reaching for the glass. When his hand was left fondling the air reaching nothing, you let your laugh echo through the apartment.

“You sure you want another one?”

“Just gimme the weed, gorgeous. And to answer your question. Vanessa and I are on a break of sorts, but I’m wounded that I now have lost you too. It’s cause I brought Peanut here isn’t it?”

Wade was feigning heartbreak, just busting your balls in an effort to see if you’d crack. Your relationship was always like this and that was probably why you two got along so well. Nothing was ever too serious and yet still completely vulnerable. As wild as he was, Wade was a safe space for you and for some reason this morning, you felt like sharing.

“Perhaps.”

His head whipped so fast you thought it’d fly off. Coupled with his dramatic gasp and chest grab you nearly regretted your admission.

“I knew it!”

“Will you keep it down, it’s not that serious.”

“Au contraire. This is probably the most serious thing since Blind Al ran out of Peruvian marching powder.”

Rolling your eyes, you swallowed your pride as you knew Wade wouldn’t let it go until you told him every detail possible. As much as you pretended you hated divulging this information, it was kinda nice to let out to somebody. You’d been wrestling with so many feelings since Wade brought Logan to stay with you guys and the weight of it was becoming painful.

“Well, he’s hot obviously.”

“Tell me something more interesting, we all disrespectfully gawk at the honey badger.” Wade quipped.

“The problem is I feel this weird attachment to him. Like I’ve known him before. Maybe we met before they tried their best to wipe my memory, but I can’t shake this one. I’m drawn to him but he won’t let anyone get close enough to figure that out.”

You had your own run-in with the TVA a few years ago and instead of dumping you into the void, they were nice enough to plop you in Earth-10005. You were grateful considering the stories of this barren garbage heap that Wade and Logan told you about but you couldn’t remember why they sent you here in the first place.

You had no real memory of your life before this or what you did that fucked you up so badly. It always haunted you. Maybe you were a murderer. A merciless killer and that’s why they snagged you. A similar fate to Wade’s but they decided somewhere that you weren’t equipped for the job and the TVA orphaned you to another universe.

You weren’t complaining, you loved the life that you had now you just wanted to remember the rest of you. You were roaming this universe, a husk of your former self and no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that it didn’t bother you, it did. It kept you up at night. Until Logan walked through the apartment door.

Slowly, things started to reveal themselves to you but only in a dream. You were forced to piece together your life with the shattered fragments of what your dreamscape gave you to work with. You’d wake up from the most vivid dreams only to remember one instance where you were walking down a street, the sky pouring rain in a godly attempt to cleanse you. Your hands were always coated in crimson when you looked down.

It’d come in flashes and it’d end just as fast. You were patient with yourself but a lot of times you tried to drown out the feeling with various substances. Weed being your vice of choice as alcohol made you suffer. Making you wish that an attempt of self-mutilation or the bittersweet release of dancing with death while your wrists stained the floor garnet succeeded.

They never did.

So you tried your best to make peace with your life and you were doing alright until Logan showed up. Now the universe was mocking you. Testing to see if you’d slip up and forget everything you learned.

“I think he’d like to figure you out, y/n. Do with that what you will.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Wade shrugged his shoulders handing you the bong back. As he stood up you took one last hit and left the glass piece on the table. As you exhaled, Logan’s voice pierced through the silence.

“Jesus. D’ya have to stink up the apartment with that shit? Can’t go outside?”

“Easy, peanut. The art of the wake n bake is sacred. Plus, talk to the gardener if you have requests to make, not me.”

Wade pointed to you as he wandered off into the kitchen and you reached for the bong motioning it to Logan.

“Wanna hit?”

Logan hit you with a short ‘no’ and it almost hurt your feelings. Your gaze flicked over to Wade who was mouthing to you something you couldn’t quite make out but he was pointing to Logan while doing it. Your brain spazzed for a moment before coming up with a response as you stood.

“You want coffee or something, Lo?”

“Sure, kid.”

You walked into the kitchen with Wade and started whispering to him.

“What the fuck? Of course, he comes out while I’m blowing up the house.”

“I don’t see why you’re worried, he doesn’t seem upset.”

You turned around trying your best not to look suspicious.

“Yes, the fuck he does. I’m gonna fuck this up before I even get the chance to start-”

“-You two morons know I can hear you, right?”

You hung your head in defeat finishing up the two cups before setting one in front of Logan and holding yours while you stood. The air was thick, but not uncomfortable. It just felt like everyone needed to get something off their chest and didn’t know how to start. Before you opened your mouth to speak, Wade’s voice cut you off while he sent a text message.

“Well, I’m gonna leave you lovebirds to it. I’ve got a pegging date.”

Again. Mocking you. The universe seemed to just have it out for you and apparently, today was the day of honesty. You took a seat across from Logan wondering where to direct the conversation.

“You hungry? I can make us something.”

“I’m alright kid, not too keen on stoner food in the morning.”

“Hey, I’m still a good cook when I’m cooked. I just wanted to offer.” You paused.

“Also if you have a problem with it, I’ll find a new spot. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

“No need. Just giving you guys a hard time. We all have something to cope with our shit.”

You nodded knowing he was referencing his drinking habit, or problem if we were feeling honest. You left your coffee cup on the table and stood up, wanting to Irish goodbye in your own home. But you didn’t want to add any more bricks to this wall even though it felt like the silence was already doing so.

“Well, um. I’m gonna chill out for a bit in my room if you need anything.”

He hummed to let you know he heard you and you walked down the hallway to your bedroom before stopping in your tracks. Something possessed you and you had to get this out. The test was walking away and if you finished that journey into your bedroom and locked the door, nothing would be resolved. Turning on your heel, you walked back into the kitchen and faced Logan.

“Why do you hate me?”

He nearly choked on his coffee, the noise echoing in the cup.

“What?”

You sighed, trying to not feel silly about your admission.

“Why do you hate me? And if you don’t, why do you act like it? It’s so hard to get through to you and it feels like I’m talking to a fucking wall.”

“Kid-”

“And stop ‘kid’ing me! If it’s out of endearment it doesn’t feel like it.”

Your heart rate was rising and you could feel your skin getting hot. The months of pent up emotions were finally boiling over and you couldn’t stop it. You needed to know why.

“What is it then, y/n?”

“Why can’t I get through to you? Every time I try, you shut me down by being curt with me and I’m left with the same feeling as before. I can’t shake this feeling that I know you and I can’t even get close to you without you shoving me away like I have a fatal disease. So why, Logan? All I wanna know is why?”

He sighed knowing there was no easy way to escape this.

“Kid–sorry. It’s complicated. I know that feeling. I feel it too, but I know why it’s there and I don’t want to fuck it up again.”

Again?

“What do you mean again?”

Logan sighed and said nothing. Hanging his head in what you thought was shame but most definitely could be avoidance. It frustrated you even more so because why couldn’t he just talk to you?

“Here we go again, nothing?! Is it so hard to just say what this is?”

“It’s not that simple, bub.”

You scoffed and turned around to walk to your room. You needed to clear your head because it was more than apparent that a solution would not be provided for you. Logan didn’t have the courage to reveal what he knew so a walk away from him would have to suffice.

“Y/n! Where are you going?”

“I need to clear my head since obviously you don’t have the gall to tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Slipping your shoes on, you tried to move past Logan but he was blocking the doorway.

“Move.”

“Y/n. Just-”

“I said move, Logan.”

One wall after another you kept hitting, except this one was physically him. He nearly filled up the doorway and his frame was imposing. You tried to figure out how you’d slip past him but you were so heated that you were about to settle for dramatics before he moved his body just enough for you to slip past. You stared at him, looking for something in his eyes to tell you to stay but it just made you more irritated. You walked down the hallway and almost made it to the door before you felt his hand wrap around your wrist.

“Do you get a kick out of torturing me or something?”

“Sweetheart, if you just—just sit down and let me say what I need to say.”

“Oh, now you wanna fucking talk. Let go of me. I’m not in the mood to talk anymore.”

Logan’s grip on you tightened as you struggled against him and you pushed on his chest trying to get him off of you. He was stunned by your actions and so were you but you couldn’t stop. You kept pushing him away from you until he grabbed your upper arms stabilizing you but you still were pressing your hands against his chest. He was calling your name trying to calm you down but you were too lost in your emotions. You thrashed your head up, trying to plead with him silently to let you go even though you knew that was the last thing you wanted.

When your eyes met his, one of his hands cradled the back of your head and before you could register it, his lips were slotted against yours in a moment of desire and exasperation. Bated breath, fury, and sexual confusion fueled the kiss but you’d be a liar to say you didn’t enjoy this feeling. His body flesh against yours, the heat bouncing between the two of you nearly suffocating and it had only been seconds. Logan had you pressed against the wall his hands roaming the curves of your body and his knee slotted itself in between your thighs, completely caging you against him.

He pushed his knee up into the apex of your thighs applying a delicate pressure to your center. You moaned against him, your body rolling your hips into the feeling. His hands were roaming over your body in a frenzy, like if he didn’t touch you fast enough you’d disappear. Your hands wrapped into his hair, pulling on his sandy brown locks as you tried to stabilize yourself into the feeling.

Logan pulled away from you, a string of spit the only thing left connecting you two until it broke and you felt the cold air vaporize the heat on your swollen lips. You were staring at his features, locked in his gaze hoping that if you didn’t break eye contact he’d stay right here. His gruff voice broke the heady silence.

“Since you wanna be a brat and not talk anymore, I have no choice but to show you how I feel, sugar.”

Logan slid his hands down until they were underneath the swell of your ass and told you to jump. As your legs wrapped around his waist, he walked down the hallway to your room. His senses were incredibly heightened at this moment and when he breached the threshold of your room, he was intoxicated by the smell of you swirling the room.

As he laid you down on your bed, your scent wafted off of the sheets with a gentle breeze and he was soon surrounded by a nest of you and your arousal. He prowled over your body, taking you in and memorizing every inch of you, how you were restless against him, and how your lower half mindlessly moved against him in desperate need of some sort of friction.

He uttered a low growl against you as he snaked up to your neck leaving a string of hot kisses against your skin. The scruff of his beard nearly overstimulated you and had you clawing at his skin, frantic in your efforts, soft moans escaped your lips in wordless need of feeling something more.

“Don’t wanna talk but I got you whimpering for me, huh princess?”

“Lo-”

“Shh, baby. I got you.”

Logan bit your ear, pulling at the skin before he tugged at the bottom of your shirt and you lifted your back just enough so that he could slip it off of you. Your upper body was fully exposed to him as your tits pancaked on your chest. As he lowered his face back down to your body, he trailed down your skin with his nose inhaling every last inch of you. The action was so subdued in comparison to the rest of his demeanor that you got completely lost in the feeling.

As his face met your stomach, the scent of your arousal was incredibly inebriating, deluging his mind with salacity. He traced the waistband of your shorts with his nose, encasing his teeth around the elastic piece of fabric before replacing his mouth with his hands as he languidly pulled them down your legs. Tossing them across the room he looked up at you.

“You want this?”

“Please.” You mewled out.

Logan shoved his nose against your panties inhaling your scent before rubbing your bud through the fabric as he came back up your body to capture your lips in a searing kiss. He pulled your panties from your body, your slick stretching as the fabric left your messy lips. The cool air was welcomed but was soon replaced by the warmth of Logan’s mouth against your petals.

He lapped at you like a dog. A wanton primal need taking over his senses. He wanted to be enveloped in you and you in him. In every timeline, he’d claim you and this one was no different. You tangled your hands in his hair, rolling your pussy into his face as he sloppily ate you out. His hands were wrapped around your hips holding you in place as he greedily drank you in.

You could feel the spit dripping down your folds and forming a cool pool of fervour beneath your skin. Eyes rolling back in ecstasy you could feel your orgasm begin to settle in your lower stomach, heat rippling across your skin. Your moans increased in frequency but became more breathy in nature as you came closer to your high.

Logan’s hand snaked up your curves and his fingers teased your nipples, pulling and pinching at the sensitive skin as he felt your body grow more tense with desire. Dragging his calloused hands down your body one last time, he inserted a finger into your wet, libertine cavern and you sucked him in with need. The stretch of him adding a second finger pushing you right to your edge as he curled them inside of you.

“Lo- I’m gonna-”

“I know, sugar. Let it out. Lemme hear you”

He immediately put his tongue back on your clit, and let you ride out your high against his face. Your moans gained volume completely immersed in the pleasure. When the ripples of euphoria finally dwindled, you looked down at Logan and pulled him up to your face so you could kiss him. The tang of your sex was still present on his lips and it ignited something within you.

“You got too many fuckin clothes on, Daddy.”

You were breathless. Lost in a licentious rhapsody as you had him hovering over your body and when Logan paused his movements to look at you, you thought you ruined the moment. He could smell the change in you and spoke before you had the chance to apologize for nothing.

“Say it again.”

He could feel you heartbeat pounding in your chest, arousal returning to the forefront of your mind.

“Wanna see you. Feel all of you, Daddy.”

Your voice was dripping sex, his personal psychedelic. He freed himself from his beater and you palmed his bulge through his sweats. Slipping your hand past the waistband, you stroked his heavy cock.

“Lemme make you feel good.”

You were getting ready to flip your bodies over, but Logan pinned you to the bed his eyes boring through you. You felt so small underneath him, like he could do whatever he wanted to you and you’d let him. When he spoke he broke you from the trance.

“Another time, sweetheart. This is about showing you how I feel about you since my baby needs me to spell it out for her.”

Slipping out of his sweats his cock was on full display, so heavy that it didn’t have the spring to bounce against his stomach. It hung in front of him, heady and in desperate need to be inside of you. Precum and prurience leaked from his tip. Logan crawled on top of you, the tip of his cock rubbing between your folds, coating your slick across his shaft.

“Tell me what you want. Tell me how you want me to fuck you.”

You squeezed around nothing, the action not going unnoticed by Logan. You mewled against him, just wanting him to ravish you in every way possible. You wanted to be marked, for everyone to see that you belonged to him but you couldn’t find the words to articulate this feeling while this sexual heat was radiating off of your bodies and numbing your mind.

Logan slowly pushed his tip into your rapt cunt before pulling it out and sliding it against your clit. The withdrawal of pleasure bringing you to your senses.

“I want you to make me yours. Wanna belong to you, Lo.”

You were wanton with need. The desire for him became nearly unbearable and it was all soon resolved as he pushed his cock past your pious walls, defiling you of any innocence you had left. You wanted to be claimed, he’d claim you. Animal instinct took over as he rocked his hips into your cunt, your walls fluttering around him in ardor. Low growls left his throat as he nipped at the skin on your neck, alternating between kissing the marks and swiping them with his tongue. He was marking you, making you his own.

It was like he couldn’t get close enough to you as he thrusted into you. His arms wrapped around your body as you fell limp to the pleasure. You felt another orgasm on the horizon and you tried your best to warn Logan by sinking your nails into his back, leaving red trails of morbid desire to mark him as yours. You didn’t realize the amount of pressure you were putting on his skin, but the groans that left him had that concern pushed to the back of your mind. Your orgasm washed over you and your pussy squeezed so tight around him that you nearly pushed him out of you. You were entranced, drunk on him and his cock, still desperate for more.

It was like he could hear your thoughts because as soon as you thought of a second round, Logan was flipping you on your hands and knees and you arched your back as he rubbed his hand along the small of it, accentuating your arch. His cock filled your sugared walls one more time and as he buried himself to the hilt. Wrapping a hand around your neck, he brought your body flesh against his.

“Gonna fuckin breed you. Never gonna forget you who belong to, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help the preemptive squeezing of his cock at the mention of him breeding you. The thought of him filling you with all of him was grossly erotic and Logan took the chance to taunt you.

“Oh? You like that, huh? Want daddy to breed your pretty little pussy?”

You hummed, your eyes lidded as you tried to see him over your shoulder. Sweat was sticking your bodies together and you only noticed how hot it was between the two of you when he pushed your body forward, cool air hitting your back as he began to mold your cunt to the shape of his cock. His tip was kissing your cervix and repeatedly hit that spot deep inside of you that made you squirm against his body.

His thrusts were becoming sloppy, his breaths ragged and you could feel your third orgasm of the night creeping on you. Low growls complimented the whimpers that were leaving your mouth and being somewhat muffled by the fabric of your sheets. You couldn’t hold his hips against you to ensure that he stayed inside so you just whimpered out a small ‘inside’ as you felt your orgasm begin to wash over your body.

Logan wasn’t far behind, one hand resting on your hips and his other by your head steadying himself above you. Sinking his teeth into your neck, you cried out in avidity and rapture filled his veins before painting his seed across your walls. You heard a faint schwing and as you opened your eyes, you saw that his claws were extended. As you moved your hips back into him to fuck you through the rest of your high, you accidentally nicked yourself on one of his blades. He hissed against you uttering a strained ‘don’t move’ as the luxuria dissipated in his body.

As he calmed down, his claws retracted back into skin and he gently rolled you over to gaze over your features. He moved a few sweat-stricken pieces of hair off of your face and placed a gentle kiss on your lips, which was such a contrast from before. Pulling out of you he pushed himself off the bed.

“Be right back.”

Returning with a warm towel, he cleaned you up and grabbed a shirt from one of your drawers waiting for you to put it in before sliding next to you in the bed. You curled into him, tracing patterns into his chest. Looking up at him, you felt none of the tension from before in the room and you decided that this would be the time.

“So, what did you mean by ‘again’ earlier?”

Logan sighed but not out of exasperation like it was earlier, it was softer this time.

“In my world, we were together. That’s the pull you feel. But in like so many other areas in that timeline, I fucked up and I lost you. I’d rather have kept you at a distance than not have you at all, but I fucked that up too, now.”

He laughed the last bit out, a touch of humor apparent in his delivery. Sighing, you felt like something could work here between the two of you.

“Well, whenever you’re ready to tell me what happened between your timeline’s me and you, I’ll wait patiently for it. But until then, know that you’re not losing me here. I’m yours as long as you want me.”

You didn’t expect a response from him, nor did you feel like you really needed one. You wanted to relish in this moment between the two of you and soon enough sleep overtook both of your forms.

© yeonjuns-beanie '24

~Just as it was, baby Before the otherness came And I knew its name The love, the dark, the light, the flame~

[rindzaki]

Yandere! Puppy hybrid Sub! Luke and Kieran x Dom! Gn! Reader

nsfw minors dni

Competition for attention/ Jealousy

·:*༺ ♱✮♱ ༻*:· Jealousy between your pets Luke and Kieran has become an almost integral part of their behaviour. This is especially noticeable when one of them get attention, and the other is left aside.

Luke, managed to settle on your knees, enjoying the affection and warmth with a satisfied expression. But Kieran immediately came up. He began to bark demandingly, as if saying, "Now it's my turn!" His eyes squint, his ears are slightly pressed against his head, and he watches intensely, assessing how to intervene. If the situation is delayed and your attention does not switch to him, he resorts to a different tactic - he begins to copy the actions of another.

For example, if Luke sits quietly, behaving obediently, Kieran instantly tries to take the same place on the other side, while his movements become softer, as if he is trying to show that he is also worthy of attention. He snuggles up to you, imitating Luke’s pose, only to attract at least some of the affection.

If Kieran eats neatly, you call him a "good boy", it immediately attracts Luke's attention. He can start watching Kieran closely, noting his every move. Realising that such behaviour can be praised, Luke begins to repeat Kieran's actions: gently lowering his face into the bowl to start eating slowly. He will even look at you, expecting the same praise as Kieran.

If you ask Luke to find the TV remote, it immediately encourages Kieran. He decides that he should also show his usefulness. Therefore, despite the fact that there was no request to find the door keys, he starts looking for, and will bring them all in drool.

Separation anxiety

·:*༺ ♱✮♱ ༻*:· Luke and Kieran, feeling that you are preparing to go out, immediately begin to follow you on the heels, in a hurry accidentally stepping on each other's paws.

When you put on a jacket, they whine, expressing their anxiety. It's like they're trying to persuade you to stay, without breaking away from you for a second. In your absence, their anxiety worsens. They walk around the house, whining quietly, trying to find even the slightest trace of you.

They look into the rooms, sniff your stuff. At such moments, their rivalry goes into the background, gading way to a common sense of loneliness. Together they wait for their beloved owner to return to feel safe again.

Bed sharing/ sleeping together

·:*༺ ♱✮♱ ༻*:· Luke and Kieran, as if on command, climb to bed, striving to take a place as close to you as possible. They know that night is a time for comfort and peace, and therefore they try to settle down to stay in physical contact with you, for example, they lie down so that they can touch you with their hand or torso.

And so, when it seems that everyone has found their place, the movements begin. You turn over or change your posture, causing pets to have a new surge of activity. Luke and Kieran react instantly, starting to move after you, trying to keep in touch.

Sometimes they decide that the best way to be closer is to literally climb on you, curled up in a ball and cosy putting head on your chest.

At night, even immersed in a deep sleep, they don't forget about you. To make sure you're still around, they gently touch you with their noses, while eyes are closed, as if confirming that everything is fine, and then calmly fall asleep again.

Luke and Kieran prefer to express their emotions through barking, and they only speak when you allow them:

"M-masternghh… p-pleaseahh! can I…? Can I huh c-cum...?" Kieran gasp, whining in a trembling voice, without holding back his tears, as he has already been deprived of orgasm twice.

You keep fucking him, holding his hands tightly behind his back. His body trembles so much threatening him to fall forward. From time to time you pull the clamps on his nipples, making his hole squeeze you.

Luke stands on all fours with his ass up, sucking Kieran's dick. Wagging his tail, he demonstrates you heart-shaped crystal plug in his hole. His eyes watches the bulge in Kieran’s stomach, which is appearing with your every push. Luke let a loud moan, as if feeling it inside himself. Unable to resist, he slowly licked and gently kissed the bulge, which made Kieran whine even louder…

[farfromstrange]

Pink Eye | Matt Murdock x Reader

Matt Murdock Masterlist

Summary: You start the new year with a bad case of conjunctivitis and a cold. As annoyed as you are about it, fortunately for you, you have a very doting boyfriend to take care of you.

Warnings: Cursing, sickness, fluff.

WC: 1.2k

A/n: This is totally self-indulgent, and my first fic after a month (or so)! Don't worry, you're still getting those other Fictober prompts, this is just something that came to my mind yesterday and I had to write it. I wish I had a Matt Murdock to take care of me, so I wrote this. I hope I'm not too rusty.

Read Me On AO3!

The cold compress seeps into the swollen skin of your eyelids, though it offers only a small reprieve from the ache and itchiness that make you want to claw your eyes out like a feral cat under attack.

Tissues lay strewn around the coffee table, each one soaked in tears and whatever else came out when you wiped them dry. The apartment reminds you more of the set of a bad chick-flick rather than a home. Most of the time it resembles a crime scene or a poorly supplied hospital when your risk-friendly boyfriend decides he just has to get himself into another fight for the greater good, but this New Year’s, the only casualty that came out of the holidays is you—defeated by your own immune system. 

You haven’t been properly sick in a year. For 366 days, you’ve been free of any viral or bacterial infections, and the one time you decide to have dinner with your family you end up with a nasty infection: conjunctivitis. Yes, you started the new year with fucking pink eye and a cold, and now you’re stuck at home for your last few days off work, feeling miserably sorry for yourself.

“Here,” Matt appears in your one functioning line of sight with a bowl of soup in hand, “You need to eat something.”

“Thank you,” you say through a congested nose, and he can’t help but smile at how adorable that sounds.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Like I want to put a finger into my eye and scratch it out.”

He raises his eyebrows. “So, not good?”

You shake your head. “I’m annoyed. And in pain. And I can’t fucking breathe!” As if to underline your frustration, your lungs constrict and you cough up a not-so-delicious ball of phlegm. 

Matt’s hand instantly moves to your back, rubbing gentle circles until the oxygen returns to where it needs to be. Your breathing becomes rapid before it slows down again, and you swallow.

“Fuck me,” you mumble.

“When you’re feeling better,” he retorts almost cheekily, but the joke doesn’t get much of a response. He knows how miserable you are. He can hear it in the way you breathe, your elevated heartbeat, and the pulsing of the skin around the infected eye. You wear your discomfort on your very sleeves. He doesn’t want to imagine what it feels like for you.

Instead of joking any more, Matt gently removes the compress from your eye. “Let me get you a new one,” he offers. Your first instinct is to cover up. It baffles him; you haven’t hidden from him in a very long time.

Matt takes your hand and places it back down in your lap, a worried frown creasing his forehead. “Don’t do that.” 

“I look like I got into a fight,” you say.

At that, he reaches out, fingers gently brushing just above your brow, down your temple, and over the apple of your cheek. He can feel the heat radiating from your skin, the inflammation that’s causing your eye to swell, but the picture his fingertips paint is a stark contrast to your own description. 

“No, you don’t,” he says. And Matt knows better than anyone what one might look like after a fight.

His touch is so gentle, far away from where you’re hurting but close enough to feel his need to fix you. To heal you. To take your pain away and make it his own just so you wouldn’t have to suffer anymore. Your heart flutters like a newborn butterfly. You look into his hazel eyes, how soft they are, and it makes you melt. If you could only see yourself the way he sees you... The way he loves you seems like a gift from God himself. 

His touch disappears, and you bite back a pathetic whimper. “Be right back,” he says.

You watch as he rises to his feet and heads back to the kitchen, grabbing another cool compress from the fridge before returning to your side.

“There you go.” He places it against your eye and holds it there. “So you can eat.”

You want to say, ‘You’re doing too much’, but then you realize that you’re with the kind of man who would shoulder the world for you even when he’s already drowning to make sure life is just a little easier for you. And while that feels like entirely too much, more than you deserve, you can’t find it in yourself to tell him to stop. Not that he would do so, anyway. 

Every bone in your body aches, but the pain blurs in comparison to what he makes you feel. 

You take the bowl of soup he prepared and dig in. It’s your favorite, yet scarcely seasoned to not irritate your throat any further. When your stomach is finally full and he’s satisfied, he reaches for the bottle of eyedrops standing tall amongst the graveyard of tissues. He knows to think about everything when you can’t. 

“Lean back,” he instructs softly. 

“I don’t want you to get sick,” you protest. 

“I won’t. I know you hate doing this yourself. Now lean back.”

He’s even more stubborn when you’re sick, but only because you’re stubborn, too. You don’t protest further, simply leaning your head back to give him better access. 

Matt gently searches for your lower lid with his fingers, pulling it back ever so gently before squeezing the first drop in. Then, he moves on to the second eye. Your eyes instinctively squeeze shut at the sudden intrusion. It burns. Will it ever stop, you wonder? 

“I’m sorry,” he wipes away any excess tears threatening to escape, “it’ll get better in a second.” 

You huff a breath of disapproval, but not at his words. “I’m never visiting my family again unless they give me a detailed list of who’s sick,” you say. 

Matt stutters for a moment, then bursts out laughing.

“I’m serious! Small children are little Petri dishes, carrying viruses and bacteria that continue to mutate into God knows what. Petri dishes, Matthew!” 

You sound so beside yourself, he can’t help himself. He adds the used tissue to the coffee table pile and pulls you into his arms, his laugh rumbling against the top of your head as he presses his lips against your heated scalp. “This is New York, sweetheart,” he says, “the entire city is a Petri dish.”

“And I will avoid it like the plague if I have to.”

He chuckles. “Okay.” A pause, and then, “You’re so much moodier when you’re sick.”

If you had the strength you would smack his pretty face for that statement alone, but you really, really don’t. You can barely sit up on your own. So, you nudge him with your elbow and grumble, “Shut up.”

With a bright smile on his face, he gives you another squeeze. “I love you too,” he says.

You squeeze his bicep three times to assure him that yes, you do love him, and you can’t help but think that perhaps being coddled in Matt Murdock’s arms while recovering from a little infection isn’t so bad, after all. It certainly could be worse. 

fluff tag list: @gpenguin666 @linamarr @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @thatonegamefish @amberritonicole @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart @ethereal-blaze @littleagxs @ravenclaw617 @lucienofthelakes @steve-chandler @mochie-is-a-librarian

[rosekasa]

honesty is so important to ladynoir but i also think they'd sometimes just straight up lie to each other for fun, always in the most obvious ways because they know no matter how much they want to the other can't really refute it. ladybug will out of nowhere say she shaved her head completely smooth as a civilian the other night and chat noir would be like literally shut the fuck up no you didn't. chat noir will say he got married to a girl he went on two dates with and ladybug just says 'i hope you're paying for that girl's therapy'. the thing is the irrefutability of these things leads them to becoming running jokes between them. safe to say rena is so confused when chat noir points to a bowling ball akuma one day and says to ladybug 'is that what your head looks like when you're de transformed?'

[kabr0ztrousers]

hi I was wondering if you can do a part 2 of episode 9: farm work, I wanna know more about those machines on reader and the creature that fucks her also her giving birth.

A part 2 for Episode 9? Tough call seeing how simply awful that one ended. Oh well, folks, here's

Kabr0z Writes Episode 29: Farm Work, Part 2

Find part 1 all the way back here

Or the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here

CWs: hucow; lactation; pregnancy; giving birth; body horror; horror; throat fucking; CNC; Implied heavy bondage; mention of body-altering drugs; inducing labour;

A/N: The request for this one indicates Anon wants some exposition on the monster in Episode 9 and the devices POV is hooked up to. I'll try to hit those bases but if I don't then expect some explanations in a followup part (which will be linked)

######################################

You must have been here for months. You don't know for sure, the only light in this room beaming from the fluorescent tubes above you. They only turnt on when one of the men came into the room to replenish food bowls or to check the machines milking you. You're getting heavier by the day. Your belly bulges every so often as the infant growing in you kicks and stretches. It's happening more and more recently. You can tell the movement from your orgasms keeps waking it.

It won't be long. The men attending you are dressed differently. The usual ones in overalls and tattoos are becoming less frequent, replaced by older men in white coats and glasses, slathering cold gel on your belly and pressing probes and stethoscopes up to your chest and your womb.

They seem to think it won't be long either. A gurney has been parked near you for days, waiting for you.

The devices milking your tits have been turned up, suckling more insistently. They've put more drugs in your food as well. You're being made to produce more milk, making sure you'll have plenty when it happens.

One day you woke to a man sat on a camping bed in front of you, reading a book, one eye on you. He'd check the machinery every so often before going back to his reading, never saying a word. You kept trying to get his attention, shaking your tits and sticking out your tongue to him. It was working. Every time the machinery sucking on your tits and your unnatural cock brought you to another mooing orgasm and you felt your eyes roll back as your cum flowed from you he got red and you could see his pants tent up. Every time you made sure to squeeze your tits together for him, until it worked.

You were already groaning and twitching from the machine, eyes rolling and tongue out, elbows pressing your tits together, waving them for all you're worth. The man stood from his bed and opened his pants, revealing his cock for you before unclipping you from the floor and pulling your face to his crotch. You breathed in his scent, licking at his balls and trying to catch one in your mouth. He pulled you up, licking as you went, to the tip of his cock before grabbing the back of your head and forcing you down on it

"Is that what you wanted? My cock in your throat?"

You could only moan your muffled reply. This is exactly what you wanted. You kept your tongue out, licking at the base of his cock as he fucked your face. The suction kept going on your cock and your tits. You pushed your finger into your swollen pussy, then another, then another until your whole hand was inside, fucking yourself as the man started to groan and hold down your throat and you gagged around him. His cock throbbed in your mouth as his balls tightened and he gave one last thrust into your mouth before coming to a groaning orgasm, pushing you over the edge.

Your abs clenched as you doubled over, his cock flopping out of your mouth and spurting cum across your face. Your cock was squirting too, your cum travelling down the tubes leading to the machinery milking you and to who knows where.

You felt liquid gush from your pussy. The clenching from your orgasm bearing down on your womb.

The man dragged you onto the gurney and lay you on your back, unplugging you from the machinery before standing it up and wheeling you out of the room.

The contractions kept coming, more and more as the labcoated men hurried to your side, sticking tubes in your arms. Cold fluid entered your veins and your head swam. The man in riding gear was there too, cupping the side of your face, his eyes soft. The pain had stopped now, though you could still feel your cervix stretching open and the pressure from your womb against the infant coming out of you.

The doctors told you to push, and you did. Again and again until the they started cheering. One of them passed you a bundle, swaddled in towels. "It's a boy"

The man in riding gear kissed your forehead "You did great, girl" he crooned in your ear.

It was an ugly baby. Most babies are ugly, but this one was particularly ugly. His face was distended into a muzzle, coarse fur covered his body, his legs were twisted backwards and a stubby tail protruded from his back. He was a child only a mother could love, and as he suckled on your breast, you knew.

You love him.

##################################

Post script: I'm not sure I hit the mark on this one. The throatfucking scene is hot, but I went into this intending it to be darker than it turned out, and I'm pretty sure that's what anon wanted. Problem is the POV character had already become accustomed to their situation at the end of part 1, this is just Stockholm syndrome.

I'll take this opportunity to ask again that if you have any requests for themes, fetishes or scenarios, please drop me an ask or a DM and I'll probably make it

[slxtarchive]

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 … you, your boyfriend chris, and his brothers went to the bowling alley for a fun night.

ᥫ᭡ … you sat on the seat eating the nachos chris had bought while he set up each of your names on the screen. you looked and saw as he entered each name one by one. matt, nick, you, then chris.

matt was the first one up grabbing a bowling ball of his choice before smirking at chris and nick. “prepare yourself. i’ve beat you both once…” he then turned toward you. “and now i’ll add another loser to my list.” he teased.

you rolled your eyes shooing him. “yap yap. we’ll see about that.”

he laughed before taking his turn. unfortunately, he did in fact roll a strike. “what did i say?” he shrugged, walking off and back to where he sat. “nick you’re up.”

nick huffed. “i can assure you i’m not going to be any better than last time.” he said grabbing the ball and rolling it hitting a few pins down. “fuck.” he cursed and grabbed the other ball. he rolled it again and hit a couple more but not clearing them all. “mother fucker. i hate this shit.” he walked back as his brothers and you giggled.

you stood up knowing you were next. “watch and learn.” you smiled as you picked up the bowling ball. you got yourself ready before rolling it down the lane. you hit the center leaving two pins on either side. “you’re kidding me.”

you heard laughs from the triplets. “good luck with that, baby.” chris said leaned back man spread. he looked so good. you ignored the fact that your throat dried up when you saw him and grabbed another ball. you then aimed for one of the pins knowing that’s all you could get.

you ended up hitting the right one down. “at least i got one.” you shrugged heading back.

chris stood up high-fiving you. “good job.” he said puckering his lips which you instinctively pecked. he then continued to get a bowling ball as you sat down. he inserted his fingers in the holes designated for them and the way his hands moved and swiftly handled the bowling ball had you clenching your thighs.

he held it in his hand trying to get a good grip of the ball making sure it wouldn’t slip off which further showed the veins opposite of his palm.

you looked and saw the way he held it with one hand finally getting ready to bowl it. the way his veins reached all the way up his forearm.

you took a deep breath not wanting anyone to notice how it suddenly started to become a little high in temperature in the alley.

what made everything even better was when he rolled the ball and hit a strike. “holy shit! let’s fucking go!” he cheered, his smile radiating. he made eye contact with you as you were recovering from seeing his fine ass. his brows furrowed for a split second before looking at matt. “matt did you fucking see that?”

matt grumbled. “yes i did.” he playfully rolled his eyes getting up to complete his turn once again.

chris smiled and walked back toward you. “you okay baby?” he questioned seeing a difference in how you were sitting.

you snapped back into reality and nodded. “oh! yeah im fine.” wrong. you weren’t fine. you were actually thinking of the amount of ways he could make you feel good right now.

chris nodded and even though you thought he didn’t notice, he did. he noticed the slight way your cheeks flushed and the movement in your thighs. he noticed how you bit your lip slightly. how your stare was a thousand miles away as if your mind was moving a thousand miles a minute.

he smoked to himself, loving the effect he had on you. so he continued on, doing small things that he knew would drive you insane.

when it was finally time to go you were so needy to the point where you were about to beg to be touched. matt had drove you guys to the triplets house and you and chris climbed up the stairs and entered his room. he closed the door and immediately started getting ready for bed.

you became a bit shy at what to do so you changed as well. you changed into a cute little pajama set before going to the restroom and washing up. the whole time though you couldn’t take your mind off of chris’s hands. how his fingers could stimulate you just the right way. you were dripping at the thought.

as you finally finished, you walked out to see chris laying on the bed shirtless with his hands behind his head “all ready for bed baby?” he questioned earning a small nod from you. you climbed into bed sitting beside him still dozing off. that’s when chris placed a hand on your thigh in between both of them and in response you mindlessly squeezed them. he audibly chuckled at your action. “you okay?”

you nodded, embarrassed and not wanting to say what you were enduring. he licked his bottom lip before rubbing your thigh. “so you had fun bowling?” he was teasing you. every time his hand moved up further toward where you needed him and you thought he’d finally touch you, he’d move it back down — keeping you with that feeling of immense need.

you couldn’t focus on anything else. you didn’t even notice he has asked a question until he squeezed your thigh with the hand you were staring at. “what you thinkin’ about?” he spoke quietly, his voice sultry. he knew exactly what he was doing.

your throat became dry as you were about to speak. “um..” you avoided eye contact as you tried to control your breathing. your heart raced and your pussy felt like it was pulsing. you looked at his hand again, the image of his fingers gripping the inside of the ball and the veins that you found so attractive. your mouth was dry. God, you needed him so bad.

he turned his body toward you. “mm.. so nervous.” he flitted his eyes from your lips to your hands that were in fists before looking up again trying to find your eyes. “look at my baby, c’mon.” he purred removing his hand from your thigh to steady himself before moving his left hand and tilting your head toward his.

you reluctantly looked him in his eyes earning a smile from him. “there she is. tell me what you want?” he was confident in knowing how needy you became. his thumb went to your bottom lip slowing passing across it before grabbing your jaw. “if you tell me …” he didn’t finish his sentence. it was like he wanted you to finish it for him in your head because you did know what he’d say and what he’d meant.

if you told him then he’d give you what you want

you took a breath before speaking, “want you to touch me.” you confessed those words quietly. chris smiled down at you loving the way you fell apart with his touch. “please..” you began to bed.

he began to nudge your thighs apart the cool air hitting in between them. you got the chills when he trailed his fingers alone the inside of them. “how bad?” he frowned sarcastically.

you took matters into your own hands and guided his hand to placed right on your heat. “bad.” you whispered before looking at him. his lips looked so pink and kissable.

chris felt the room heat up as you guided his hand toward where you needed him. he then trailed his own hand to the waistband of your underwear and reached in pressing to fingers onto your clit.

your breathing hitched feeling his cold fingers on your hot cunt. you leaned back against the headboard, your legs opening wider by default. chris slowly and gradually moved his fingers in a circle motion over your clit.

he scooted more back to lean against the backboard of the best so that he was able to take his right hand and pull your chin toward him to connect your lips. you moaned inside his mouth feeling his fingers speed up a bit. “what got you this needy, baby?” he murmured against your lips. he pecked them a few times more before slowly his fingers down. “answer me..”

you gulped, leaning forward as he leaned back away from your lips. your eyes pleasingly moved from his lips to eyes. “mm… because of when you.. you know…” you trailed off, feeling small under his gaze. he raised his brows wanting you to finish. “when you grabbed the bowling ball. your hands — they looked really good.” you were almost breathless as you told him what got you all hot and bothered.

his fingers quickly sped up as you said what was in our mind. “yeah? you like the way my hands look?” he teased, his fingers quickening and your legs shaking in response.

you nodded grabbing chris’s shoulder and squeezing it as you felt yourself begin to slip away into the needed ecstasy you’ve wanted al day. “mhmm… chris — feels so good. please, don’t stop chris.”

his chest moved up and down as he tried to get you to your high faster. “don’t worry baby, m’not gonna stop. wanna make my girl feel so good.”

those words were the final push you needed to hit the edge race before your core snapped like a rubber band. you felt the wave of pleasure hit you, your hands squeezing chris’s chest as the sweet sound of your moans blessed his ears.

he slowed down his fingers but not all the way trying to ride you out of your high. your chest began to slow as you calmed down. your eyes were screwed shut but as you finally opened them you caught chris admiring you. you blushed, always feeling nervous around him regardless of the situation. “stop staring.” you leaned your forehead against his shoulder.

“mm.. never.”

© slxtarchive

[devildomwriter]

Obey Me As Tumblr #29

MC: I love bears they’re so fucking big and dumb

Leviathan: I thought you were a lesbian?

MC: I am talking about the animal!!!!!!!!!!!!

Satan: This is kind of the opposite of straight people forgetting gays exist

•

Beelzebub: *me inhaling pure Neon into my body by sucking it out of an ‘open’ sign at a store: Hhhhhhhhh

Satan: Wtf

Beelzebub: I felt I was pretty clear

•

Mammon: Guy about to invent mayonnaise: damn I wish this sandwich tasted bad :/

Solomon: Op’s never had pizza with mayonnaise

Mammon: OP’s never throttled someone to death with their bare hands either but unlike what you said, that can change any second

•

Asmodeus: When in doubt slap His ass

Simeon: His is capitalized….are you talking about god’s ass?

Mammon: Are you in doubt? Just slap His ass

•

Mammon: Not to sound like a dr*gon but I do want your gold and I am going to lay on top of it in a pile inside a cave

Diavolo: Why did you censor dragon?

Mammon: Townsfolk may find it scary

•

MC: Killed a spider n now I feel bad :/

Mammon: Give birth to a spider to make up for it

Mammon: Why did I say that?

MC: Why did you say that

•

Luke: Hey everyone it’s 5:30 pm

Solomon: It’s 8:24 where I am

Luke: I decide the rules

Mammon: Rules are more like guidelines, fool

•

Asmodeus: How sharp is your knife (flirting)

Solomon: Come find out (flirting intensifies)

•

Diavolo: When people start having long random conversations on my posts, my initial thought is “I’m glad these two are having a nice talk” but then I investigate further and almost 100% of the time they’re both horny and role playing historical figures

Diavolo: You all wish I was joking

•

Solomon: 2025 bullies be like “give me your lunch coins or I’ll unsub from your dad’s onlyfans”

Leviathan: Posts that can cause physic damage

•

Satan: I am sending pain vibes your way. You will feel a lil discomfort on your leg

Mammon: Ouch

Satan: Yeah

•

Luke: What happens when you become tumblr famous?

Leviathan: So much happens

Simeon: Like what?

Solomon: So much??? God did you even read the post

Leviathan: Get his ass

•

Simeon: The best fruits are hardest to open

Beelzebub: This fucking bowling ball is gonna be delicious I know it

•

Solomon: YMCA but instead of young man they say comrade and YMCA is USSR

MC: Comrade, steel production is down

Solomon: I said comrade, you must sleep on the ground

•

Diavolo: You think I have a choice? I have to be real

Mammon: This isolated message makes me feel like I’m about to be shot and killed

MC: This reminds me of grandma

Mammon: Hi! What does this mean?

•

Thirteen: God I wish there was a wasteland I could banish people to

Mammon: It’s the afterlife, sis

Thirteen: You’re right! I could simply murder and kill the people I don’t like! Why didn’t I think of this?

•

Mammon: Want a gf but I ain’t prepared… I’ve not land to give, no cattle…

Last • Next

[ozarkthedog]

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲?

summary: Dieter Bravo is freezing.

warnings: silly fluff. gn assitant!reader x boss!Dieter (platonic). swearing. Dieter talking about his cock -> he/him. half naked Dieter. no beta. w.c: 874

an: for @sp00kymulderr “Dick Pronoun Fic Challenge”. I had a ball writing this. 😆💙

I found the item that inspired this drabble over the weekend when I was hosting @seventeenpins and I had to write something feat. the chaos man himself. Pic of said item is in the header lmao 🙃

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⋅ 𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

October in California has a way of catching you off guard. One day, it's sweltering; the next, you're bundling under the covers and wearing multiple layers of clothing.

The sun was hiding behind the clouds as it rose over the horizon. A salty breeze rustles the palms that line Dieter's property as you sit on the back patio. You hug the sweater around your body but sit comfortably in your jean shorts as you add events to his already chalk full calendar.

As much as Dieter was chaos, he was also serene. He didn't mind you showing up to work in whatever clothes you wanted, sometimes joking about wearing nothing at all. You always rolled your eyes, but half of you believed he was telling the truth. You've seen him half-naked, only wearing his iconic green robe, at least a dozen times.

Thankfully, you were becoming immune. The shock no longer stops you in your tracks.

"Dieter, pants" became your catchphrase. Too many times, you pointed your finger toward the immaculate staircase in his house, sending the artist off in a huff to be more presentable.

It never was a dull day working for Dieter.

"NOODLES!!"

You stop typing when you hear Dieter's panic-stricken voice echo over the balcony.

"Noodles" is his nickname for you. It all started one day after you ate a bowl of Ramen. He was mesmerized for whatever reason while you ate lunch at his kitchen island. He was stoned, having consumed an entire plate of Korean BBQ after a lengthy painting session. As much as you didn't want it, the name stuck.

"What!?" You crane your neck toward the balcony situated slightly overhead.

"HAVE YOU SEEN WALLY?!" Dieter leans over the railing with worry etched on his brow. His green robe graces his shoulders as he looks down at you, his soft brown curls naturally askew.

You think for a moment, puzzled, before looking up at him. "What!?"

"WALLY! I'M FUCKING FREEZING!" He cries before running back through the balcony doors.

What in god's name is a Wally?

"Why don't you put on some more clothes?!" You suggest, leaning back in your chair, thankful for the break.

You can only imagine what his neighbors must think.

"IT'S TOO WARM FOR CLOTHES!"

You raise your hands in frustration. There wasn't any way to subdue him.

Just then, a pair of leather pants lands in a crumbled heap on the stone patio.

The sheer black button-up Dieter wore to the premiere of The Bubble floats down and lands next to the pair of pants. The cowboy boots he got as a gift for working on an indie film, which he never wore, other than that time you found him in nothing but in said boots strutting around his studio with his fingers posed as guns, bounces off the stone and ricochets in difference directions.

You take a long swig of coffee and rub your temples as more and more clothing rain over the balcony. "WHERE IS WALLLLLLYYYYY?"

Finally, a cheer bursts from the bedroom and down to the patio as you start back on your task.

"NEVERMIND! I FOUND HIM!"

Great. The first crisis of the day averted.

Dieter races down the staircase and rounds the patio table with a bounce in his step. Thankfully, you had no more coffee, or you would've spit it all over your laptop.

Dieter proudly stands naked in front of you, wearing only his Crocs and sipping a fresh cup of coffee. His open green robe billows in the cool breeze leaving no inch of his golden body hidden as his cock and balls are wrapped in some bundle of red knit.

It looks like something your grandma would've made, and you instantly regret thinking of her in this situation.

"Dieter." All words cease to form as you stare dumbly at your half-naked boss.

"He's nice and toasty now." Dieter happily sighs and sits across from you, his robe parting directly down the middle. "He just needed his good ol' pal, Wally."

You notice his "bundle" through the glass table. It rests comfortably between his burly, spread thighs. A red knit bow is tied at the crest of his flaccid shaft. You'd never seen anything like it, and that scared you.

"Where did you get Wally?" You ponder before you can stop yourself.

Dieter purses his lips, deep in thought, before pointing to his lap, "He always gets cold whenever I wear my robe. So what's the best solution? A sock? Psh, it's not thick enough." He huffs, waving a hand like he's shooing a fly.

"Then I tried to wrap a knit hat around him, but the elastic acted more like a cock ring." He sends you a wink, and a playful brow twitches, rising and falling consecutively before leaning across the table like he's telling you a secret. "And then one night I was surfing the web and found this!"

His warm eyes beam with delight. "From then on, he's never been cold. Plus, I can move around without anything cramping my style."

You slowly nod. If there were ever a piece of clothing that was Dieter, this would be it.

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. "Alright then. Let's make sure he's never without his Wally again."

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

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