#Evelyn speaking

[bunnyclawsllc]

Wow, I haven't posted here in a while! Sorry if I worried you guys. I've been feeling kinda under the weather recently??? Like passing out and coughing up blood. So yeah, that kinda sucks. My productivity has been kinda shit lol. The whole apartment smells like chemicals too, and Fembit's been acting weird. Leaving me notes and shit. I'm like 95% sure she's poisoning me lol. I would go see a doctor, but I have no insurance ): So yeah, fml I guess. Any ideas on what she got me with?

[fleuraimer]

Threesome with h and his gf but he obviously prefers the reader 🤭🤭 you can make his gf jealous or reverse cuck vibes if that’s something you’d like but just the vibe of him preferring the reader in front of his gf even if he’s trying to hide it (or not)

BARK BARK BARK WOOF WOOF BARK—

you'd been caught staring (not as if you're known amongst your friend group for subtlety—contrary, you tend to wear your heart on your sleeve, an open book—but it's nevertheless jarring to be called out on it). sat at the dinning table in a public restaurant, staring at a person, a man—arabella's man.

harry.

it was overt and entirely unintentional (and hard not to when he'd perused you the way he had, the way you had (have) been), and led to your current position.

we like to share, she told you with a reassuring smile, tucked in his side, his arm around her waist, as waiters tentatively came by to clear the table and the others gathered their things and said their goodbyes to one another. but his eyes were still on you.

as they are now, sharp, unwavering—you can't see them but you don't need to, its heat searing into the curve of your back. despite her apologia, this doesn't feel like sharing. it feels intimate, private, something to be shared between lovers.

not lovers and the girl that couldn't stop eye-fucking arabella's boyfriend since the second they stepped, hand-in-hand, into the establishment.

no matter (it matters, deeply—because you’ve known bella for years and this has never happened. she has a type—brunette men with inked skin and thick, eyesore muscles—that you’d like to think is the exact opposite of yours. and he fits into it, could probably serve as the poster child for her desired man and this has never fucking happened before but it’s happening now).

it's heady—bella's sweaty back pressed against your chest, your ass perched above hers, thighs spread over her, toes brushing her calves; arms, shaking, over her bunched shoulder, hands weakly keeping the brunt of your weight from collapsing onto her. her nose is in the sheets and yours is in her hair, notes of lavender and tea tree sprouting from the roots, as harry bullies his cock into his girlfriend's pussy.

she yelps, fisting the sheets he's splayed her—on all fours with you, ready and waiting, placed whorishly on top—over, when the force of his strokes shifts you both over the mattress, the ruddy tip of his cock no doubt pressing gratingly at the spot inside her that makes her thighs shake underneath yours.

you can't stop the moan that tears from your throat.

and harry smirks. "like it?" he taunts—rubbly, coated, thick, in a condescending, oddly affectionate lilt that you know—just know—is meant for you. it makes you shiver; heat licks down the knobs of your bent spine and your chapped lips part to respond but—

“fu-uck yes, har, love it,” arabella sounds from beneath you, tongue clearly weighted to the bed of her mouth with the way her words slur, or perhaps it’s the muffle of silken sheets caught between her teeth, soaked with spit, chewing.

he grunts, and you don’t know him.

you don’t know him because arabella brought him to dinner with your friends as an introduction to her boyfriend of three months, harry styles. you don’t know him, because the way he smiled, soft but not timid, and shook hands with naill and daniel was in that stereotypical, brotherly way that says don’t break her heart on one end and don’t plan on it on the other. you don’t know him because the way he let sara and brithany come to him first for a hug, and kept his hands respectfully above the small of their backs proved he didn’t plan on breaking sweet arabella’s heart.

you don’t know him.

…but.

he grunts and you swear it’s one of annoyance and not satisfaction. annoyance at the fact his girlfriend—your close, i’ve-known-you-since-freshman-year-of-uni friend—had responded instead of you.

you’re not getting fucked but you may as well be, with the way your head seems to swim in fog and your thoughts clot together into one big mess of consonants and vowels. you may as well have his cock, harry’s pretty, pink cock, stuffed up inside your guts with how you tremble over bella’s frame (could be blamed on the way she’s shaking beneath you, but there’s truly no point in lying to yourself). he’s holding you—he’s fucking her but he’s holding you—hands fit just over the swell of your presented ass, nails biting into the soft of your hips. you may as well be getting fucked, with the way—

“you’re dripping,” harry murmurs, absentminded-like, and his right hand moves from it’s station at juncture between the small of your back and the slope of your bum to fit itself between your legs. brushes calloused, firm fingers to your puffed up clit and it’s dirty. it’s dirty because he just barely grazes your clit with the rough pads of his fingers before he’s swiping them up and down to collect your wetness until it’s practically pooling in his palm and then pulling out of his girlfriend with an audible pop to smear said wetness over the length of he’s already soaked cock.

you still can’t see him, you’re still thrown on all fours over your very close friend who’s also on all fours but hearing him—hearing it, the slick push and pull of his tight fist working the remnants of your arousal from his hand into his stiff cock—is enough to make you fucking come.

you’re not getting fucked but you may as well be.

you may as well be, and you are when he rises slightly up on his toes to press his fat cockhead to the seam of your pussy. you are getting fucked when he pushes inside of you instead of going back down to his panting, edged girlfriend just beneath you, her holes pretty and presented the same as yours.

you are getting fucked, fucked by harry—by bella’s man—and you could fucking cry with delight.

god, you need to talk to your therapist about the significance of what this means, but that’s a thought for a later time—a time when your cunt isn’t being completely filled by the cock of a man who doesn’t belong to you, the cock of a man that belongs to one of your very best friends.

“harryharryharry,” you keen into bella’s scalp, strands glistening with a mixture of sweat and your drool, and dig your nails into the bedding beneath your palms to claw at the fabric.

he grunts, cock fully sheathed inside of you and you can feel the way his cock kicks and twitches against your soft, gummy walls and how he shivers at the feel of you wrapped snug around him and the way he grips your waist, nails biting, to keep you locked onto him and rolls his hips into yours, somehow trying to reach deeper even though there’s nowhere else to go, no more room, full—full—and—

you don’t know him.

but you know he wants you, more than he should.

and maybe you do, too.

——

a/n: couldn't explain it 👍🏽

not edited/proofread!!

[icarusredwings]

Based on real life events.

Thinking about how serious play time is in the Wilson- Howlett household

Wade, laying on the floor: Alright, Doc whats your diagnosis? Please dont be cancer please dont be cancer please dont be cancer

Dr gabby with toy tools: Hm.... Yup. You have cancer.

Wade: GAAASSSPPP No!! This can't be! I had so many dreams!! I- *drimatically starts fake crying.* I have to call my husband!

Dr gabby: You better make it quick, its spreading.

Wade: *gets out his phone and actually calls Logan, fake tears in his eyes and everything.* Logan!

Logan, who now walks out to the livingroom, holding the phone: Why are you calling me inside the ho-

Wade: LOGAN!!! I-.... i have cancer..

Logan: .... yeah??

Wade: *sobs drimatically* Im so young!! What are we gonna do!! I need a hug!

Logan: *steps back with his hands up* nu-uh if I mess up my nails Laura is going to kill me.

Dr gabby: Well I can do surgery. And save you.

Wade: GAAASSPP I wont have cancer anymore? Oh please Dr. Gabby!

Dr. Gabby: lay down.

Wade: *lays down very still*

Dr gabby: *litsens to his stomach*

Wade, giggling: What are you doing Doc?

Dr. Gabby: Im checking on the baby.

Wade: Baby!?

Dr. Gabby: Yes.

Logan, looking betrayed: Why didn't you tell me!?

Wade, blushing: Im sorry honey I didn't know untill dr. Gabby took away all of my cancer!!

Gabby: actually you still have cancer everywhere.

Wade: Fuck-

Logan because he's more drimatic then people think: YoU SAID YOU WAS ON THE PILL!

Wade, giggling: IM SORRY!! I HAVE ADHD!! YOU KNOW I FORGET TO TAKE MY PILLS!

Logan: Well You and I both know that Dr gabby took away my balls last week SO IT CANT BE MINE!

Dr gabby: *giggles*

Wade, genuienly shocked he would go this far: IM SO SORRY!! PLEASE FORGIVE ME! DON'T LEAVE ME! 😳😭

Logan: Who's is it!? Hm!??

Al, with popcorn: I bet it was that Spider kid he hangs out with.

Logan: GAAASSSPP!! YOU SAID HE WAS JUST A FRIEND

Wade: 👁👄👁💧 wait wut

Laura:.. what the fuck is going on

Gabby: Papa cheated on daddy

Wade: I-I DID NOT!!! 🤨

Logan: I CANT BELIEVE THIS!! 😰 I thought you loved me!! *fake sobs*

Wade: NO WAIT! I DO!! COME BACK!!

Gabby:.... are they still playing pretend...?

Laura:.. I dont know anymore..

[idontcare4urmom]

madi filipowicz,the toxic fans could NEVER make me hate you!!

petition for her to be back on the videos with the triplets🥹

[smokestarrules]

(their special interest is birds btw. if you even care)

[ssoftslutt]

tw!! dubcon/noncon. general blasphemy.

thinking of father!john price who puts it in your tight little asshole at the altar—a punishment for not knowing the lord’s prayer. has the bible open, and makes you read matthew 6:9-13—our father, who art in heaven—over and over and over as he pushes further inside. but you can’t possibly focus, not with his paws gripping your waist, keeping you still; not with his scratchy beard rubbing against your cheek, your neck, pressing shudders through you; not with his voice in your ear, low, rumbling, “keep going, little thing. finish y’prayer, b’fore i call deacon riley. an’ trust me, you don’ wanna deal with him, sweetheart,” (you do deal with him. both of them, sunk to your knees by the altar, one leg on either side of deacon riley’s burly thighs with father price behind you, bicep curved beneath your throat, cutting air—don’ fight it, little thing—and a hand fit your jaw, forcing your eyes on the bible laying on the deacon’s chest, matthew 6:9-13 open for you. “read, girl,” he grunts from below, but his eyes aren’t on your face. no, they’re watching price’s big cock disappear inside you, fucking into you; watching his own scarred paw bring his cock from the confines of his slacks and slide it back—back—to press right up against the father’s, and push—).

[blakbonnet]

looking at this lovely gifset makes me realise that Ed and Jackie have a history, they might even have known each other from their early days, like there's so much ease there and a bit of leg pulling, and she just fits Ed's "friend type" so fucking much. Now all I can think about is young Ed and Jackie going on a pub crawl, and holding each other's hair back as they throw up while Anne and Mary call them lightweights, and later Jackie hooks up with the murder wives 😌

[graaaaaayy]

there’s few things that are more disappointing than when you finish a really good book, go online to find fandom content and there’s maybe 3 fanart pieces, a dozen fics and the most of the posts are from three years ago when the fandom was actually active.

[nekumiho]

dont tag my art as kin/me/id/etc, no reposting or editing w/out permission

she's trying to teach him how to swing dance and he's scared he's going to trip and fall flat on his face or Worse- fall on her and break her

[ask-cota]

(@emily-and-friends

*a girl, around 19 runs past Evelyn, fast as a bullet* KIERAN?! KIERAN WHERE ARE YOU!?

Who?

[fleuraimer]

boxer!carmy and his girl’s first time ❤️

sorry for the wait nonnie :((

wc: 3.3k (still no explanation 🤝)

cw: smut. minors dni. 17+. kinda dubcon (consent is never explicitly given but rather heavily implied). unprotected p in v (wrap it). fingering (f receiving). oral (m&f receiving). messy, like disgusting lots of spitting&fluids. spanking&mild slapping. manhandling. creampie. kinda mean!carm but just like rough dom!carm idk. lmk if i missed anything pls!!

The second the back door to the limousine is slammed shut, Carmen shoots for Y/N. He grapples at any part of her he can as she actively scrambles as far from him as their confined space would allow.

He smirks to himself as his large paw finally fits to her delicate ankle; he doesn’t know what led him to believe she’d give it up without making him work for it, just a little bit, if not like a peasant appeasing his deity.

He prefers a game of cat and mouse, anyway.

She yelps and flops onto her tummy, cheek to the leather bench-seat, when he yanks her back into his kneeling figure.

“Where’re y’runnin’ off to, Cub?” He grunts into the heady atmosphere, not loud but certainly not soft, an inflection that cultivates something burning and nasty in her being, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, buzzing.

They both distantly acknowledge the sound of the partition being raised.

“There’s nowhere t’hide,” he mutters, his large palms gripping at her hips, raising her sprawled lower half into his hard, straining stiffy, ass perked and melded around his pelvis with her cheek still pressed to the scaly leather. His left hand settles on the swell of her pretty ass as his right slides up to the dip in her back, pressing, pushing down so her sternum’s glued to the butt off the seat just like her cute little face, arched pretty and presenting for him. He issues another stinging spank to her sweet ass with his left hand, mumbles beneath his breath, “Not from me, Baby,” as he forces her back into her perfect arch when she chirps from the impact, form hunching and jerking. They shudder against each other as her stuttering hips roll back into him, stiff bulge smearing over her messy, cotton-covered pussy.

His eager fingers scrunch the hem of her baby pink sweater dress up the backs of her thighs, bunched just at the slope of her curved back, dimples on display. He runs his palms up her quivering tummy to her heaving chest and drags those tiny, teasing triangle cups down, her soft breasts spilling over the knitted fabric. They idly come back down and slip through the flimsy strings connecting her fucking flimsier panties together, playing, tugging so the damp gusset stretches taut over her leaking cunt, cutting into her aching pearl.

He watches the elastic snap back into the supple fat of her ass with a satisfied hum.

When he moves her soaking garment to the side, he’s not expecting the strings of slick, bowing between her neglected pussy and confining panties, arousal webbed across her flesh. Curious, Carm slides his calloused thumb through the swamp of slick pooling at her sticky lips, catching in her hole, sinking. He meets little resistance in his endeavors.

“Look at tha’, Cub,” he croons, petting through her mess, “Swallowin’ me right up…” His free fingers smear into her puffy clit while his thumb continues to delve through her, head dizzying with every compression of her pulsing pussy. “Think y’could take m’cock, jus’ like this?”

She shivers against him, “Fuck, Bear—”

“Hmm?” he drones, focused on the curl and claw of her fingers against the leather seats. He pulls his thumb from her opening, wipes her essence on the imprinted palm prints scorching her ass, and fits his middle and ring finger inside instead. He watches her choke on her spit, shriveled, hiccoughed breaths emitted as drool froths in the corner of her gaping mouth. He smirks, predatory—bear-ish. “Think y’could, Cub?”

She nods her head against the seat, fervent, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmmm,” she whines into the leather.

He tuts softly at her desperation, offers her another spank that echoes in the stagnant air.

“Don’ be greedy, Cub,” he utters, which is, honestly, just ridiculous to say as he gropes and squeezes and smacks up any part of her he so pleases (not as if she has much room to speak, seeing as she literally drooling for it). His hands run up her sides, slithering between the stretchy fabric of her dress so it scrunches up beneath her chin, chest fitting to her back as he forces her to lift that pretty, hollow head so he can strip her down to her underwear. He kisses just behind the shell of her ear and whispers, “I’ll give y’what y’need, Baby.”

Delivers, too. Slips back down her back and slides his burly arms between her spread legs to wrap around her waist and tug her where she needs—his pretty, busted mouth.

He taps his tongue on her clit to hear her whine, suckles light and notches his bumpy nose in her dripping hole.

“Oh, my fuckin—”

He licks up, laves over her button and her hole and farther—up—to her rosebud, fingers dug into her red ass, spreading, like cake on a platter. Rolls his tongue back down to suck on her pearl, firm, weltering between his lips, and fuck his nose, gentle but present, in her soft opening.

“Carm— Carmy, you—” Cuts herself off with huffy gasps and groans, shakes against his pretty, beat up face when he brings his arm from between her legs to spank her—no firmer or meaner than before, yet no less jarring, stinging—and slips it right back through to wrap around her waist and spread her back open for him.

“Wha’s m’name, Cub?” he slurs into her pussy.

“Bear!”

“S’it, Baby, s’a good girl,” he mumbles, smeared across her modesty—sealed at the alter, an orison to his deity.

Carmy eats her messy; it’s not as if she wasn’t leaky before, he just… uses it to his advantage. Takes her arousal—saccharine and heady—and mixes it with his spit so much that webs between her cunt and his face like her slick had to her panties.

If he wipes it up, it’s halfhearted—for the benefit of rubbing a piece of both himself and her into her flesh, soothing her very essence and his liquid greed into the irritated skin of her ass, shimmering when street light seeps through the car windows and catches on his mark.

Otherwise, he lets it drip and fall and stir together so he’s sliding through it, tongue slipping up and down—up and down, up and down—to her sticky hole and clit, up—up—to her teased asshole to slobber and kiss and suckle and make her wriggle and writhe, shivering, shoving herself back into him, his mouth, his tongue; his zeal and the pleasure it affronts her with

(something walking the line of respect and humiliation, tipping—side-to-side, up and down, all around—between a purification and a violation—dizzying to the head and blurring to the eyes; fuzzy to the senses).

“Pleasepleaseplease,” she prays under her shortened breath, hand reaching back to press to Carmy’s curls and let her fingers slot through the swirling tendrils so she can tug him into her, pushing his head back down, urging his lips to return to her slick pearl. “G’na come, please,” she chirps, scratchy in her throat, unused.

He grunts against her—vocals racking through her body—and fits his mouth over her sweet clit again, nosedived in her pussy.

“Shit!” she cries, skittish. “Please, fucking— Ah!”

He draws back with a noisy pop that could make her scream (curl up in a ball and cry and wail and fucking throw up because what the fuck is his issue?).

“Anybody ev’r made y’squirt b’fore, Cub?” he mumbles, nonchalant but not

(so, that’s his issue).

The sound of him slurping up her dripping slick—not a drop gone to waste—muffles her meek reply of, “Mm-hmm, Bear,” head shaking as she nuzzles into the bend of her elbow.

“No?” He tsks. “S’a shame, but I ain’t complainin’; Get t’break y’in.”

He pulls his arms from between her legs to grip her shaky thighs and fix her positioning, her presentation—ass up, face down—sloppy where it was once prestige. Takes two thick ringed fingers and stuffs them up her fluttering, pliant pussy. Slips right inside, so he forces a third without pause, and starts fucking them into her.

His motions are simultaneously precise and fluid. He knows where to stroke and how to stroke it, which ways work best to achieve the desired reaction. The calloused pads of his fingers pet firmly at the soft spot inside her the makes her toes curl beside his legs, the thick of his fingers stretching her sucking, gummy walls around him, blooming, petals unfurling—flower blossoming—for him.

It’s incessant, the brew of arousal at the base of her belly. Bubbling over the surface. Pressing, pushing—

“Fuck! Car— Bear, coming! M’coming, don’t stop, M’— Hmm, don’t fucking stop, Bear!”

She does come—gushes over his three thick fingers and spates when he slips them free and pinches and presses and pats at her tacky clit, firm beneath his plucking finger-pads, puffy and stiff with scorn, discount, oversensitive with anticipation.

“Jesus Christ, Cub,” Carm growls, a bully with his offering of pleasure, selfish. Keeps petting and petting and petting at her button, keeps her coming, shaking, squirting in his open, eager palm. “S’a good fuckin’ girl, Baby—look at that fuckin’ cream. Keep comin’ f’me, Sweetheart.”

He doesn't let up until she's twitching so much she might melt right off the seat and into a puddle on the limo floor. Carmy chuckles, a dark rumble from somewhere buried in his belly, and grips her hunched shoulders, yanking her behind into his front.

"Need a break, Cub?" He asks, sympathetic, condensation coating his lilt, and she's nodding before he can finish speaking. He soothes a kiss into the skin just beside the hinge of her jaw, strictly supple, and moves them together so he's sitting up right in the leather seat (he slips slightly, on all that mess and drool his cub left behind, and he huffs a small laugh because of it).

He flips her to face him with the objective of getting her chest to chest, sat pretty in his straining lap, but when he draws he nearer she pushes at his chest and drops down to the floor, sat pretty on her knees for him.

For someone so incoherent—sluggish in speech, jumbled and only sometimes discernible—she makes damn quick work of the button and zipper of his dress pants, yanking those and his briefs down together in a carnal, oddly endearing display of need, or want or something—deeper; something bigger than words or speaking or thoughts, but feeling, vivid, in sense, in meaning, in something difficult to describe—but it doesn't matter much to Carmy because she's taking his stiff cock in her soft, small hands, warm and contradicting the cool of her rings, and lifting the ruddy, weeping tip to her glossy lips, shimmer and spit-slicked.

She spits on his fat head, and doesn't bother hiding her pleased smile at the resulting groan she's awarded. Her sly, pink tongue peeks out and licks, chaste, around her squeezing fingers, jerking, twisting, working his cock with a mixture of his pre and her spit.

"Shiit," he moans when she settles him between her sticky, glittery lips, still tonguing at his tip even as he stretches her sweet mouth (Carmy wasn't particularly long, average, but not lengthy. His width was an entirely different question, though. The girth of his cock was enough that it makes even his hand seem conventionally sized).

He works his rough fingers through her hair as she sinks lower, steady, calculated, on his cock, soft suction, gentle, pulsing with wet heat. She stops halfway, sucks in her cheeks and pulls back a little but then drops right back down, lower—sinking—until her nose is nestled in his sparse happy trail and he can feel the contraction of her tight little throat around his fat head.

"S'good, Cub," he gasps lowly, chest heaving, pressing wisps of hair, dry and drenched, from her face. He brings one hand down to the base of her neck, thumb rubbing softly, soothing, that urges her down when she lifts. "Nuh," he grunts, hips jerking when she chokes around him. Her small paws skim over his thighs and grip at his sides for leverage, but she doesn't fight it.

Relaxes into it, on the contrary. Arches that back and closes her watering eyes and feels the flutters of her stuffed throat instead of trying to stop them.

"'Atta girl," he grumbles, leaning over her to play with her perked ass—gripping, wiggling, spanking—and then trail his fingers down to her hollow cunt. He stuffs with three fingers, swift.

She mewls around his thick cock, gags and taps his side twice so he'll let up. Does so easily, eagerly, almost, a palm fit to her jaw that tugs her up, up, up to his bitten, busted lips. She's huffy, heaving and stuttering breaths through hiccoughs and whimpers, but she takes his kiss like she craves it. Opens her mouth and let him lick into each corner and crevice, suckles and bites on his cut in the corner of his bottom lip until metallic coats her tastebuds. She lulls, and he keeps her up for him, lips locked and tongues tied, uncoordinated and sloppy but good—sating.

He shoves her back down when a hefty drip of drool hangs between their chins, reaching for his forgotten cock. She takes him down to the root immediately, this time, strokes her tongue across the girth of his cock, running up and down the protruding veins before she pulling back, slurping up the mess she's made to spit it back onto him and do it over again.

And again, and again—again

(Stay, Cub, he coos, nose tucked to his belly, gagging—messy girl, he chastises, but doesn't soften—thumb and forefinger of his right hand pinching her nose and his left at the base of her neck, thumb soothing).

He rips her back up when she tries to take one of his full balls between her sloppy, saccharine lips because if she had he would've busted all over her pretty, ruined face. She whines and protests against his wrangling, but he's far too firm—big and strong and capable—tuts away her greed with a few stinging, lingering pats to her cheek.

"What'd I say, Cub?" he mumbles, scrutinizing, two fingers shoved down her eager throat to satiate her. And yet, he still looks at her for an answer like she's in any position to speak. "Hmm?" he presses, and pats her cheek rosy red, prodding and smearing spit over the irate hue.

"Don't be greedy," she repeats his prior instruction, just quick and clear enough for him to make it out before three fingers are pushing past her lips again.

"S'right," he nods, tilts his head up to press a delicate kiss to her sweaty forehead, paw fit to her flushed cheek. "Lucky y'so pretty—don't be greedy, Cub; G'na listen this time?"

She swallows, bobs her dizzy head up and down and inches foreward in search of his mouth, sighing something soft and darling from the pit of her belly as their tongues touch, silken, velveteen laving and savoring.

He pulls her back by a fist to her scalp before they can get too carried away, twists her around so her back is facing him and pushes her down until her arms shoot out to catch her against the seats lining the opposite side of the limo. He grasps her supple hips and drags her back, leaking pussy slotted to his hot, throbbing cock—moves his right hand over to the small of her back and presses, urges her back into the perfect presentation.

He works his cock through her slick—not necessary, with the way he's soaked in her spit, dripping and webby—clinging—to her flesh, the seam of her full thighs and puffy pussy—his fat tip bumping the head of her clit with every pass.

"Fuck—fuck, Bear—please, put it inside, put it— please—"

He sinks in before she can swallow her fervid tongue, dives through her wet, gummy walls, pushes into her to the hilt, stretched, filled to the brim, cockhead smearing at her cervix. They moan together as he fits himself to her, balls squeezed tight against her sticky clit. His fingers dig into the full of her bruising ass, marked up and cherry red, finger-pads milling craters into her flesh as he shifts back, drags himself out so he can cram himself right back in, exacting—forces his cock out to the tip through her vice grip and stretches his way back inside.

"Oh!" she mewls, head bowing between her bunched shoulders. "Fuck, you're— fucking— y'big; s'big, Bear," she stutters, trips over her leaden tongue, shakes and gasps when he finds a steady pace, sating, to fuck his cock into her; bullying his desire—desperation, greed—into her very being. Her fingers claw at the leather seat, grappling fruitlessly, as he pulls out and strokes back in, contracting over the present grooves and ridges, thick veins, of his swelled cock.

"Look at this little pussy, fuckin' swallowin' m'cock," he mutters, awestruck. He offers her bouncing ass a sharp spank, bearish and blunt, that ripens the imprints formerly singed into her skin. "Bring it back f'me, Baby; work this ass f'my cock."

Her obligation to his request is clumsy, feverish, but what she lacks in fluidity she makes up for in vigor. Swivels her hips up so his cock is only kept snug by the head, and rolls them back down, slow, cherished, veiny girth disappearing inch by delicious inch into her muggy cunt.

"Fuck, Cub!" he moans, debauched, and cants his hips up to meet her half way—uses his hold on her swirling hips to tug her on him how they both need, press in farther, and farther still.

Her right hand slips from the leather and slides down, over her heaving chest and full belly—ignores the obtrusive bulge in her stomach—to her mound, lower, where she finds her tender clit to tweak and twist and knead beneath her fingertips, rubbed to mingled discomfort and gratification.

"Y'playin' with m'pussy, Sweetheart?" he grunts, daunting, but gives no other form of admonishment, doubles down, if anything, on the power and level of leisure to his thrusts. She cries brokenly into the crook of her elbow, pinches harder at her clit, shrivels into his strokes.

"G'na make m'come," she whimpers, feather soft and watery at the base of her throat, head heavy and fuzzy and shaking, enamored and terrified, a heady culmination of sensations.

And Carm's been fending off his impending orgasm for far too long, enough for the ache in his belly to fester into something much keener—more earnest—so: "Go 'head, Cub; come on m'cock so I can fill you up," he coos, fucking her harder, faster, deeper (chasmic, impossible but tangible and maddening). "Give it t'me, Sweetheart; C'mon, Baby, gim'me that sweet fuckin' come—"

Y/N flutters around him, arousal flowing from her cunt in waves, pushed—pressed out from the pressure and stretch of his girth inside her. Her lips part in a silent scream, pooling and brimming with spit, spilling over her plump lips and hanging, dripping, to the carpeted floors.

"Good—shit—good fuckin' girl, t's...S'fuckin' tight, Cub, fuck."

He spills into her, strokes faltering before he gives her one last, sure thrust up to lock him to her, balls taut and pulsing against her slick pearl. They grind into each other as they ride out the tail ends' of their satisfaction, dripping between their slopped, joined parts.

"Fuck," Carm huffs, sagging into her as she does to him, slumping against the butt of the leather seat behind. "All right, Cub?"

"Hmm," she hums in agreement, head lulling back to settle on the bulk of his shoulder and press her nose into the hinge of his jaw, inhaling.

He turns to smack a kiss onto her temple, across her sweat-slicked forehead, eying her tenderly through stumbled breaths. "Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"S'good," he sighs, and sinks into his position—seated on the floor of his limousine after bludgeoning his challenger in his pay-per-view match, stealing his girl—pretty in pink—and fucking her into the carpet and leather. He leans his head back and shuts his heavy eyes, cock still stuffed up her cunt, their essence leaking from her twitching hole and around his softening cock.

It was a good night.

——

a/n: i don't wanna talk abt it...

edit: the way y'all saw a third of the story repeated n js didn't lmk.

loosely edited/proofread!!

[mindlesssins]

I know that in the “to touch a hummingbird” episode, Martin’s line “did you know that chocolate sauce is my favorite sugary liquid” is supposed to be in reference to hot cocoa, but i find SO MUCH MORE FUNNY to think that it implies that Martin just drinks straight chocolate sauce!

like hear me out… at some point Jimmy has to get Aviva to add a locking compartment in the fridge just to put hershey’s chocolate sauce bottles in it so Martin will stop taking them.

[ask-the-elden-lords]

(@russian-girl-vera

*in the middle of a psychotic breakdown*

*scoops her up*

[caramel-caracal]

Realizing I never drew those goofy little butler outfits the twins have. One hard to draw hat to another I see- 📝

[smokestarrules]

Ohhhh Philip you wanna see Eda and fly into a trauma-flashback so bad.

[alltoowsll]

OH NO PLEASE NO