#I still feel bad that this got leaked in the first place

[sillygoofyqueer]

I know that this is going to get weird but bear with me. Also this isn't meant to be as horny as it might seem.

I think that PIDW Logic™️ would give the middle finger to the whole point of bird demons having genders in the first place and make all bird demons lay unfertilised eggs about once a month, unless they get fertilised while still in the bird demon of course.

Crowyuan would be no different even if he's the heavenly demon variety.

I think Binghe would be jealous of Crowyuan's eggs.

I think Bingge might cook them if Xin Mo got to him.

Oh Binghe would be SO normal if he could naturally have children with Crowyuan.

And imagine how shocked and kind of horrified one of his followers/Binghe/the peak lords/the disciples would be if they were to find (one of) his nests with AN EGG in it. There isn't a baby in it or anything but STILL.

The crow family knows what's up but they still get a little surprise every time because SY doesn't bloody tell them when it's That Time Of The Month: Bird Demon Edition.

I am so so sorry the mpreg part of my brain leaked a bit into the Crowyuan part of my brain.

Henlo, Anon! Thank you for the ask, I very much appreciate it. I need to preface this with the fact that I read this ask, thought "huh, this doesn't feel very horny to me!" and then showed it to one of my mutuals as a sort of second opinion if you will, and they just said 'damn, egg layer Yuan' and that sort of put it in perspective for me. Despite that, I still don't think it's very horny, so either I'm just desensitised to it all, or this isn't horny! ANYWAY, if you want mpreg, we can literally have mpreg. Crowyuan now has mpreg. I don't know if there's a secret group of people who have been praying for this moment, but if there is, you can now rest. Put down the blackmail plans. We're going to look at Original Crowyuan, then Crowyuan on Cang Qiong but with the mpreg lens because that's FUN. (Also jiuyuan) ((To that one irl friend, my bestie booboo bear, you do NOT fucking see this. You never did. Dear GOD, YOU FUCKING DIDN'T.)) Original Crowyuan usually has his unfertilised eggs in his crow home, surprising his family at first but then they learn how to track his...'cycle' if you will, so they aren't caught off guard if there's a random egg in his nest. However, when he starts spending more time at Bingge's castle, it's a constant fucken wrestling match over eating the unfertilised eggs. It's like Crowyuan being like "DROP IT!! DROP THAT EGG!" and Bingge is holding it above his head and being like "I'M GOING TO MAKE SCRAMBLED EGGS AND NOBODY CAN STOP ME!! IT'S A WASTE!" However, I like to think that Bingge is also like "this egg could be fertilised. This could be my child. But noooo, it's devoid of a baby, so I'm going to fucking eat this." Dude I forgot the tag for the Crowyuan that's just chilling on Cang Qiong, but he's obviously just hanging around Cang Qiong and making nests on most of the peaks, so he does just have unfertilised eggs lying around. I imagine that Shen Jiu is the first to find out because (as stated in a previous post, I think) he's got disciples/a record on every single nest on Cang Qiong, so he sees this fucking egg just...lying around in one of the nests and is like "Oh. My God." and then like well what the fuck would he do with this? His pretty crow demon is going to be a mother! He must not let any of the bastard peak lords learn about this, 'lest they try and 'take responsibility' and step up to be a father to his demon's children, so HE must do it first. (When Crowyuan learns of this, he feels so bad because Shen Jiu is so determined about it, so he has to like...actually have a child! Cue mpreg.)

[slvttyplum]

“good lovin feel so numb, ride me til i’m bout to cum.”

“fuck, oh fuck, babe… keep bouncing.”

there he was again, choso straining his fucking neck to watch his dick go in and out of you while you kept bouncing steadily.

sweat dripped from his forehead as his hands were on your hips with a soft grip, every so often losing his grip from how sweaty he's become.

his eyes flicked to yours periodically to watch the concentration on your face as you kept going, gripping your hips harder, sending a painful chill throughout your body, almost losing your balance.

choso couldn't help it; you gripped around him nicely, the erotic wet sounds only making him go even crazier. mindlessly bucking his hips, low grunts coming from his chest, drool falling out the side of his mouth, and sweat flying.

muttering to himself while begging you in another breath to go faster, one of his hands slipped up your sides, giving it a rough squeeze.

no matter how hard choso tried to contain himself and be gentle, he just couldn't.

"i'm so sorry, i'm sorry... keep fucking going." grunting those words and slamming into you faster, he wanted to flip you over and slam into you until he was tired, but he liked the way you felt when you were on top—not even just the feeling; he loved everything.

watching how your speed slowed down for a second before speeding back up and watching how you threw your head back in pleasure or even when he rubbed your clit the way your body would jolt.

more, more, more, more, more.

that's all he wanted; even when he got more, more was never enough. even with his hard pink tip twitching with cum leaking out of it, he still found himself moaning and groaning for more stimulation.

his siren-like eyes turned doe-like under the bright light, and his once dry face was dewy; looking at him in this state felt like seeing him for the first time; you didn't know whether to admire how good he looked or fuck him more.

"i need you so fucking bad, just please keep going." his voice in a needy whimper as his thumbs rubbed circles over your soft skin, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

sliding his hands to yours that were placed firmly on his chest and sliding them up to his neck, his eyes still on yours, not daring to break eye contact.

"please." the only word muttered out of his mouth, his eyes glossy and his dick still harder than a rock inside of you leaking, more saliva peeking out the corners of his mouth slowly dripping.

your speed only got faster; his pleading was desperate. it was only right for you to unravel the last knot that formed in your lower stomach.

the pit in your stomach quickly unraveling as your pace got sloppier, your hands on his neck tightening and your head thrown back in pleasure, a silent moan escaping his lips.

his eyes squeeze shut, as he feels you squeeze around him, his whole body unraveling, letting out a sigh of relief as he slowly opens his eyes, looking at you with a weak smile.

his smile tells a hundred words.

[rqnarok]

old man!logan obsessing over his pregnant wifey

headcanons - cws/tags: smut! mdni. breeding kink. lactation kink. pregnant sex. dom/sub dynamics.

a/n: okie a lot of u asked for a part two of this blurb, here ya’ go my loves! <3

Logan Howlett used to think he wouldn’t be a good father. Hell, with that temper and attitude? He was sure he’d be the worst one. 

But you don’t seem to agree with him on many things—especially his self-destructive thoughts. I mean, that’s why you let him knock you up in the first place. You’d grin seeing your belly round and full of his babe, tits plump and leaking.

You are too beautiful to behold, “My pretty fuckin’ wife.” A sight that has Logan’s libido reaching its peak, the ones he thought he was not capable of anymore as an old man. 

Yet here he is, dick hard and balls full each time he sees you. 

Shit. You look so soft, walking around the house barefoot and swollen with his offspring. A sick and possessive side of him loves knowing that when you are out in public, it’s apparent that you’re taken by him, carrying his child. 

Pregnancy grants you a restless glow that makes it harder for him to say no to you. “W-wan’ you, please, Lo—” When you beg him to stuff you up full, who is he to deny his wife? Deny the mother of his child? 

He turns into a madman at how your leaking tits bounce up and down when you ride his girth, at how your breasts seem to look when you wear those tight tops, at how your nipples are poking all the damn time, and at how you are hornier than ever.

Yeah, he caught you hiding under the sheets rubbing your swollen clit and fingers deep in your own dripping cunt with his name rolling off your tongue — thinking he’s still doing his late night shift. 

He fucks you as much as he can, the positions getting more and more adapted as your stomach grows, sometimes filthier than ever, “Put your legs up here, baby. Can’t have ya’ sore now, can we?”

His favorite position is still you on your back, thighs spread apart, and belly full on display. “Ya’ got me so fuckin’ hard, pretty.” He doesn’t give a damn that his aging body feels aching—he could watch this for hours. Your face contorted with pleasure as his fat cock thrusts in and out. 

Oh, Logan’s nasty. He says he tries to ‘relieve’ your pain by sucking at your sensitive, leaking nipples while plunging his cock inside of you. “Mhm, such a sweet wife for your old man.” Pumping your full womb while he laps at your milk. 

The almost 200-year-old man believes he has gained stamina—now that he has more responsibility. He’s always ready to load you up for days on end. And that’s exactly what he’ll do for the next few weeks. Molding his cock inside you before sex starts to get all too much for his pregnant wifey. 

Logan’s a natural caretaker. It shows when you’re hitting the post-orgasm soreness and barely do anything except breathe heavily. He never forgets to show his affection, scratching his scruffy grey beard on your neck before softly kneading sensitive parts of your body. 

“Let’s get ya’ cleaned up, mama.”

A bad father? Logan Howlett buried all of his dictionaries and named you his language. 

[criminalamnesia]

HIIII!!! I just wanted to say that i really love ur writing! I've read ur traitor series and I can't wait for part 4! I'm a new author, and english isn't my first language, so it's sometimes very hard for me to write bcs i'm stil not that good, but ur fics have helped me improve<3💗!

thank you so much!🫶 im glad you’ve enjoyed the series! and speaking of part four, here it is :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

simon didn’t turn to watch you leave the gym.

he stood there, eyes forward, mask clenched in one fist. he could feel the blood drying on his skin. he made no move to wipe it away.

he didn’t blame you for your anger— he couldn’t. he understood the rage. had felt it himself a time or two.

but he couldn’t take everything lying down.

did he deserve your wrath, your fury? yes— and he knew that. there was no making up for what he did; he realized that, but why couldn’t you understand?

he’d never fully taken his walls down around you, and that was no fault of your own. he was a guarded man, and his past gave him every right to be.

he had been burned and broken too many times. he’d seen the people he loved murdered because of him.

he swore he would never let that happen again. he put those walls up, and you knocked some of them down.

but there were some you’d never gotten through, at least, simon told himself you hadn’t. there was always something he was holding back, a piece of himself he wouldn’t give freely. he told himself it was because he couldn’t stand to love you so deeply and then watch you leave.

but really, it was because he needed an out. he needed a way to justify his leaving if something ever happened— and that’s what got him here.

simon trusted the 141 with his life. he trusted his captain with his life. price had never led him astray; john knew his face well before any of the others. well before you.

and when someone you trust so deeply, someone you’ve followed for years, tells you that the person you love has betrayed your team?

you can’t help but believe them. and that’s what simon did.

the evidence was coincidental at first. wrong place, wrong time. but then, everything started to seem like more than a coincidence. pieces of a complicated puzzle were fitting together. things only you and the rest of the 141 would know were leaked.

and all the signs pointed to you.

and although he didn’t want to, simon couldn’t help it. the second price had confided in him that you may be the rat, simon began to distance himself. you had been confused, but he had offered no explanation.

price was the one to question you first. it was a heated conversation in his office, consisting of him showing you the evidence and you becoming furious at the accusations.

johnny came to you next, buttering you up with his flirtatious and unarming words before asking if you’d leaked information.

then there was kyle, who pleaded for the truth. he told you that a case was being built against you, and that if you came clean now, things wouldn’t be so bad.

simon never tried to talk to you about it. the other men would tell him what you’d said, but he had never gone to talk to you himself.

maybe it was pride. simon wasn’t trusting, not after his past. he had let the 141 in, had let you in. and now you were a suspected traitor, and he was angry at himself. angry he hadn’t seen it sooner; angry he’d let you in at all.

but maybe it was hurt. hurt that you’d done this to him, to the team, after knowing everything they’d been through. after stitching up wounds on the battlefield and taking bullets for one another. after sharing simon’s bed and whispering you loved him.

all he knew was that he trusted price. and as evidence built, so did the distance between the two of you, until you were tied to that chair.

and simon had taken his hurt, his anger, out on you. he wasn’t proud of it, and he knew now that he was wrong. but he was still a little angry. angry because you couldn’t see his side of things— not like he could see yours.

so, he was an ass. he didn’t apologize. he snuck flowers to your bedside but kept his distance. he told you to watch your tone because you were still part of the team, and speaking to price like that was only something an outsider would do.

and he told you that he’d spared your life because he had. anger had consumed him, and truthfully, you were lucky he hadn’t done worse.

even if he’d smothered his feelings for you with rage, he still harbored love for you, and that’s why some part of him held back.

he knew you would probably never forgive him. he had made his peace with that.

but he couldn’t stand the fact that you couldn’t understand why he’d done what he did.

the creak of the gym door opening broke simon from his thoughts. he pulled his mask back on before turning around and making his way to the door.

it took one firm knock on the door for price to answer.

the door clicked open, and price sighed when he saw simon, scrubbing a hand over his unruly beard before letting the taller man in. price turned, walking back to his desk chair, while simon closed the door behind him and locked it.

“this is a bloody mess,” the captain said, falling heavily into the chair. it squeaked at the sudden weight, old leather crinkling and crackling.

“doc came and saw me earlier, ‘fore she left for the night. told me about some new injuries, and yelled at me for letting that happen.”

simon didn’t speak. price’s eyes met his, and he sighed again.

“fuckin’ hell, simon. what the fuck did you say? doc said she had to stitch up both their hands.”

“doesn’t matter what I say,” simon spoke, eyes still on the captain “they won’t fuckin’ listen.”

price shook his head. “that’s not true, ‘nd we both know it,” he sounded tired as he spoke, dark bags under his eyes. he paused for a moment, then spoke again.

“spoke to laswell after you left earlier. she said she’ll try to speed up the transfer process. tryin’ to avoid more fuss, and im not fightin’ it any longer.”

“they’re part of our team,” simon spoke, tone rough.

price shook his head. “they are, but I can’t keep doin’ this. can’t keep pushin’ off transferin’ because of you lot. it may be better for us, but not for them.”

the room fell quiet. simon inhaled, exhaled. his fists clenched at his sides before quickly unfurling once more.

he didn’t have a right to be mad at you for leaving, but he was.

“laswell say anythin’ else about tha’ transfer?” simon asked.

price leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “not much. no word on where or with who, but even if she knew, doubt she’d tell us. for their sake.”

simon gave a small nod and made to turn, but froze as price spoke again.

“she did say she didn’t know if it would go through. they’d have to pass another eval.”

they both knew what that meant. if laswell said that, then she didn’t believe the transfer would happen. kate wouldn’t outwardly say it, but price had known what she’d meant.

pushing the transfer through wouldn’t matter if you couldn’t pass a physical and psychological evaluation— and laswell didn’t think you could.

although he wouldn’t admit it, price was unsure, too. torture was something that took an incredibly devastating toll on the mind and body.

but torture at the hands of your team? there was no telling the damage that that would do to someone. to you.

an honorable discharge was more likely. and, if that was the case, then your rage would likely grow tenfold.

you career, your livelihood, taken from you by the hands of the men you trusted the most. your family, cutting you up and pushing you out.

damned by your team and your country, regardless of everything you’d done for both of them during your service.

you were just another cog in the machine, one that had been damaged and discarded, and a discharge couldn’t make that any clearer.

he thought back to what you had said in the gym earlier, before you’d left.

‘you should have killed me.’

maybe he should have.

thanks to everyone for your patience! also just incase you didn’t see my post about it—

im no longer doing a taglist! my side blog @troiastitans will reblog my works from now on, so if you want to know when I post, follow that account and allow notifications!

as always, thank you for the love! (also I hope you all enjoyed a little peek into simon’s head!)

[neptilius]

MR.STEALYOURGIRL

synopsis; satoru gojo takes his role as your work husband seriously

cw ; unprotected , p in v, pussy eating, cheating, probably spelling errors, minors dni!!!

“no phones we aint even gotta talk”

being satoru's work-wife while you have a whole husband at home was a blessing and a curse. you knew what you were getting yourself into and the consequences that would follow but what doesn't help, is when he forgets his place. all the times he almost got you caught up without a care in the world if your husband found out how he fucks you like an animal in heat during your lunch breaks, business dinners, when you stay after hours to make 'deadlines’. he wants you all to himself and you don't miss the dark look in his eyes every time you tell him to back off when its time for you to go home to your husband.

he doesn’t deserve you, he doesn’t know how to please you the way satoru does, hell he doesnt even eat pussy…he doesn’t take the time to buy you flowers or even pretend he’s interested in the things you like anymore. you were emotionally checked out and couldn’t find the so called love you had for your husband anymore and it didn’t take much for you to call satoru over the second your husband left for his work trip overseas.

“fuck your so pretty,” he groaned in your ear softly nibbling on your helix as he rubbed his thumb over your right nipple through your thin nightgown and grinding his clothed erection on your sopping cunt.

“toru’ need you so bad.” you mewled at the way he rolled his hips into you. eagerly grazing your manicured nails over his abs.

“gotta prep you first sweetheart.” he moved to the edge of the bed and pulled you down by your ankles to meet him. strong arms pushing your thighs apart as he littered kisses on your hard clit earning soft moans from you.

he glanced up at you, cerulean eyes glazed over with lust. “look at you already falling apart for me, sweetheart. it’s like your body knows who it belongs to.” pressing a french kiss to your mound, making your breath hitch.

“toru…” you whimpered , hips involuntarily bucking against his face.

“patience, baby. gotta take my time with you. can’t have you thinking he ever had a chance.”

the mention of your husband sending a wave of anxiety through your stomach; but it dissipated the moment satoru’s tongue slipped into your entrance, curling and flicking in ways that had your toes curling.

your head fell back against the comforter under you, fingers threaded in his white locks as he devoured you like a starved man. he didnt let up, sucking and licking until your thighs trembled around his head, the obscene wet sounds filling the room.

“fuck, toru- gonna-“ you start but was cut off by the waves of pleasure that surged through your body, leaving you breathless and arching off the bed.

he pulled back just enough to watch you , his chin glistening with your juices as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “thats my girl. so fucking perfect for me.”

without missing a beat, he stood up, unbuckling his belt. his cock strained against his boxers, the outline making your mouth water.

“lemme remind you why you don’t need anyone but me.” he murmured, leaning down to press a sear kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself on him.

pulling his boxers down to free himself , your breath hitched at the sight of him—thick, long, and already leaking for you. he gripped the base, teasing the tip along your still-sensitive folds, spreading your slick over his length with a low groan.

“look at you, sweetheart. always so ready for me,” he muttered, his voice rough and dripping with desire. he leaned down, capturing your lips in another deep kiss as he slowly pushed into you, stretching you inch by inch until he bottomed out.

a choked moan escaped your throat, your fingers digging into his biceps as he held still for a moment, savoring the way your walls clenched around him. “fuck, you feel so good… better than i remembered,” he hissed, pulling back slightly before thrusting back in, making you cry out.

just as the rhythm of his hips picked up, your phone buzzed on the nightstand. the sound made your eyes snap open, heart pounding as you reached for it, but satoru caught your wrist, pinning it above your head.

“leave it,” he growled, his lips brushing against your ear as he thrust into you harder, making the bed creak beneath you.

“i-i can’t,” you stammered, your voice breathy and trembling. “it’s… my husband.”

his movements stilled for a moment, a dark grin spreading across his face as he glanced at the glowing screen. “perfect timing. answer it.”

“what?” you whispered, panic and arousal swirling in your chest.

“you heard me,” he said, leaning down to nip at your collarbone. “answer it. let’s see how good you are at pretending.”

the phone buzzed again, the vibrations seeming louder in the tense silence. with a shaky hand, you grabbed it, swiping to answer and bringing it to your ear. “h-hello?” you managed, your voice uneven.

“hey, beautiful ,” your husband’s voice came through the line, warm and unsuspecting. “just wanted to check in on you. how’s everything at home?”

satoru smirked, shifting his hips to thrust into you slowly, dragging along your walls in a way that made it nearly impossible to hold back a moan. your free hand flew to his shoulder, nails digging in as you bit your lip hard enough to draw blood.

“it’s… fine,” you lied, your voice strained as you tried to keep it steady. “everything’s fine. h-how’s your trip?”

“it’s good,” your husband replied, oblivious to the way satoru was rocking into you now, his thrusts deep and deliberate. “just busy, you know how it is. i miss you, though.”

your breath hitched as satoru leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “tell him you miss him too,” he whispered, his voice laced with dark amusement.

“i… i miss you too,” you choked out, your eyes squeezing shut as you fought to keep your composure.

satoru chuckled softly, his pace quickening as he angled his hips to hit that spot that made you see stars. you bit down on your knuckle, desperate to muffle the sounds threatening to escape.

“i’ll be home in a few days,” your husband continued, his tone cheerful. “we should plan a date night or something, just the two of us.”

“y-yeah,” you stammered, your voice trembling as your body tensed beneath satoru’s relentless thrusts. “that… sounds s-so good.”

satoru’s hand slipped between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight circles that sent shockwaves through your body. your legs trembled as you struggled to hold back the orgasm building deep in your core.

“well, i won’t keep you,” your husband said. “just wanted to hear your voice. i love you.”

satoru’s grin widened as he mouthed the words, say it back.

“i… i love you too,” you whispered, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue as satoru thrust into you one last time, sending you over the edge.

you barely managed to hang up before the phone slipped from your hand, your body shaking with the force of your release. satoru didn’t stop, riding out your orgasm with a smug look on his face.

“good girl,” he purred, leaning down to kiss you softly. “you did so well.”

the phone lay forgotten on the nightstand as he flipped you over onto your stomach, pressing his chest to your back. “now, let’s see how long it takes for you to forget all about him.”

[knightjpg]

Brick by Brick

And like a dog who's learned a new trick Simon rings your bell the next day. Wasn't happy with how he left it, and wasn't that faucet leaking? He's got plenty of spare wood in his shed, don't you worry. What's that about the boiler making a weird noise? He'll take a look at it, might have something for the draft in the hallway too. Pay him? What are you talking about, he does stuff like this for fun. Don't sweat it, love. Just hand him that wrench.

tags: construction worker simon/neighbour reader

part 1 | part 2

Summer is the worst time of year for construction work outside. Up early before the birds are awake to try and beat the heat, arriving on site at six or earlier with bleary eyes and creaky joints from the day before. It means coming home at four or five with lots of day left to get through yet without the will or energy to do anything beside shower, eat, watch some telly, and sleep. 

The pay is good and it beats sitting in a cramped office all day, but when Simon gets home with aching knees and the thrum of a headache at the back of his skull it's hard to remember why on Earth he chose the career he's in. He's drenched in sweat, large dark patches adorning his pits and back. 

It's one of those days where very little can make him stray from his commute straight to home to collapse into his big falling-apart chair, but today it's not really up to him. A large moving truck blocks his driveway. The faded company logo against dirty white overtakes the entire view of his windshield, though Simon can see the back doors are still swung open. No one to attend to it, though. 

Simon noticed the FOR SALE! sign had gone, of course. Remembers feeling vaguely pleased, even, that the home next to his wouldn't be empty anymore, because he of all people knows exactly how quickly places can fall apart without anyone tending to it. But right now all he feels is tired, and hot, and really fucking annoyed. Just when he's clicked his belt loose to get out of the car and see if the dolt belonging to the truck is anywhere to be found, voices carry from the open front door. 

“...last. I'm afraid it's a little heavy, though, so maybe we should get the boxes out first?” 

And out steps the sweetest little thing he's ever seen. Hair tied up, tight little top, and shorts that give him ample view of your legs.  

Maybe summer's not so bad after all. 

You're talking to a bloke wearing a uniform that matches the moving truck and who looks flushed in the face from exertion. As soon as you clock Simon's car, though, you stop mid-sentence in surprise, and then quickly walk to him, brows furrowed apologetically. 

“Oh, I'm so sorry—you're trying to get past us, aren't you?” Simon gives you a nod, and you turn back to the mover. “Would you mind moving the truck up a little? I don't want it to be in the way.” 

There's precious little parking space ahead, so Simon rolls down his window and calls out to you, “Jus’ backing up a few yards s’fine.” He gestures to his driveway so you know that's where he's headed, and you flash him a smile and a thumbs-up in understanding. 

The truck is moved, Simon parks his car, and you pull another heavy-looking box from the cube. You never reach your new doorstep with it; Simon steps in and lifts it from your hands. You blink up at him, lashes fluttering sweetly with surprise. “Oh—are you sure? It's heavy...!” 

One corner of Simon's mouth tugs up. Tired as he is it weighs next to nothing, and he can't resist holding it with one arm, holding out the other. 

“Can take ‘nother if you need.” 

You laugh and assure him this is quite enough, then jog back to the truck while Simon pushes past the half-open door to his new neighbour's home. 

It's a mess, of course. Piles of boxes, scattered furniture, rolled-up carpets. Simon puts the box down in the living room, then saunters back outside to lift another from your hands. He does the same with the couch; the mover is struggling and Simon doesn't trust him not to let it fall and crash. And you're such a little thing. Just doesn't feel right, watching you rush around and struggle without stepping in. 

With Simon's help it's quick work. The mover thanks Simon before driving off, but he's not really listening. There's much more important things to pay attention to. 

You're pretty. Cheeks flushed from exertion, breathing hard, flyaway hairs from your ponytail sticking up in odd directions. Simon has to suppress the urge to smooth them away. 

"Thanks so much for the help,” you tell him earnestly. “I'm sorry we were in the way—we thought we'd have a little more time before people started coming home from work.” 

“S’alright,” Simon says. It's nearing evening, now, the sky above you glowing in pale pink and oranges hues. The little smatter of trees across from you rustles with a gust of summer wind.  

You introduce yourself and insist on giving Simon your number “in case there's ever anything you need.” Simon's more concerned about a young woman living all on her own but takes your number all the same, watching your pretty little fingers tap it in on his phone. 

“I mostly work from home, but I'm very quiet and boring,” you tell him with a smile. “You don't have to worry about noise.” 

For some reason that isn't the selling point it should be. When Simon stands inside his hallway, house empty and dark and quiet, he wishes he still lived in a shitty apartment with thin walls on the bad side of Manchester. Maybe then he'd hear your footsteps, or better yet, your voice. Instead the only thing waiting for him at home is silence. Heavy and thick, where he's ripped away from sweet sunshine and plunged underwater. 

-

Simon is halfway to falling asleep on the couch when the bell rings. He groans, drags a hand over his face, and glances up at the TV. The football match is still going. The camera pans over a cheering crowd, their cries distant and quiet. 

He mutes the thing entirely and heaves himself up to open the door. Swear to God, if this is the fucking salesman again... 

“Hi there.” 

You give Simon a little finger wave, your other hand cradling a round oven dish. When you shift on your feet the protective foil on top rustles noisily. 

You look a little more put together than you did yesterday—rested, showered, fed. Just as pretty. 

Although, speaking of fed... 

“Alright?” Simon asks, eyes on the oven pan. He's only catching a faint whiff of something, but whatever it is smells really fucking good. His stomach reminds him that the only thing in his fridge are a couple cans of beer.  

You nod and lift the dish with a shy little grin. “Yeah. Um. I wanted to say thanks again, for yesterday. And I wanted to test out my oven, so...” 

You hold the dish out for him to take. Simon's fingers brush yours, large meaty paws easily twice the size of your own. When he peels back the foil you add, “Shepherd's pie. I thought about cookies, but I wasn't sure if you'd like those.” 

The scent hits him, then, rich and hearty and buttery smooth. The dish is still a little warm. 

Fuck. When was the last time he ate something homemade? 

“No, I'll eat anything,” he says, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. He hasn't showered yet. Must look a nightmare. Does he stink? “Thanks.” 

Your whole face lights up, and Simon's neck feels hot. He averts his eyes to avoid your gaze and pretends to inspect the pie instead. Jesus, what is he, twelve? “I'm glad. I'll leave you to it, then.” 

D’you want to come in for a drink?  

It's on the tip of his tongue, but he can't get the words out quite right and gives you a brusque nod, watching you walk back to your own home before closing his door all the way. 

He eats at his kitchen table and finishes the whole thing in one go. Chases bits of flakey crust with his finger, licks up every leftover crumb. The meat is tender and juicy and for a while after the only things he smells is golden-brown potatoes seasoned with rosemary. 

He mourns it when it's gone, of course. Has half a mind to go over right now and ask if your cooking is for hire—Simon can't remember the last time he felt satisfied. When he ate not just for the sake of fuel or convenience but because someone wanted him to have something nice, something special. Is it special? Is he special? Are you going around the neighbourhood handing out cookies and pies to just anyone? 

Simon's sigh is loud in the silence and sticks to the kitchen walls. 

The pre-made frozen meals are fine, of course. Empty plastic containers fill up the rubbish bin. They're easy and cheap and most days Simon's glad just to have something warm in his stomach.  

And yet. 

The next day Simon stands at your door at six in the evening sharp, holding the clean dish in his hands. You invite him in for a cup of tea, because unlike him you have good manners, and you sheepishly apologise for the stacks of boxes everywhere. 

“S’alright,” Simon says, carefully manoeuvring around a large pile of books. “I don't mind.” 

And he doesn't, though he does feel like a bull in a china shop. Large and much too coarse for the little tea cup you hand him while the kettle whistles on the stove. 

“I'm afraid I don't have much to go with it,” you say with a flutter of your hands. “Do you like ginger snaps? I think I've got a pack somewhere.” 

You don't wait for his answer and pry open one of the cupboards. First come the ginger snaps, then the box of Earl Grey, which you hold up to him with a triumphant smile. “Unpacked the important stuff first.” 

Simon frowns and jerks his chin to the cupboard. “S’it stuck?” 

“Oh—yeah. They all are.” You give the wood a little knock. “It'll take me some time to get to fixing everything. The house went for a good price, but only ‘cause it needs some love.” You give him a rueful smile and get up, wiping your hands on your thighs. “I'm not all that handy, so I'll have to take it bit by bit.” 

Simon rises before you finish your sentence. "Let me see.” 

“Oh, no, it's okay. It's not a big deal, really—” 

Simon crouches down, slowly, to spare his knees, and tests the hinges. The wood is rotten in certain places, the hinges old and rusted. Rather than fixing it up it should be replaced entirely. You really better had gotten this place for good money, because this will take more than a bit of elbow grease to repair. He prods at the hinges, tuts, and looks up at you. 

“Ready to fall apart, this one. You said they're all like this?” 

You nod, worry creasing your brow. “I—yes. Well, the kitchen is. The bathroom seems alright. Is it worse than I thought?” 

“Might be. You have anyone look at this?” 

You shake your head. “I'm starting to feel silly about it now, but I was going to look up how to do it myself.” 

Simon straightens. “I'll go get my kit.” 

-

It's not as bad as he feared. Two cabinets need tearing down completely, but the others are worth saving. Simon warns you the repair job will fuck the wood, but you tell him it's no problem; you'll paint over it anyway. 

You feed him tea and ginger snaps while he works, asking him several times if he wouldn't like a break, hasn't he done a lot already? You feel terrible about having him work on his day off. Didn't he say he worked construction? He must be so tired, poor man. You insist he stay for dinner. “You've been so helpful—it's the least I could do.” 

Simon takes a breather to watch you cook. Chicken, pasta, summer salad. The sun sinks lower and hits you straight on from the kitchen window, painting the edges of you a dazed red-gold. An angel's halo. 

“You big on reading, then?” 

You turn down the heat and put a lid over the pan to join him at the table. Simon's eyeing the many books strewn about on top of boxes that say “pans” and “kitchen supplies”. Le Morte D’Arthur. Histories of the Kings of Britain. Beowulf. There's even one that prompts a vague, long-forgotten memory from his school days— The Canterbury Tales.  

“I am. Always have been.” You nod to the books. “I teach at university—medieval literature. But I'm working on my own research on the side.” 

Simon lets out a low whistle. His pretty bird is a clever one. Smarter than him, that's for sure. He might be big and strong but he's got bricks for brains. 

That's what his dad always used to say, anyway—that he's stupid. Those always were his kinder moments. 

“That explains all the books y’got.” 

“There sure are a lot of them, aren't there? I swear moving really makes you realise just how much stuff you own...” You shake your head. “I'll have to get a bigger bookcase.” 

“Think it's impressive.” 

Your eyes crinkle with a smile. “Not as impressive as knowing how to fix my cabinets! I don't know how I would've managed by myself.” You hop up from your seat to check the food, then ask over your shoulder, “Is that something you do a lot for work, too? Carpentry and the like?” 

Simon shakes his head. “We do the heavy lifting. Clearing a place out, laying the foundation. Johnny—my coworker, he's mostly on machinery. Kyle does transport and plumbing. I do the heavier handiwork.” 

You hum and start plating the food while asking him more questions. Is the pay good? Is his boss fair? Are his coworkers nice? 

Price's fairly strict is what he is, Simon answers, and you laugh again. He likes that. Likes that he gets you to do that. 

He wolfs down a plate of his pasta and devours the chicken. It's fragrant, roasted with lemon and thyme, bursts between his teeth. He tells you more about Johnny, that he's a cocky bastard who likes playing with electricity way too much, but that he's also a loyal friend. That he's a hard worker—that all of them are. 

When his plate is empty and he's eyeing what's left in the pans you push them closer without saying anything, and prompt him to tell you about that time a plumbing line exploded and Kyle got soaked from tip to toe in disgusting gunk. He smelt like sewage water for weeks. 

Simon doesn't even realise how much he's talked until his throat starts feeling rougher than usual. You make it easy somehow. If he'd thought you would look down on him because of your own job he needn't have worried. You're not at all like what he imagines when he thinks of professors, none of the stuffy superiority complex he's used to weathering when people find out all he does all day is chafe his fingers on hard cement.  

Maybe you're just good at faking it, but he doubts it. The sparkle in your eyes when you listen to him so intently has to be real. 

You send him home with a warm thanks and dessert, and Simon feels something in his chest lurch when you peer up at him through your lashes in the doorway, smiling and sweet. Can't remember the last time he went out for dates. Can't remember having the time or energy for it. 

And like a dog who's learned a new trick Simon rings your bell the next day. Wasn't happy with how he left it, and wasn't that faucet leaking? He's got plenty of spare wood in his shed, don't you worry. What's that about the boiler making a weird noise? He'll take a look at it, might have something for the draft in the hallway too. 

Pay him? What are you talking about, he does stuff like this for fun. Don't sweat it, love. Just hand him that wrench. 

There are days when it's hard, of course. Simon is only human, and spending days and days on sizzling hard concrete would wring anyone dry. The project is coming along nicely, but at the height of summer there's plenty of times when even the promise of your smile isn't enough to keep him from falling asleep on his couch—often on an empty stomach. 

But during the weekends he rings your bell dutifully. Six o’clock becomes something sacred in his mind, sweet relief after praying on his knees for hours smoothing out cement. It gets to the point where he turns down Friday drinks with the guys more than once because he's got something to go home for now, his pretty little bird that's never once mentioned a boyfriend of any kind. 

“You really should let me pay you.” 

Simon gives you a look before pushing his large shoulders further into the cabinet under the bathroom sink. “Should be the one payin’ you. I know I'm doubling your grocery bill.” 

He eats more at your place than his own these days. It gives him incentive to rush through a shower, dress like something resembling a human, then wait at your doorstep to be let in. Wagging tail and everything. 

Your cheeks darken and you duck your head. “No, um... It makes me happy. To see you eat my cooking, I mean,” you confess a little shyly. “I feel like I'm the one getting everything out of this. I hope I'm not keeping you from—from spending time at home, or with your family.” 

“S’just me, love.” Simon pauses, pretends to inspect the pipes. “Less you don't want me coming ‘round anymore.” 

“No, no,” you say hastily. “No, I like—I like the company. Really.” Your voice softens. “And I'm not just saying that because I appreciate the help.” 

Simon exhales, shifts a little to accommodate the strain in his boxers, and holds his hand out for the screwdriver. 

[defmaybe]

[AER-698] My Boss(?) Loves My Ass So Much She Puts Her Tongue on It, Then She Fucks Me in the Ass Like I’m Her Cockslut and Make Me Cum!

aespa’s Uchinaga Aeri/Giselle x Male Reader

1.2k words

Sequel to Excel

“G–Giselle, nghh.”

“Shh, call me Aeri, baby. I won’t bite you–and your ass.”

A giggle leaves Aeri’s lips just before her tongue dives right back onto your asshole, leaving you tensed up in the sensations.

Again, you’re caught in this “predicament” of having your collar tugged by someone while walking in the SM building’s hallway—happens to be Aeri this time. 

Should’ve been more careful.

Her hands grip the outer of your thighs ever so tightly, locking your willing, lithe body in place. Her dexterous flesh finds its rhythm in lapping up your rear, having your cock leaking droplets of precum on the tile floor. She doesn’t taste the insides of your body yet, but you’re quite sure that she won’t stop on the outside.

“You know–wait, Yizhuo would probably have told you this, our little rankings, haven’t she?”

“Y–Yes, yes, Aeri. I–I got the best ass for four years straight.” You aren’t certain whether to be proud of it, but it gets you here, bent over a desk to have your asshole licked.

“Yeah, you know, it’s not just the ass. There’s legs, abs, face, and you didn’t do bad in other categories!” she stops the tongue action, but still playing with the rim of your tightness with her deft fingers. The pleasure is still there.

“T–Thanks, hgngnn, Aeri.”

“Anyways, yeah, I’ll go back to eating your ass now.” Aeri chuckles, before placing her tongue on you again, eliciting an inaudible sound from you.

She lets out a quiet, satisfied moan with each swipe of her flesh. How can she be so good at eating ass? God, this woman, she’s making you struggle to stand upright. You would’ve fallen to the ground a long time ago if it’s not for this poor wooden desk.

You swear that your moans keep getting higher and higher with each lick of hers. She does it so, so well, fuck.

And as if she can listen to your body, she starts to invade your butthole—piercing her tongue into your body every two or three swipes. The shocks become stronger now, any contact with your cock and you’ll cum.

“Hmm, baby boy, you taste good,” Aeri says. You can feel your puckered hole clenching in front of her face. You can feel her warm breath on your cheeks. And you can feel the tightening of her hold on your legs. She want you so, so fucking bad.

“T–Thanks, nnhh, A–Aeri, again.” You just can’t form your thoughts with the waves and waves of pleasure surging through you now.

And she stops.

“W–What?” you utter, glancing back to catch her determined eyes.

“Oh, baby boy, my poor baby boy. Just wait a second, okay?” Aeri says with her doe eyes, her hands searching for something within her tote bag.

As she brings the object out, the size of it makes you gawk—a six-inch black strap-on. To be honest, the expectation of it being a dildo plowing your slutty ass isn’t exactly too far. But with the size of it, you won’t be able to walk home properly today.

“A–Aeri? I–I don’t think I–”

“Shhh, baby boy, let me fuck your ass, alright? Be a good boy for me~” Aeri speaks as she’s harnessing the plastic phallus on her waist.

You nod.

She paints lube on her shaft, and she manages to snuck a finger into your tightness to lather her target.

And so it begins.

She slowly pushes her cock into you. The coldness of the lube makes you shiver, and how her length enters your pliant body. You keep your mouth tight shut, unable to make any sound out of this otherworldly sensation. God, she’s fully dominating you.

“C’mon, make some noise, baby.”

And that’s when you let go.

You let out the loudest moan of your life at her command.

“Fuck, ngnghhn, Aeri.”

Her first filling of your snug hole brims with care—the ridges of her cock grazing your inner walls, the gentle hold of her hands on your slutty, slim waist.

“God, you’re well worth the wait, baby boy.”

The tip of her rod sears into your body up to your prostate, sending waves and waves of indescribable ecstasy through your frame. You’re such a slut for her.

“That’s it, baby boy. Take me inside you.”

And with an inch more, she’s buried inside you to the hilt. The edge of her hardness is poking your stomach. It hurts, but it’s also fucking satisfying.

“I wish I could stay like this forever, but unfortunately–” she pulls herself back, leaving some space inside you once again. “–I don’t have all day.”

And she thrusts back into your ass, violently.

“D–Daddy!”

Fuck, where does the moniker come from?

“Yes, yes, moan for me, baby girl. Be my good girl.”

She doesn’t let the slow pace linger for too long, as she starts to up her ante. Any leftovers of the initial gentleness are now replaced by the roughness of her cock ramming into your ass, into your prostate. Each stroke sends you closer and closer to ecstasy.

“Fuck, I wish I could stay soft. But god, fuck, I now know why Yizhuo was smiling that whole damn day.” Her grip on your waist—that slutty, slutty waist—becomes tighter. “Because of a slut like you, baby girl.”

“Ngnh, d–daddy.” You’ve submitted to Yizhuo before, but this is on another level. “Daddy, please use me like your slut. I–I’m your cockslut!”

“Good fucking girl.” And she gives your ass a slap, fuck, leaving you in such pleasurable pain.

Wet squelching sounds vibrate through the room. Aeri is fucking your ass relentlessly. She’s not leaving any room for your breathing. Her plastic phallus hits your prostate again, and again, and again. You’re her fucking dirty cockslut—made to be used and abused.

With each contact, you can feel your release coming in close. It’s building up in your loins, that familiar feeling. The echoing of each “daddy��� doesn’t help either, only serves to declare your full submission for Aeri.

“Daddy, I–I’m gonna cum.”

“Fucking cum then, you useless cocksleeve. Cum on the floor!”

It doesn’t take many thrusts into your rearhole for you to lose your hold. Your cock shoots ropes and ropes of cum onto the white tile floor. She doesn’t relent, still ramming her own length into your prostate, so eager to squeeze every drop out of you.

Your cock twitches violently, each spurt descends in its intensity. Still, all of them send the same message: you’re Uchinaga Aeri’s cockslut.

“Yes, just like that, you fucking bitch.” She gives your ass a slap once again. That’s going to leave a mark.

Eventually, you come down from your high, all panting, desperate for air. You’re trying your best to keep hold of the table.

“F–Fuck, that was fun,” Aeri says, also panting.

“Nhgn.”

“C’mon, baby, let’s get some sleep.” And Aeri helps you walking towards the bedroom upstairs, being fucked in the ass and all. You can barely walk.

As you reach her room, she places you into her bed. Before tucking you in, letting you rest after one of the best sex you’ve ever had.

“Good night, baby boy.”

–

[hoshifighting]

Hiiii! I was wondering if you could do a reaction of svt where the s/o gets in an argument with a man, and stands face to face proving their point to the guy ? And after svt just found it hot?

Thank you ! Take your time with everything, and just know I appreciate what you do!!🫶🏼

seungcheol: standing tall right next to you, arms crossed and glaring, he lets you do your thing, but he’s this close to stepping in, just in case. he’s practically pulsing, both from the need to protect you and from the heat of watching you hold your ground. honestly, he’s getting turned on by the fire in your eyes. he keeps his cool on the outside, but on the inside? he’s a mess, ready to handle things himself, but also ready to handle you right after.

jeonghan: oh, he’s got no time for this dude. he’s so mad at the guy that he just grabs your hand and walks away, mumbling something about “saving the poor guy from humiliation.” but once you’re alone, he’s practically begging you to use that fire on him next.

joshua: he steps in halfway, putting an arm between you and the guy with a calm look, body language all possessive. he tries to gently calm you down, but he’s clearly enjoying your stance, looking at you like you’re the hottest thing he’s ever seen. every word you say just turns him on more—for more degrading they are.

junhui: just watching in awe, the longer it goes on, the more he’s biting his lip, looking you up and down like he’s in heat. after the argument, he wraps an arm around you, muttering about hot it was, you can bet he’ll remind you of this later.

hoshi: probably started the fight in the first place, either from saying something too loud or getting a bit too hyped. but once you step in and take over, he’s standing behind you, practically leaking cum in his pants. he’s grinning from seeing you put the guy in his place. he’s the type to lean in after and mutter, “remind me not to get on your bad side.”

wonwoo: he won’t let you get too close to the guy, immediately trying to guide you away, even if you’re still talking smack at the guy as he’s pulling you off. every time you keep arguing while he’s pulling you away, his cheeks flush, and he’s smiling to himself, already feeling the cock growing inside his pants. he’s both entertained and turned on, sneaking little glances at you as he thinks, “damn, that’s my partner. should i be proud or scared?”

woozi: he’s standing right behind you, fists clenched just in case, ready to step in if the guy even flinches wrong. but he’s also secretly smiling because he’s so damn proud. every time you fire back at the guy, woozi bites back a grin, watching the force in your posture. cant keep his hands off you by the time you walk away.

minghao: casually stands behind you, hands on your arms, his body pressed close as you argue, with a little smirk because he’s totally enjoying the show. he loves how fierce you are, and your ass pressing on him, it’s not doing him any favors. he whispers a “we’ll talk about this later,” already planning to scold you and make out with you the second you’re alone.

mingyu: he’s watching you like he doesn’t know whether to be afraid or turned on. even though he’s towering over the guy, he’s so flustered, shifting nervously between shield you and euphoria of seeing you all fired up. he can’t help but ask later, all red-faced, “could you, uh, maybe be that mad at me… later?” definitely into the idea of you riding him while still a bit mad.

seokmin: is this really happening? he thinks. he just watches in awe, face redder by the second. after the argument, he’s pulling you close, trying to act calm but flustered. he’s stammering about how amazing you were, but also afraid to stress you more. “you know, babe… that was, um, really hot.”

seungkwan: he’s fighting with you, no doubt. he’s already arguing with the guy, and you jumping in just fuels him more. after the argument, he’s all horny, both from the confrontation and the way you backed him up. rage sex is basically guaranteed.

vernon: he’s standing there, jaw dropped, just watching you handle things. he’s too stunned to move, his face saying it all: his cock is about to explode alone, no touch. he doesn’t say much afterward, but he’ll definitely be pulling you aside later, needy, unable to stop thinking about how godly insane you lookwd

chan: he’s shocked, honestly, but also totally in awe. his eyes are wide as he watches you lay into the guy, he can’t help but give a proud little smile, he’s got a newfound respect (and a little crush) on you afterwards. would be teasing you about how scary you were but secretly blushing because he’s hot to trot.

[gottalovesae]

Morning Call ☠ Feitan Portor

Characters: Feitan Portor x fem! reader

Prompt: Somnophilia

822 words

Warnings: NSFW 18+, p in v, excessive use of "baby", unprotected sex, Somnophilia (consensual), Cunnilingus (f. receiving), Cock warming, cumming inside, nipple play, morning sex, grammar is all over the place, etc.

Yours truly: This is my first time writing smut, and it's not that great but I truly hope you enjoy it.

Tag list: @regu1ar-huh

Feitan Portor is a very busy man. Most of the times you see him it's late at night. You never know when he'll show up since he's always out dealing with Phantom Troupe business. You would usually stay up waiting and hoping he shows up, but today was a long day for you. Once you got home you took a shower, changed into one of your boyfriends shirts he left behind, a pair of panties, and instantly fell asleep.

A couple hours into the morning you are woken up with a wet and hot feeling in between your legs. Even though your mind is still drowsy with sleep you instantly knew what was happening.

"Fei?" Shuddering, you slowly open your eyes to the view of your boyfriend shoving his tongue into your pussy. He has you on your back and your legs thrown over his shoulder. His pace was slow and lazy.

"Hi baby." He mumbled as he looked up and gave you a small smile before he dove back into you, circling your clit with his tongue with much more energy than before. At the same time, he inserts two fingers into your dripping hole.

"Fei—" Your hands quickly grab his hair as a familiar feeling already starts settling in your stomach. As he begins to pump his fingers in and out of you, he sloppily licks and sucks your clit into his mouth. You were basically melting into him. He lets out a small, muffled whimper when you tug on his hair.

"Oh fuck baby keep going I'm gonna—" your thighs start quivering and close around his head as he picks up his pace. Breathless you gasp and tilt you head back loudly moaning his name as you tip over the edge reaching your first orgasm. Helping you through it he leans back on his knees now slowly pumping his fingers in and out.

Getting overstimulated you lazily swatted at his hand whispering "stop...'s too much." Leaning down towards you, he pulls you into a lazy, but deep kiss as you taste yourself on his tongue. Resting your hands on his bare chest you start toying with his nipples. He breaks the kiss to let out a moan and grinds his clothed cock against your clit.

Leaning into your ear he whispers "missed you...sorry I woke you up. Couldn't wait. Needed you so bad." He then hurryingly helps you slip his your shirt off and throws it somewhere. He kisses down your neck to your breasts when he pops a nipple into his mouth as he plays with the other one squeezing and pinching it.

"Mmm me too Feitan...been so lonely without you." You whimper gasping when he bites down. Stopping with his actions he holds your face looking into your eyes noticing the hazy look in them. Feitan couldn't tell if it was sleepiness or lust, maybe both.

"Tired baby?" He asks. Nodding and humming in agreement, you whine and push yourself against his erection ready for him to fuck you back to sleep. Draping your arms across his shoulders you say, "need you to fuck me please."

"Easy. just relax for me baby. I got you." He quickly takes his pants off and switches your positions till you're both laying on your sides with him behind you. He raises your leg and drapes it back on his. Grabbing his dick Feitan gives himself a few pumps before he leads his leaking slightly red tip against your hole. Slowly, he pushes through and you both sigh out. "You're so tight baby fuck" he says through gritted teeth. The stretch is so delicious it has your eyes rolling back when he finally fills you up to the hilt.

"Mmm fuck baby I need you to move please" you moan out and he grants your wishes. At first, he starts off strong but slow almost pulling out completely before pushing back in with one motion. "oh fuck faster fuck me faster baby please!" Screaming you fuck yourself back into him as he moves faster. The sound coming from where you two are connected filled the room with a fwap fwap fwap sound. It was absolutely sinful the way he was fucking you as he hits all the spots that has you seeing stars. "Fei I'm I'm—"

Feitan knows your close with the way you're squeezing his cock like a fucking vice. "I know baby fuck...cum for me cum all over my cock" he hisses out. Your legs start shaking and your toes curl as your climax approaches you so quick and sudden you're seeing white. Feitan is right behind as he stills inside and pumps you full of his cum. Coming down from his high Feitan notices your deep breathes signaling that you're asleep. Chuckling, he kisses your cheek, wraps his arms around your waist pulling you closer, closing his eyes, and falling into dream land as he leaves himself inside you.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Different II

Katie McCabe x Teen!Reader

Summary: You get your diagnosis

There's a lot of hoops to jump through to finally work out what's wrong with you.

Mam doesn't like you using those words. She doesn't like referring to it as 'what's wrong with you'. She tells you that you're perfect. Nothing is wrong with you. You're perfect the way you are.

There's nothing wrong. You're jumping through these hoops so Katie can finally understand how to help you.

You meet with the paediatrician who makes follow-up appointments for you with a psychologist and an occupational therapist.

The psychologist rules out things like dyscalculia and dyslexia. She says you don't have anxiety and depression either.

You go to the occupational therapist. He runs you through a series of tests. At first, it's big things like jumping or using a skipping rope before he moves onto the smaller things like holding a paintbrush and placing weird pegs things into small holes.

You go back to the paediatrician.

"Dyspraxia," Katie says that evening as you both sit on her bed together," That's what it's called. Dyspraxia."

"I know," You say," I was in the room with you when we got told."

She's holding the pamphlet and folder that the doctor had given you, explaining all the ins and outs of the condition.

It's nothing that you haven't experienced first-hand. You imagine all of these documents were made for parents of little kids who got diagnosed. You imagine it's more for Katie's benefit than your own.

You know what it's like to live with this condition. You know what to expect and how to adapt.

Katie is the one that will be reading those pages front to back, well into the night even though she's got training the next day.

You're off school for the week.

One of the gas taps in the science laps has started leaking so the whole school was shut down as a precaution.

You're more than happy to tag along to training, stealing one of the muffins from the dining hall to eat by yourself out on the pitch.

"So," Kim says as she sits next to you," I heard from Katie that you finally got that diagnosis."

You shrug. "It's nice to have a name for it now. I think Mam's read that folder at least ten times now. I don't know if she even got any sleep last night."

"That sounds like Katie." Kim nudges you with her knee. "How are you feeling about it?"

"It is what it is," You reply, picking at your muffin," Mam said that she's still trying to take it all in. I don't know if that's good or bad."

Katie had been resistant at first. She hadn't wanted you to get tested for anything. You were perfect the way you were and she didn't want anyone to make you think otherwise.

She was all denial.

Deny, deny, deny.

You were brutal acceptance.

There was something that made you different to the other kids. There was something that made you different to most other people you had ever met.

You don't know now what Katie thinks of your diagnosis, this new label to stick on yourself.

You don't know if it'll change how she thinks of you. If she'll think you're less perfect now that you've got something official to say that you aren't.

"Katie loves you," Kim says," That won't ever change. You're her kid."

"I'm not a kid," You grumble and Kim laughs.

"You're her teenager then," She corrects," But she does love you and all she wants is to give you the best possible life."

"Yeah but-"

"It's not going to change anything," Kim insists," Okay? Katie loves you."

You don't doubt that. You've never doubted that.

You just hope Katie doesn't doubt it either.

She paces in front of you that evening and you hold your breath.

"I've talked to your school," She says," They're working on getting you a school-issued laptop but for the time being you're allowed to bring in one of ours from home. You'll get extra time for your exams and the teachers are going to start giving you more handouts rather than making you write everything up."

"Wait...what?"

"What do you mean what?"

You frown. "Mam...I...I don't get it."

"You're getting accommodations," katie says, sitting right next to you," Because you're different to the other kids and need a bit more support. You're a smart kid. You just need to do things a little differently. We're getting you help."

"Mam, I..." You don't quite know what to say. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Katie says," I love you. I'm just making sure you get what you deserve."

[hyperballart]

can’t stop thinking about art and patrick sharing a fleshlight

this is kinda like a continuation of this but i imagine them so horny for each other after they finally broke that “platonic” barrier. let’s say it’s been a couple weeks from the events that took place and you’re away to see family for a bit. ever since you mentioned wanting both of them fucking you at once in the same hole they haven’t stopped thinking about it. they can’t stop thinking about both of their cocks rubbing wetly against each other in your hand, how much tighter and hotter your cunt will welcome them. art dreams of it literally, waking up so hard he’s too dizzy to use his hand—opting for humping the mattress like a bitch in heat until he spills into yet another pair of briefs (his laundry trips were becoming more frequent). and well patrick, he has jacked off so much he feels his wrist will break soon, he wants more—needs more than his hand. so he goes to art’s room one night and proposes something.

this is still new to them, still so fresh and they’re learning to navigate this new dynamic but they can’t hide the longing glances at each other’s lips. what started off as a simple conversation rapidly escalated to patrick pouncing on art and licking into his mouth. they’re out of breath when the brunette separates and begins to rasp out, “i need to feel you against me like that again,” art’s eyes are blown out and he whines quietly, “need that needy cock humping me like it did that night—my hand isn’t cutting it anymore.” and art is a good friend, who is he to deny it?

after fishing themselves out of their shorts and jerking each other off for a bit, art pauses and looks up at his friend, “wait, i wanna do something different. wait here.” patrick sits up and waits for his friend to return with a fucking fleshlight of all things in his hand, taking a seat next to him they stare at the toy in awe for a few seconds,“maybe we can pretend it’s her, you know as practice so we don’t blow our loads the first ten seconds we’re in her.” patrick gulps and nods mindlessly, he doesn’t care as long ass he feels art dripping on him again.

they barely use spit, leaking so much it’s enoughto slide right in the toy. art holds it down on patrick at first, he’s mesmerized, “you’re—you’re stretching it out so m-much, fuck me”, patrick’s hips twitch and he whines out a curse. when art starts to slide in next to him he almost cries.

they’re stretching the silicone toy to its limits, they hold still for a minute or two just panting and looking at each other with half lidded eyes. the first movement is caused by an accidental twitch of art, but as soon as they feel that friction again they lose it. patrick moans out your name, “holy fuck man, you don’t even know—she’s got, fuck, she’s got the tightest little pussy, i don’t know how we’ll fit.” art starts mewling with his eyes closed, “i wanna fuck her so bad, want to fuck her with you so bad—hhghhh.”

they just spit out the first things that come to their minds, how they’ll shove their dicks down your mouth at the same time, how your tits look in that tight tank top you love to wear, the one time you bent over in the tennis court to retrieve something and flashed them your pink panties. what really gets both of them is something that surprisingly comes out of art’s mouth, “wanna—wanna take turns. i’ll fuck her on my lap and pass her to yours so you do the same, just using her to jerk off—oh fuck fuck fuck—“

patrick’s balls are drawing tight, he takes notice just now of how they’re bouncing right up against art’s. he can’t believe this, how much precum is dripping down the fleshlight and how hard they’re both starting to fuck up into it. art has a rule of never coming in his toys because they’re a hassle to clean but that all goes out the window when patrick starts to open his mouth again, “i can feel you artie, cum. cum on me i’m so close, fuck, do you hear how wet that fucking sounds?,” art’s eyes start crossing and he lets his friend be the one to move the fake pussy up and down, “we’re gonna come inside her just like this too, i’m gonna make you fucking eat it out of her right after—“ and art can’t make out anything after that. he cums so hard, harder than the last time if that was possible, and his whole body twitches. patrick finishes just at the same time, and when he pulls the toy back up he holds it over both cocks.

they watch the loads of cum spill out and drip down the lenght of them both, red and spent. they really hope you aren’t too upset about them playing without you, after all you taught them how to share <3

[princessbrunette]

stepbro!johnb knew it was wrong. god, he knew it was demented, and sick — but he couldn’t stop. he was pent up.

things had been kind of a mess lately, and despite popular believe, no — finding and hunting treasure was not all sunshine and rainbows. it was a lot of dead ends, a lot of waste bins filled with screwed up paper covered in ideas and plots that were going nowhere. sometimes you had a piece of paper, a pen, a map and a dream — and that was it.

john b could have sworn he saw you scribbling away during a plotting session in this specific pink paperback journal. it looked like any other notebook you’d use to jot down everyone’s ideas. you weren’t too good at the whole treasure hunting thing yourself but you were eager and had the right spirit so the pogues could often rely on you to scribble down anything important they might say during these sessions in which they’d bounce off eachother. this was why john b picked the book up and opened it in the first place.

once he started reading, even past realising that this was infact your diary — he just couldn’t stop.

“oh, uh…” he coughs awkwardly to an empty house when he flips it open and finds his own name in pink glitter pen, hearts and swirls galore. you hadn’t exactly been subtle about your attractions towards your older step brother— never missing an opportunity to bat your lashes up at him, touch his chest whilst you’re talking to him, even find a way to sit on his leg when there was just no other room — but for the most part he assumed you were just teasing in your own cruel way. passing the time, so to speak. he wasn’t expecting this.

his eyes continue to flit from word to word, each more graphic than the last until he’s stumbling across full descriptions, day to day on what you’d do to him, moreso what you’d let him do to you.

‘john b was so frustrated today. he needs me, i know he does. he has that look in his eye! that super frustrated one that looks all tired and irritated and unlike himself. he’s usually so warm and comforting but today he looked like he was gonna snap. i thought he might finally march over and bend me over… a girl can dream i guess :( when i finallyyyyy got some alone time i spent it grinding against my pillow, wanting him to come in and catch me. i wonder if he heard the bed moving… if he hears me moaning… i don’t wanna be a virgin anymore, need john b to come and break me in :( ♡’

the more he reads, the harder he gets against his shorts— sighing out his nose, blinking in discomfort as he adjusts himself. he looks around, knowing you were at the beach with kiara but still feeling paranoid. it’s one thing to have such dirty thoughts about your step-brother, but atleast they were private. john b gets caught reading them? he’s the bad guy.

he tells himself it’s not you doing this to him. it was simply his anatomy betraying him. he couldn’t help how his body reacts.

he feels dirty when the tip of his cock grazes the pages, now sat on the edge of your bed like he could jump up at any minute given the sound of the front door closing. he’s turned the page, landing on a particular fantasy that had his hand moving and cock leaking before he could dare to question the morality of it all.

‘john b looked so good today :( i love when he bosses me around all big brother like ♡ he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it, it’s like second nature for him to look after me. wanted to sit between his legs and make out with his dick :( i bet it’s so pretty and i know it’s big cos sometimes he doesn’t wear boxers under his pants and i see it swinging it around. wanna suckle on it whilst he tells me im a good girl like he did that one time when i was sad. his voice just gets me so wet, can’t stop humping everything n rubbing my clit whenever he leaves the room. i’m like an animal and im not even ashamed anymore. i need him :(’

the brunette groans as he squeezes his eyes shut, fisting and twisting the way he imagines your smaller hand to— inexperienced yet with a feverish hunger to please and a vast knowledge of sex which he could only imagine was learnt through word of mouth and porn. god, the thought of his sweet little step sister sprawled on her back, legs splayed open — pawing at her glossy cunt as she scrolls to find the perfect porn video. it was enough to send john b mad.

he wondered if you tried to find pornstars that looked like him, or if you just used your imagination for that part. john b liked to think himself a humble man, but in the throes of his passion he couldn’t help but accept the warm embrace of the ego trip the thought gave him.

“oh fuck, so wrong — so fucking wrong—” he strains, feeling that burning hot twisting in his stomach as that familiar feeling overcomes him. he clearly hadn’t thought this through, before when he opens his eyes once more — he’s covered your delicately decorated page containing your fantasies with his white hot sticky syrup. “ohhhh god. oh no.” he hums, eyes widening slightly.

yet there was no time to act— for as soon as he’d realised, he could hear the jangling of your keys and your familiar giggles as you lead your new-ish friend into the chateau, probably moments away from singing out his name, wondering if he’s home. he slams the book shut and he’s sure it oozes from the edges of the page— stuffs it back beneath the pile of clothes on your chair where he found it and makes quick work of tucking his deflating cock back into his pants.

john b fears he might be in big trouble.

[pankowblues]

Road Mishaps

not proofread

summary- drew comforts you during your pregnancy

warnings - throwing up, motion sickness, pregnancy

You and drew just had an interview and you were 6 months pregnant with a baby boy. You guys announced that you guys were dating ever since photos of you guys got leaked on the internet.

“Okay, where do you want to go? Home?” Drew says as he buckles his seatbelt

“Yea sure I want to get this dress off me” you say tugging on my dress a bit

He smiles “And what’s wrong with the dress huh baby?” He says teasingly while driving

“It’s sooo uncomfortable”

He chuckles, he can tell that you’re craving something comfortable over anything else right now “If you feel so uncomfortable then why did you wear the dress in the first place?”

“Too look good duhh” you say like it’s obvious

He grins, he glances over at you while driving “Babe, you don’t need to try and look good. You look good no matter what you have on, you know that”

That’s when you start to feel yourself getting nauseous from the baby and motion sickness and you feel the urge to throw up “hey drew”

He hears the sound of your voice and can tell that the tone has changed, he quickly glances at you to see your facial expression to see you looking uncomfortable “Yeah babe?”

“pull over hurry up”

He sees the urgent plea in your voice and he immediately pulls the car to the side of the road and stops the car. He turns and faces you “What’s wrong babe?”

You open the car door and put your head outside ready to throw up “This his baby is making me feel nauseous again”

He quickly unbuckles his seat and gets out of the car to go around to your side. He rubs your back gently as you put your head out of the door, ready to puke.

You make a few gagging noises but still not throwing up, tears well in your eyes from frustration cause you want to throw up but it won’t come out.

He kneels down on the side of the car next to you and keeps rubbing circles on your back gently as he watches you get frustrated at the fact that you can’t throw up.

“drew I can’t” You say as a few tears fall down your face

He feels bad when he sees the tears fall down your face, he gently rubs your back trying to comfort you as much as he can “Just try to breath babe. Take deep breaths. Try to relax”

You breath and take a few breaths and you finally relax waiting and that’s when you push his legs backwards as you throw up so you don’t get anything on him

He watches as you finally throw up and he’s glad, at least this way you can start feeling better, he’s so focused on making sure you’re okay that he fails to realize that you pushed his legs out of the way to avoid getting puke on him.

“Omg drew ew I got it on you”

He finally looks down and realizes that you did in fact get puke on him, although you were trying your best not to “Nah it’s okay, it’s not a biggie babe”

“What do you mean?! That’s disgusting. I’m so sorry”

He continues rubbing your back, unbothered by the fact that puke is on his pants “Babe, it’s not like it’s the first time it has happened. We’ve been through a lot, you throwing up on me isn’t new”

You grab some paper towels from the glove box and clean his blue pants trying to get most of it off.

He laughs, he finds it sweet that you are trying to clean his pants off when you’re the pregnant one who just threw up on the side of a random road* “Babe, it’s seriously fine”

“I just don’t want you driving home with my puke on your pants*

He smiles, amused by your determination to clean up the mess that you made “I’m fine babe, I can handle driving with my pants stained with your vomit”

That night you both went home with pants with puke on them and a happy stomach. You wouldn’t stop apologizing the entire night but drew finally shut you up with a kiss.

tag list: @0xstarzx0, @wearemadeofstardust0, @rafecameroncoke

[thegnomelord]

Okay, genuine question, why did the devs have to make Makarov into such a fucking twink? Like look at this bastard:

The hair, the smug smirk, the fact he looks like a damn twig compared to the rest of the 141 boys. I know he would probably kill me the second he loses interest in me but like, I want to bend in him half so bad.

And you know he'd be a demanding bratty twink; hips rolling back to meet yours as you pound him into the desk, his legs thrown over your shoulders and knees against his chest, moaning lowly as you bully your cock into him like he's a common whore.

But don't think you're the one in control. He's got a knife pressed against your throat, blood rolling down your skin from the places where he'd nicked you already. It would be so easy for him to slit your throat, to take your life like he's done to countless others. But he doesn't, the knife is only there as a reminder of who holds the leash around your throat.

"That's right болван, harder." He demands, knife pressing harder against your throat. He doesn't beg, men like him don't beg. He demands, harsh and loud, taking the pleasure you can give him. "Don't disappoint me now."

You redouble your efforts, your hips bruising his ass with every hard thrust that has his cock leaking spurts of precum from the way your dick bashes into his prostate. A loud and satisfied moan leaves him, head rolling back and eyes closing as he lets you ravage him. "хорошая собака." A small bit of praise escapes him, the sharp blade of the knife easing off your skin. "Just like that, good." He moans unabashedly, rough fingers tangling into your head and tugging your head down.

He presses your mouth to his exposed neck, suit and jacket undone just enough for his collarbones to peek out beneath the ruffled fabric. "Bite." He orders.

And you do, teeth digging into the pale skin of his neck until you taste blood, feeling the way he groans and clenches around your cock like a vice. Pain and pleasure are one and the same to him, muddling his mind better than the most expensive whiskey. So you don't ease up, fucking him like a breeding bull as you lay bite after bite across his neck, your fingers leaving hand shaped bruises on his thighs.

His moans echo freely through the office and into the halls, more sweet praises falling from his lips "Good dog, just like that, fuck me harder, yes-" as the sharp edge of the blade makes little nicks across your collarbones. The pain makes you throb inside him, every bruise you such into his neck just one more example of how much he owns you; You're his dog, his to train, his to punish when you step out of line , his to reward when you bring back the head of his enemies.

You can tell he's close by the way his body shakes, hole clenching and fluttering around you, walls clinging to every inch of your shaft as you pull out to nail his sweet spot again. You're far beyond words at this point, blindly grabbing his dick in your large hand and loosely jerking him off as you chase your own orgasm.

"Hah- yes, shit!" Makarov groans as he cums first, cum splattering onto your fist and his expensive suit as you fuck him through his orgasm, each harsh punch on your hips against his making another spurt of cum shoot from his tip.

Your cock throbs as you're so close to cumming, the fluttering and clenching of his walls helping you get closer and closer to your sweet release. A knife presses against your throat again. "Enough." He gasps, still demanding even as he tries to catch his breath, tears prickling his eyes.

It hurts you to still your hips, your cock hard and throbbing inside him, release so close yet so far away. His eyes are blurry as he looks at you, body still quivering around you. But that smug smirk on his face returns. His free hand cups your cheek, gentle, despite being stained with unfathomable quantities of blood. "хорошая собака." He purrs, kisses you, biting your lip as he pulls back. "You listen to me well, yes?" He chuckles as he feels you twitch inside him, your panting breaths fanning over his face.

He chuckles, his fingers running down your skin to pick at the barely scabbed over cuts he's made across your neck. "I can feel you, you want to rut into me so bad it makes you look stupid." He smirks, cooing at you like you're a puppy. "You'll have to wait." He shoves you until you're forced to pull back, your cock sliding out of his warm depths, rock hand and aching between your legs. He sits up, hand now firmly on your throat. "Find that rat in our midst before sundown, I'll let you have me." He says, every bit both a promise and a challenge.

And you, you're his dog. He tells you to sit, you sit. If he tells you to bite, you'll go for the throat. "Yes sir." You force out, receiving a hard and demanding kiss before you're dismissed.

[love-fictional-ppl]

Pegging Mammon

Summary: headcanons for pegging Mammoney

Pairings: sub!Mammon x dom!Afab!MC

Warnings: language, smut, pegging, lots of anal play, handjobs, sex positions, overstimulation, color system, premature ejaculation, cum eating, etc.

A/N: ignore the gif I just love the way he looks in this😭😭 also sry if this is shit this was written on my phone.

I’m going to start this by saying, you had to beggggg mammon. He would never be caught dead asking you or giving in so easily to being pegged, I mean he’s the Great Mammon.

You probably only got him to agree by making a bet, he lost obviously.

There was lots of complaining up until the final act, so much so that you actually asked him a couple times if he wanted to stop. Mammon’s response was prolly sum like this, “No! Wai- I mean- pfft! Only if you want to stop, human.”

Once you lubed him up and inserted a finger, he became putty in your hands. This is the way to get them noises.

Once you stretched him to fit three fingers and he came you lubed up your strap on

The cock would hopefully be perfect size for Mam. It was 6.5 inches, a decent girth, and a dark purple. The straps were slightly uncomfortable but not too much.

First time you’re probably in missionary, feeling more intimate that way and allowing Mammon to see your face. After the first time, feel free to explore more positions. Mammon would probably wind up liking doggy and lotus.

The greed demon clung to you once you prodded his entrance with the fake cock. Once you were inside of him you stilled to let him adjust.

“What color are you?” You asked.

“Green!” Mammon’s eyes were shut tight.

Mammon the entire time stayed at green, much to your relief.

You started with slow shallow thrusts, working your way up to a pace you both liked. You eventually found your rhythm, your hips rocked into each other at a steady pace.

Mammon came quick without warning, strings of cum shot onto the both of yours’ stomachs and onto his chest.

Mammon had tears falling from pleasure, he was fucked dumb. The white haired boy kept babbling nonsense.

All you could respond to his babble with was, “I know, baby.”

You tried to pull out but Mammon wrapped his legs around your waist locking you in place.

You gave in and continued fucking Mammon, his eyes were rolled back, tears and drool running down his face, cum covering his abdomen, all while being drilled into. Mammon was a fucked out mess.

Your hips were meeting with such force, you could feel and hear the vibrations of the bed frame hitting the wall. You felt bad for Satan whose room was on the other side of the wall.

You wrapped your hand around Mammons painfully hard, leaking erection. You jerked him off at the same spread you were fucked him, movement in sync.

Mammon stiffened and bit your shoulder, cumming again. Your hand was covered in cum, you put your ring and middle finger up to Mammon’s mouth offering him to taste himself.

Mams quickly complied and sucked on your fingers greedily, licking your fingers clean of his essence. When you pulled back your fingers, he opened his mouth to show you he swallowed everything.

“Good boy,” you praised him.

Mammon smiled at your praise, he grinded his ass back against you, wanting to go another round. You denied Mammon what he wanted, also seeing the exhaustion evident in his face.

Long story short Mammon enjoyed getting ass fucked and would do it again.

Btw Satan was pissed.

A/N: sorry for any spelling errors, Not Proofread! Ending was rushed cs I didn’t know what to add😭

[beatrixst0nehill]

"This your handywork?" Carla asked her student, Amber.

"What? I don't know what you mean...." the thin, timid girl said, looking away.

"Oh, is that right? I asked my male students and none of them had any clue. I'm not mad, Amber, I'd just like a bit of transparency, is all."

Amber got nervous. "No, it's like I said, p-probably one of the frat guys you're tutoring. Why would it be me?"

"I'm not dumb, Amber. They stare at my boobs, sure, but you get so nervous, rubbing your legs together. You sweat when I walk in the room. The guys I teach just get horny and ask if my bf or husband or whatever is making me grow out my breasts. But look at you? You're shaking, why, you look ready to rub your pussy any second."

"Ms. Thompson!"

"Just call me Carla, you sweet, horny little brat. Do you like looking at these huge breasts you're making me grow? Hm? Do they make your mouth water?"

"I swear, it's not me! I...."

Carla lifted one of Amber's hands and placed it on her breast, making her squeeze it. "You what?"

Amber was totally flush, biting her lip, softly squeezing and releasing over and over. "They're...... so soft......"

"Mmmmm, aren't they? I got to thinking, how are these boys putting breast growth drugs in my drink or whatever, then it dawned on me: they never make me anything. They offer water or a diet soda in a can but you, my dear, always offer to make us tea when I come by to tutor you. And I might have sneaked into your room last time when I said I was using the bathroom. You don't even hide it. There's a hentai background on your computer, and the first folder I clicked was soooo many images and videos of girls with huge breasts, smothering other girls, making them drink their milk as they rub the poor girl's pussy......"

"Ms. Thompson...... OK. Sorry! I did it. I really, really wanted to see you grow a huge pair of breasts. I pleasure myself every night thinking about it! I feel so bad! Please don't drop me as a student, I swear I'll stop! I--"

Carla shushed Amber, going in for a short kiss, saliva connecting their mouths as Carla ended the kiss to say, "Why would I drop you? After all the trouble you've gone through to inflate my breasts to such a ridiculous size. You better at least enjoy them." She removed her top all the way and undid her bra.

Amber watched, salivating as Carla's breasts softly bounced after she removed her bra, settling into place. "I..... want you so bad....."

Cala smiled, lifting her breasts. "Drink up all you want, they're very engorged from the drugs you give me. I can hardly stop them from lactating half the time....."

Amber placed her hands over Cala's, pushing her breasts together as she almost went in to suck them, before Carla stopped her.

"Now what are you doing?"

"Huh?"

"Strip, my little pet. Everything."

Amber blushed again, slowly taking off her clothes as she explained, "Um..... I still need you to tutor me though..... I'm kinda struggling this semester and....."

"You want me to tutor you and feed you? Bratty AND bossy. Just my type. Here's what we'll do. I'll fondle that pretty pussy of yours, as you drink from my tits. You'll get tutored if you earn it, by drinking enough milk that my breasts stop leaking on their own. So you'll have to drink liters of my milk every time we get together now, or maybe I'll swing by when they start leaking during the day, call you up and breastfeed you in public. Naked of course, rubbing your sex in front of any people passing by as you drink up as much milk as your belly can hold."

"Oh my god...... please..... I can't wait! I don't care how embarrassing it is! I'll do it!"

"Good girl. A few rules, since you started this, my little pet...... First off, if you need to piss while drinking my milk, just go. Even if we're in a crowded public place, if you're drinking from my breasts, I expect you to piss while I'm fondling your sex. Second, you only stop when I tell you, not a second before, no matter how much milk you drink. Third, if you start to fatten up from how much I breastfeed you, no dieting or exercise. I want you to know every time you look at all the added fat on your body that it's my milk making you so big. And last but not least, you will keep making me tea and drug me, so my breasts keep growing, and I produce more milk. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, Ms. Thompson! I promise to get fat on your milk and drink as much as I can!"

"Wonderful!" She pulled Amber against her breast, practically smothering her, holding her head, pushing her into her breast as far as it'll go, listening with delight as Amber suckled and gulped down her milk. "That's a good girl, drink up for your new owner, my little pet."