#Kink Fic

[hotwritergf]

hii i was thinking a smut with bf!Eddie x bunny!reader where she is ovulating and is all whiny and needy and Eddie just funds it funny and cute

Someone’s in heat. Eddie Munson x female reader. Smut. Blurb.

(This gets a little bit rough, hope that’s okay. I’m just a whore for face-slapping/degradation. Thank you for your prompt!<3)

“You can sit on my cock if you just quit whining. But you just get to sit, no moving. If I catch you moving I’ll slap that face of yours.” Eddie’s voice goes through one ear and out the other, the only information that stays in your bunny brain is the part where you’re allowed to sit on his dick.

You scramble to undo his belt, pulling out his already hard length, rubbing your thumb across his sensitive tip and scooping up his leaking pre-cum, licking it up and sucking your thumb for good measure.

Lowering yourself onto his cock, you moan. Your eyes darting to the back of your head instantly. Feeling full just wasn’t enough, you needed motion. You rut your hips forward but get caught by Eddie’s palm, a sharp sting of his rings against your cheek. “Told you not to fucking move bunny, if I allow you to sit on my dick I expect you to sit. Not wriggle around like a little slut. But you just can’t help yourself can you?”

You whine in response, rubbing yourself up against him again. With Eddie’s cock nestled inside you, sitting tightly up against your g-spot, your mind is completely empty. Floating in sub space, riding the wave of the slap to your face that’s still stinging on your red-marked cheek.

“Go on then. Little bunny needs to get off so bad doesn’t she? You in fuckin’ heat or something?” He chuckles, and you shoot him a bratty look. Bouncing up and down, rutting your hips back and forward, trying to spell his name as you grind against him. His tip pounding against your spot, pushing you closer and closer to climax.

“D-daddy.” You whisper, biting your lip so hard it draws blood, groaning every time he slams his hips up into you harder. Your orgasm takes over, washing over you like a tsunami. Writhing around through the aftershocks as he continues to pound into you, squirting all over his cock. Soaking through to his jeans.

Eddie grunts, pulling at your hair and groping your tits harshly, nipping at one of your nipples harder as he paints your insides. “Fuckin’ a baby into you now bunny, you just wanted to be bred huh?” He taunts, panting as his orgasm comes to an end. Lifting you up and off of his hyper-sensitive cock. The feeling of stimulation against his skin post orgasm makes his eyes roll to the back of his head.

You giggle, looking down at his softening dick, covered in both of your juices. Your eyes dart from Eddie’s and back to his dick. Taking him into your mouth and sucking him clean before latching onto his balls with your mouth, suckling and licking him clean of your cum. He gasps, half in pleasure and the other in sensitivity, pulling you back up to face him by the hold he has of your hair. “Dirty fucking girl. Just can’t get enough.”

[autisticbucktommy]

"Buck- don't start."

Buck laughs bitterly. "Buck? So, that's it. You've decided then?"

It's Tommy's turn to scoff. “I just came for my stuff. Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be.”

“Harder? I- uh. I’m not sure what that would even look like. You know Bobby sent me home early again today? Taking too many risks, apparently. Buck 1.0 back in full force, but uh, that’s what you wanted right? You wanted me to fuck as many guys as possible, right?” He steps closer then, eyeing Tommy like prey, zeroing in on his discomfort. “Am I into bears or twinks? Jocks or daddy’s?”

It lands on Tommy’s face like a slap. His jaw clenching as he tries to school is features. Buck is standing too close now for him to get away with it.

“Old guy didn’t last long with me begging him to fuck me like his good little boy, calling him my da—”

“Enough, Evan. The brat routine isn’t cute anymore.”

But he’s clearly affected. So Buck steps dangerously closer.

“I don’t want them, Tommy. I only want you. Just you.” Tommy’s eyes are glued to his mouth now, tracking the movements. “Please, daddy.” He whispers.

And he must have done something right, because next thing he knows, he's pinned against the countertop with Tommy’s hips shoved up against his ass and his arm pinned behind his back. “Fucking. Brat.”

Buck’s grin turns into a chuckle as he feels his jeans being tugged down. Finally.

Tommy is reaching over him, grabbing something. Fuck yes.

The first smack of the wooden spoon stings something awful, but the satisfaction is worth everything. It feels like victory. Like he’s conquered something. Like it’s Christmas morning and turns out Santa is fucking real. He melts onto the counter top, relishing in the cold concrete against his flushed face.

The smacks come down steady and hard. Buck's smug attitude smarting with each smack. His resolve wearing thin while a familiar vulnerability stretches itself under his skin, blossoming under the pain, begging to take up more space.

“Fuck, I missed punishing this ass, Evan. You look so good like this.”

Buck whines, “Please, daddy.”

Tommy pauses. “Please what, Evan?”

Buck shivers under the attention; letting it seep deep into his bones. “Wanna be good for you.” He blinks up at him with wet eyes.

“You know how this works baby. You take your punishment for daddy and all is forgiven. You’re always his good boy. Right?"

"Yes daddy."

"Color?”

Buck lets out a shaky breath, “Green.”

Tommy nods. “How many men?”

Buck startles, flinching under tommy’s grip and pinned by his intense gaze. He glances away.

“No, Evan. Look at me.”

He swallows and looks at Tommy. “Uh…”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Evan pouts. “I’m not! I wouldn’t!”

That earns him another smack with the spoon. He winces. “Th-thirteen. I- I think.”

“Good boy. Let’s finish this. Count it.”

The lingering, meaningful gaze fills Buck in on Tommy's intent. Oh. A thrill goes up his spine. “Okay.”

Tommy raises an eyebrow.

“I- I mean, yes daddy.”

Tommy hums in approval, running a hand through Buck's hair softly.

It feels like forever before the next blow lands. But when it does, it nearly knocks the wind out of him. He gasps, “One.”

Smack. “Two.” Smack. “Three.” His voice wavers.

Smack. “Four.” Smack. “Five", he hiccups.

Smack, smack, smack. The tears are running now. And he curls his fingers around Tommy’s where he can reach them, as he still has his arm pinned behind his back. Tommy adjusts them so he interlocks their fingers and squeezes.

Smack. “Nine.” Smack. “Ten,” he sobs.

“Remember to breathe, baby.”

“Please,” Buck begs.

“Almost done, sweetheart.”

Buck inhales shakily and exhales on a whimper. The physical pain acts as a conduit for the real reason he needs to cry. The emotional pain being coaxed out of him by determined hands, brought to the surface under the veil of role play. Tommy is, unknowingly or not, purging him of all his guilt, regret and heartbreak, with this little dance of theirs.

Smack. “Eleven,” Buck cries.

Smack. “Twelve.”

One more left. He’s good. He never has to think about or see those strange men ever again.

Smack. Buck howls in pain, “Th-thirteen.”

And then he’s being picked up and carried. Up up up. Up the stairs and he’s shaking and crying and reaching and grabbing. Tommy strips them both of their clothes; never without a hand holding him somewhere. And soon enough, Buck is spread out on top of Tommy, with his face pressed into his neck and his bruising, red ass in the air. He’s not crying anymore, just drifting. Floating in the space. Tommy’s hand's caress his hair, run up and down his spine, draw pictures and words on his back, as he whispers sweet-nothings into Buck's ear. His breath slows and evens out and he’s sighing happily, nuzzling deeper into Tommy’s smell. Breathing in his sweat and musk. He presses a kiss there.

A few moments later, he hisses as Tommy rubs cold lotion over his bare ass. But it’s over almost as soon as it starts and he’s back to humming contentedly in Tommy’s embrace.

“You were so good, Evan. Such a good boy. You're always so good for me.” Tommy kisses the back of his head.

Buck hums and does a little happy wiggle. Too far in sub space, head dumped with too many happy chemicals to speak just yet. But he soaks up all the praise whispered into his ear like an animal finding water after a weeklong drought.

They drift off at some point; or at least Buck does. Because next thing he knows, his bedroom is cloaked in darkness and his neck feels stiff where it’s been bent in the crook of Tommy’s neck. Buck stirs on top of Tommy, searching for his face under the glow of the pale moonlight. Buck leans up to kiss his boyfriend’s chin when he discovers the hard lines of a frown; shaping his face into something Buck doesn’t like.

“What is it?” Buck croaks. His throat dry from sleep or crying. Or both.

Tommy makes a move to get up, “Let me get you some water. I should have done that earlier.”

But Buck's not having it. He pins Tommy down, taking advantage of the fact that he’s still sprawled out on top of him like a hairy octopus. “No, forget it. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Tommy sighs and rubs a hand down his face. “Did I go too far with you, Evan?”

Bucks heart sinks. “Wh-what do you mean?” But he’s already pulling away to protect himself. He doesn’t want to hear this.

Tommy glances at him and he looks scared. Evans frown deepens.

“I- was that selfish of me? Making you say how many…”

Buck relaxes then and chuckles because oh thank god. Tommy flinches at the laugh, so Buck puts his hand over Tommy’s and squeezes. “No. If you were out of line, I would have safe worded, you know that.”

Tommy nods but he doesn’t look convinced. “We were both- we’re in a vulnerable place, Evan. Both of us. I- I just-"

Evan cradles Tommy’s face with his hands, “Hey, hey,” he speaks softly. “You’re okay, Tommy. We’re okay. I assure you that I'm fine and, in fact I feel better than fine. I feel great. You took such good care of me and I- I think I needed you to do that? It felt- it felt good to have you put sensation to those memories and feelings. It feels like you cleared out my guilt and regret and now I just feel so thoroughly owned again, by you, I mean. Like I belong to you again?” He feels heat rise in his cheeks. “Is- Is that… weird?”

Tommy shakes his head. “No sweetheart, that’s not weird. Not at all. I just—“ he lets out a frustrated sigh, “I guess I’m the one who feels guilty now.”

Buck nods and caresses his face with his thumb. “I think you’re experiencing dom drop, babe. It’s okay, it’ll pass. It was an intense scene for both of us. What do you need?”

Tommy shrugs. “You. Just you.”

Buck smiles, “I think I can manage that. Come here.”

And then he’s going in for a kiss. Their first since the break-up. And his stomach does happy little somersaults when their lips meet. He's gentle with it, takes his time with it, kissing him thoroughly; slow and deep. Now it’s his turn to take Tommy apart.

Buck realized early on that Tommy needs soft hands. The type of hands he never got growing up. Or in the army. The type of hands he ran from for so long; hands that he almost didn't recognize when Buck came along. The type of hands that let him know it’s okay to be vulnerable and to cry. And Buck uses those hands to work tension out of his muscles, to help him melt down into the sheets, to open him up in ways he says he hasn’t with anyone else.

Tommy needs soft hands, Buck knows this, when few else do. Just like how Tommy knows Buck needs a firm hand every so often, to feel his feelings.

They touch each other like it’s their first time; explorative, curious, gentle and indulgent. Except each touch is loaded with something heavier than either of them have ever admitted out loud. They let their hands and tongues and bodies speak for them. The passion and heat rolling off them in waves, as they bury themselves in the other, searching for something and finally getting an answer.

I love you. I’m yours. I'm here to stay.

Read on ao3

[rashoumon-homo]

If you write smut, I love and respect you!

If you write unpopular kinks, I love and respect you!

If you write fics with a lot of violence and gore, I love and respect you!

If you write yandere fics, I love and respect you!

If you write age gap fics, I love and respect you!

If you write non/dub-con, I love and respect you!

If you write dark content, I love and respect you!

If you write dead dove, I love and respect you!

You know who I don’t love and respect?

Anyone who harasses people who write those things!

I will be reblogging this every time I come across someone harassing authors for any of the above. If I can’t stop the hate, the least I can do is spread positivity and support.

[waterme-stories]

I hope your Deadpool/Wolverine fic is getting some fresh love from people introduced to the pairing by the new movie. Truly ahead of its time.

Yeah, I'd say it's doing alright for itself 😉

I think the characterization in "Burn Baby Burn" is pretty similar to the movie, which is surprising given that I wrote it over two years before! They love to hate each other, and will never admit how much fun they both have doing it. Combine that with the gratuitous violence of The Honda Hatefuck and we got ourselves a hit! Not too shabby for a silly gross rarepair fic that came to me in a dream!

“This what you’re looking for?” Logan asked. “This what you fucking want?” Wade swallowed hard. Rasped. “Maybe. Not what I’m not looking for.” Logan and Wade share a smoke, and celebrate Canada Day in their own special way.

(cigar kink, hate sex, bad bdsm etiquette, and gratuitous bodily injury for sexual gratification)

[bentnotbroken1fanfiction]

Y'all, this top Style fic is getting out of hand lol Style started all earnest and now Fadel is domming the fuck out of him and he's just a pile of goo following directions as he fucks his boyfriend just how he's being commanded to.

You were supposed to take him apart and make him cry, Style. Not nearly go into sub drop.

[take-taker-taken]

WARNING - the chapters that comprise this section of The List will contain CNC (consensual non-consent). It will mention rape. There will be humiliation. It will involve weapons. This particular part is mainly corporal punishment. The sub will not always be treated / spoken to kindly. If you’re happy to read such things then feel free to continue.

The List - CNC - Part Four

As you huddle on the floor, gradually getting your breathing back under control, you become aware of the curious feeling of being surrounded. You lift your head and peek around and sure enough, two pairs of boots are inches away.

“I knew you’d choose those,” Mark’s voice floats above you.

“So I’m a tit man - sue me,” comes Shawn’s reply. “Already know what you’re gonna do next.”

Mark huffs out a laugh. “Yeah,” He says. “She doesn’t though.”

Shawn nudges you with his boot and when it makes you huddle in even more he curses and does it again, but harder. “Get on your back, slut - should be familiar.”

You slowly roll over on to your back with your knees raised up and cross your arms over your chest. In response he kicks lightly at your knee so that you drop your legs flat and then he follows you down and sits astride you. He takes hold of your arms and works to pull them away from your body; you do your best to resist but he’s far too strong and he easily forces your hands up and over your head before his gaze roves hungrily over your breasts. As soon as he lets go you begin to move them again and so he grabs them and shoves them back down, holding them there as he looks down at you with a stony expression.

“Leave ‘em there, or I’ll get him to stand on ‘em.” He warns with a nod over to where Mark is standing. “Probably break your fucking wrists.”

You swallow a whimper and just lay there as he slowly lifts his hands away, watching to make sure you’re going to obey. He reaches behind his head and removes a silver chain that’s draped around his neck. At first you think he’s taking his necklace off and then as he lifts it free of his hair you grit your teeth - it’s a set of clover clamps. Fuck… this is going to hurt.

Keeping the clamps in one hand he uses the other to toy with your left nipple. Not viciously like he did before - it’s a gentle, teasing touch and of course the bud turns hard under his ministrations. You’re expecting him to put the clamp on right away but instead he takes his time to play with the other one, until both have been coaxed into firm peaks. He leans down and traces the tip of his tongue around each of them in turn and you whimper as the skin tightens further.

He shifts his head so that his mouth is next to your ear and whispers, “I think you enjoyed that… didn’t you, fuck toy?” He raises up again and you close your eyes briefly as your stomach flips over at the name but say nothing; when you open them he’s dangling the chain over your face as he smirks down at you. “Know what these are?”

Deciding to play dumb, you shake your head and he traces his fingers over your breasts again.

“Remember me saying I wanted to hear you say ‘please’ some more?” He doesn’t wait for an answer as he rattles the clamps in your face. “These are gonna make that happen.”

Without any further preamble, he deftly attaches the clamps to your nipples and as the pain lances through your flesh you scream. It’s the sort of reaction that you’d normally work to keep a lid on but no such pretence is needed here. Before you can move he lunges forward and holds your wrists to the floor as you struggle beneath him.

“Fuck! Take them off, please! Take them off!”

He looks down at you and smiles, running his tongue across his teeth before shaking his head. “Nuh uh - they look real pretty.” He moves a hand in order to pinch the chain between thumb and forefinger, holding it loosely though it sways some. “And the best part? If I give this here a little pull… they’ll get tighter - wanna try?”

You shake your head and your voice cracks a bit as you speak. “No… please don’t… please!” You’re breathing hard as you try to cope with the pain, your hands clenching repeatedly into fists though you leave your hands over your head for fear of reprisals if you move. You close your eyes and let yourself feel the fear, the helplessness, the pain and yes… the arousal.

“You said she kicked you earlier?” Your eyes open when Mark speaks, though you’re still mostly distracted by the sharp pain in your nipples and the fact that Shawn still has hold of the chain and thus controls whether it goes up a couple of notches.

You gain a couple of degrees of relief when he lets the chain go and kneels back up in order to look at Mark. “Yeah, when I was putting her in the truck.” He says and then gets to his feet but continues to stand astride you. “She was mouthing off with some BS about people coming over and then she slammed her foot right into my kidney, little bitch.”

“Well, that sure ain’t the kind of behaviour we expect. Get her up here.”

For a frightening moment you think Shawn is going to drag you up via the clamp’s chain but as he bends over he’s reaching towards your arms and unthinkingly, you bring them down from over your head to aid the task. Given that it’s achieving his aim he doesn’t rebuke you for moving and just hauls you to your feet and you stand there with your head down, teeth gritted against the pain in your chest. You gasp as a hand goes into your hair to drag your head back and you find yourself looking up at Mark. You again have a moment of wonder at how he’s emanating this air of being a stranger but then you have to concentrate because he’s speaking.

“So you’ve been cussing, being violent - and you even spat at him,” he’s saying, indicating Shawn with a nod of his head. “Can’t be letting you get away with all that now, can we?”

You don’t say anything because even though it’s clear to everyone that your actions over the course of this scene were entirely to be expected, you know that no good will come of answering back.

“I’m kind of an old fashioned guy,” he goes on as he releases your hair and his hands move to his waist. “So I’m gonna give you some old fashioned discipline.” Your breath catches as he unbuckles his belt and slides it from the loops - it’s an aspect of impact play that’s been as yet untouched on your list, though not for much longer. “Get her bent over,” he says to Shawn and as the blonde walks by you he pats your cheek but you shy away from his touch which makes him huff with laughter.

There’s another table at the far end of the cabin, pushed up against a wall and next to a door that you notice for the first time. You briefly wonder where it leads to but then Shawn’s back and setting the table in question down a couple of feet away.

“C’mon, get over.” He pulls you by the wrist to stand beside it and then pushes on the back of your neck. You go quietly into position, though set your forearms on the wooden surface to prevent your clamped nipples being squashed against it. Without relinquishing his grip on your neck, Shawn runs his other hand firmly down your back and on to your ass cheek which he squeezes hard and then smacks. You whimper but this time it has a different tone because it’s becoming harder to play act against the rising tide of lust.

“A good dozen should do the trick, what d’ya think?”

You swallow, wondering whether the question is directed at you and then feel relieved that you didn’t try to speak as Shawn smacks your ass again and replies, “For starters.”

There’s a brief silence and then you feel Mark’s huge hand between your shoulder blades. You have a mad thought that it’s weirdly comforting to have both of them touching you at the same time but that’s quickly driven from your brain when the belt comes whistling down and lands squarely across your backside. For a second you feel virtually nothing and then as the sting spreads over your skin you gasp and then cry out. There’s a pause that you recognise dimly as an opportunity to call red but you decline. Shawn’s hand is still on the back of your neck holding you down, and then you feel Mark’s lift from you and hear him changing his stance. In that moment you realise that first stroke had just been a taster and ball your hands into fists beneath yourself as the leather snaps down again.

“Ahhhhhhh, FUCK!” Still held in place by Shawn’s powerful grip, you stamp one foot against the floor as though it will shake off the pain.

“Still cussing, girl?” Your outburst seems to have earned you a break just two strokes in as you hear him issue another order. “I don’t want to be getting my ears assaulted all the way through this - can you gag her, please?”

“Sure can,” You hear the reply and then you feel Shawn’s fingers at the waistband of your panties and he has them down and off before you can react. Next thing, his grip is back in your hair as he drags your head up, pushing the material at your mouth. “C’mon bitch - open up, you’re good at that.” You begin to make a muffled protest that never gets the chance to be anything else as he forces your panties into your mouth. You taste yourself on the fabric but then get distracted by his other hand worming its way under your chest. You try to pull away, certain that he’s seeking to mess with the clamps but then you feel a totally foreign object being urged against your fingers. You move your head and realise that it’s a golf ball and then you understand - you can’t speak right now to use your colours. You clutch on to the ball and he gives your hand a quick, gentle squeeze before withdrawing and pushing your head back down. “That’ll shut her up,” he says and you hear Mark make a noise of satisfaction.

He doles out another four hard strokes with the belt and you squeeze the golf ball for dear life and yell into the makeshift gag. Through the pain your brain starts to swim in that beautiful, serene way and in your mind’s eye you see yourself as they probably see you - bent over with your pussy dripping as a leather strap strikes your pale skin in such an intimate way. You can picture the welts, bright pink with the edges oh, so slightly raised up. You scream into the fabric as the leather connects twice more and then your head is raised again by Shawn and he’s looking right at you. You meet his gaze and then after a few more seconds he lets your head fall and the belt snaps across the back of your thighs once, twice and then another mighty crack across your ass.

You scream one final time, your head lifting up as the blow sears into your flesh and then it drops again and you hear and feel the thump as Mark sets the heavy belt down next to your head. There’s a moment of silence and you’re dimly aware of Shawn’s hand gently kneading the back of your neck. The very second you find it comforting, it leaves you and you hear him speak again, his voice back to that dark, sneering tone.

“Get her upright; it’s time to get those clamps off. I wanna hear her begging again.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Previous | TBC

[exponenshul]

Story Concept Poll!

So, as is typical of me, I have a bunch of new work started but nothing finished. I’d like to do a little poll to gauge interest on which story ideas I should work on finishing first.

Disclaimer: this doesn’t mean that the chosen concept will actually be written first, or at all. It’s more so just out of my own curiosity of what the audience wants.

Here are the 3 concept summaries:

“P-Bites” - After serving a new menu item at his cafe day job, Caleb notices his regular customers' bellies slowly start to grow, unbeknownst to them...

“Food Baby” - A woman goes through her day getting hungrier and hungrier no matter how much she eats. All the while, her belly grows, but somehow it doesn't seem like it's just from food...

“Side Effects” - After a couple struggles to conceive, the husband tries to surprise his wife by secretly feeding her a pregnancy-inducing pill. However, not all goes as planned, as a rare side effect renders the woman oblivious to the changes happening to her…

[dragonnarrative-writes]

For the kink ask game, temperature play!

No | rather not | I dunno | I guess | Sure | Yes | FUCK yes | Oh god you don’t even know |

This one gets a middle rating from me! I love warm sensations, and I still think fondly of this story about fire play that I dropped in P's reblogs. I'm a big fan of gentle heat. But I H A T E cold temperatures. Hate them. If my partner said the words "ice cube" in the bedroom, i would assume we are not doing anything remotely sexual or kinky lmao

But you know what? Let's play with some temperature.

NSFW/18+/MDNI

CW: Temperature play, popsicle in the pool, Soap (derogatory)

Kyle's brain is all scrambled up, between the heat of the day on his back and the cool of the pool up to his waist. Johnny's mouth is a shock of cold, first on his lips, then his cheek, his neck, his shoulder.

The ice lolly that's turned Johnny's tongue purple drips onto Kyle's forearm, a viscous line of sharp sensation. It makes him jolt forward, muffling a startled moan into the other man's neck. When Johnny pulls back, he's grinning like the devil.

The horny fog lifts. Kyle glares. "Don't."

He shrieks as Johnny slaps the frozen treat against his back.

[sixbynine-da]

Come join the @goodomensafterdark goblins for our Fall Ball Kink Thrall!

Credit to @fuzzygoblin for the lovely video! And @wingsofopal for co organisation!

@goodomenscalendar

[iwritebigbellies-blog]

More story fragments. I'm supposed to be writing my novel, not dreaming up feedist meet-cutes...but here we are.

~

Tristan watched her go, every swaying step. He realized, just as she vanished inside the school, that he probably should have offered to carry her boxes for her. That would have been the gentlemanly thing to do. Instead he had stuffed himself with deep fried snacks and stood there gawping like an oily-fingered idiot.

Stupidly, his stomach rumbled right then. He was still so goddamn hungry. It wasn’t even the normal hunger of an exhausting afternoon starving in the sun. This was the other thing.

Tristan bent immediately to fold up the table, then all the tables, then started stacking chairs. By the time he was finished, everyone else had left except the night custodian and the president of the PTA. Tristan took the samosas home with him.

Lydia Culver. Owner of the most phenomenal bakery he refused to set foot in. Mother of two daughters - how was that possible? Painfully attractive single woman with the sun in her smile. Was he allowed to think that? Would it matter if he was? He could still feel the heat of her hand on his arm. That can’t be a good sign.

Tristan beeped open his condo and strode inside, tossing his food on the table. He crossed the room, opened the balcony door, and stood outside a moment before returning to the table. He looked at the box of samosas like a suspect under interrogation. He wanted to eat them all, now - of course he did - but he wanted something else more. He wanted it so badly, it was clouding his judgement, crowding out reality.

He knew himself well enough to know this could be a huge problem. He wanted to sit down and gorge himself on samosas, but that was a desire that was half fantasy, and he could either have the fantasy or reality, but not both.

Lydia had touched so close on his most intense fantasies that he knew indulging them would cloud anything he might be able to have with the real her. Tristan closed his eyes and was immediately back to a moment: standing across the table from this joyful, beautiful woman as she placed an extra cookie in front of him. Take it, and take more. And more and more and—

Tristan's stomach growled again. He sat down at the table and opened the box. He paused a moment, then picked up a samosa.

It was that good. He did love just this - indulging in wonderful, mind blowing foods. Delighting his tongue and satisfying his stomach. It was pure pleasure, and should have been enough for him.

But the way she appraised him, the way she took him in without hesitation or shame. Her eyes paused on his chest, his belly, those places where his shirt stretched the seams. A different smile fluttered into being, one she didn’t even know was there. She’d been pleased with what she saw in him, and she let him know by giving him more food. She knew he was a man who she could take care of. Who she could feed. Who she could satisfy.

No, nope, there was the fantasy again. That’s not what happened. She just happened to be working the bake sale, for god’s sake. She sold him dinner. That wasn’t… foreplay.

Tristan ate the entire box of samosas while pointedly not thinking about Lydia Culver; her breasts, her fingers, her lips. He definitely did not imagine her hands on his stomach once it was full and heavy. He sighed happily, unbuttoned his jeans, and did not wonder how she would feel, stroking him. He wandered off to bed alone, distracted, and still hungry.

[bentnotbroken1fanfiction]

His eyes are filled with such a strong want that it nearly takes Fadel's breath away. And he just knows that Style is picturing himself fucking him. He's imaging it’s his dick fucking up into him and not his fingers…

And suddenly Fadel is picturing it. 

He's picturing Style fucking him, eyes screwed tight in concentration as he tries to make Fadel come first.

And oh, fuck. He wants it. 

He wants Style pushing his cock inside of him. 

He's allowed to want that, right?

Yeah. 

He wants it, so he's allowed to have it. 

And he's allowed to command it of Style. 

So he does. 

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

When Billy’s finished, he returns with the empty bag in one hand and the hammer in the other, standing over the brunet while he sets up the remaining goal.

“I could’a gotten it,” he says. Nudges his boot against Eddie’s sneaker and cocks his head to the side when there’s no response. “Hey, what’s up?”

When the goal is standing on its own, Eddie rocks back on his knees and sighs.

“Nothing, just pissed our boyfriend off,” he says. “Again.”

Beside him, Billy drops to a squat. Sets the stuff in his hands aside and reaches out to heartily pat the brunet’s back, almost knocking him forward.

“I was wondering when he was gonna snap. He’s been stressed out all day, I’m sure he isn’t actually upset with you.”

Eddie feigns dizziness and slumps into Billy’s shoulder, which earns a chuckle as fingers card into his hair with a much more gentle touch.

“You didn’t hear him. Pretty sure he might actually make me sleep on the couch.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch with you.”

They share a chuckle. Billy scratches softly at Eddie’s scalp, coaxing a soft sigh out of him as he leans further into his partner. After a few beats, Billy shifts so that he sits criss-cross on the ground.

“Now he’s gonna yell at me ‘cause your clothes are getting dirty,” Eddie murmurs.

He laces his arms around Billy’s waist and tucks his face into the crook of his neck, smiling when a heavy arm drapes around him in return.

“He won’t yell at you.”

“I’ve been making him mad a lot recently. Not sure how to stop doing it, it’s like we’re just… I dunno.”

Billy sighs. Rubs up and down Eddie’s arm reasurringly.

“I really do think he’s just stressed out.”

“Mm.”

“Want me to talk to him?”

The brunet simply shakes his head.

-

I've been wanting to write a fic like this for a while, and this has been sitting in my drafts forever now, so I figured I'd balls up and finally post it. So! If there are any chubby Billy enjoyers out there, this may be the fic for you!

[feeling-pushy]

If you're unsure/unclear on what is and isn't acceptable then please feel free to DM me! I will be more than happy to work with you in figuring out something that is comfy for me the writer or I'll help point you towards someone who would be better suited for your needs.

Anyways if you are interested in getting something done by me please feel free to DM me!

[doginasillyhat]

yo gang another hiccup fic. if the pacing is off i’m so sorry i shaved like 600 words off it because it got too off topic. also i think the lack of more hiccuping is because im still getting used to writing this stuff without being embarrassed LMAO

cannibalism fic coming soon :) started it today and it is Very Fun hehe

content warning for:

not a lot! hiccuping mostly, but there’s no real obvious arousal from skipper. she’s just kind of into her husband all around. but it was WRITTEN for kink enjoyment even if there’s like none of it because of the aforementioned deep rooted embarrassment within myself. i luv my ocs guyse :)

Skipper yawned, put the car in park, and took a moment in the car to breathe. She loved modeling deeply - her choice in career path was not something that she’d ever regret. But she had just spent six hours on set wearing sundresses for the upcoming spring season in the chill of mid-winter, her hair and makeup constantly switching to match the next design she was modeling. It was a wonder that her extremities hadn’t frozen off yet. It felt close to it.

Now, in the comfort of the heated car, wearing her favourite moss green cardigan with the cute little embroidered sheep on the pockets, Skipper could exist in silence for the first time that day.

She loved her husband. Honestly, the only thing getting her through the day was the joy that came bubbling under the surface, knowing that Elliot was waiting for her. His day off had coincided with the gig, unfortunately, but Elliot had promised that he’d do all the chores for her so that she had nothing to worry about. Skipper loved it when he acted all househusband-y; one day she’d convince him to wear that little apron she had bought. Although, she knew he’d probably rather die than wear it, even if it was only for her in the safety of their bedroom.

Taking one more breath, Skipper opened the door to her car and stepped out into the cool winter air. Her boots clicked against the concrete pathway that led from the driveway to the house. The house was on the smaller side, coloured a soft brown with a dark roof, shrubbery sitting beside the three steps that led up to the front door. She gazed at the plant life. It would be time to clip it back soon.

She opened the door and stepped inside. Immediately the warm of the heater burrowed into her cold skin, warming her from inside out. She shrugged off the cardigan, draping it over her arm.

“Hi baby, I’m home.”

Elliot didn’t answer. She assumed that the man couldn’t hear her over the sound of the television. The television wasn’t usually up so loud. It wasn’t worrying, of course; just confusing.

She sat by the front door on the little bench they kept close by, taking off her boots and then sitting them by the door, all nice and ordered, before she made her way deeper into the house.

The hallway led to an archway to the right, which led into the living room. The television was on, of course, showing some kind of superhero film from Netflix. She could see Elliot’s socked feet hanging over the side of the couch. He was too tall for the couch when he tried to lay on it lengthwise. Skipper herself was close to being too tall.

“Hey,” she greeted her husband, leaning over the back of the couch to press a kiss to his head. He flinched in surprise, rolling onto his back to meet her gaze. He looked bashfully at her.

“Hi,” he answered, voice tense. There was a pause before he answered again, chest jumping.

Skipper raised a brow, lips curling into an amused smile. “Hi,” she said for the third time. “You good?”

“Yeah - hmk! Ugh. Hiccups.”

His cheeks flushed, he cleared his throat, only causing another squeaky hip! to escape his lips.

“Why’s the television up so high?”

“I’m- hmk! I’m losing f- hilp! focus. The,” another pause, and he visibly tried to swallow back another hiccup. “Hiccups are too loud.”

Skipper giggled, finding the situation quite funny, and super cute. Gosh, everything Elliot did was so cute.

“Hmm, that’s no good,” she teased, walking around the couch to perch herself on the edge of the couch, her manicured fingers carding through his hair. Elliot’s lips were pressed together. He had bemoaned at length that he disliked how squeaky his hiccups were, and indeed, they were. At least, for more masculine standards. It wasn’t like Skipper had a lot of experience hearing men hiccup, really, having spent her childhood in private all-girl schools, and then years in a female modeling agency surrounded by women.

Elliot didn’t seem particularly bothered by the hiccups, but he had always been more inclined to embarrassment than anything. He was soft, easily flustered. Years of walking around in front of strangers in dresses barely covering her backside, tripping over her own heels, or her skirt catching and ripping on snags in sets had left Skipper less prone to embarrassment, able to take things in stride better than her husband.

“It’s been.. HUP!” (at that surprisingly loud hiccup, Elliot flushed deeper and shifted his gaze away from Skipper) “It’s b-hilk! been like, forty-five mhilk! minutes since it started.”

Skipper made a sympathetic hum. “Guessing nothing helped?”

He shook his head, eyes trained on the television. “I mhk! I did chores, by the way.”

Smiling, she leaned down and pressed a kiss to his head again. “Oh, you’re a sweetheart. You’re perfect.”

Flustered, Elliot sat up and pushed Skipper away. His head rocked back as another hiccup, sufficiently muffled by his closed mouth, thumped his chest. Clearing his throat, he knocked his elbow with hers.

“‘m not per- HMK! perfect, Skipper.”

“You are, but sure. Let’s pretend, for like, a minute that you aren’t - what’s your damage babe! I think it’s at the very very super duper least that, like, doing all the chores is a perfectly gentlemanly thing to do for your wife!”

Elliot considered that, exhaling slowly through his nose, the action interspersed with his hiccups. His face screwed up. “I d- hmk! don’t know if I hulp! agree, Skip.”

Sitting herself on her husband’s lap, the blonde giggled. Her thin hands cupped his cheeks, thumbs brushing over his skin, and then slowly trailed down his neck, his chest. Her eyes shifted to her hands, watching as they jumped every time his chest did. She could feel his heart thumping against her palms through the fabric of his shirt.

“Hmm, did I ask if you agreed?” She teased. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion. Why are you so against it, anyway!”

Skipper leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his. He responded by opening his mouth to protest, although with another soft hiccup he closed his mouth again. She kissed the tip of his nose, moving down to kiss his throat. The feeling of the hitching against her lips was euphoric. He whined softly at her kissing. Having him at her mercy was always her favorite.

“Hilp! Stop, Skipper,” he huffed, another sharp hiccup interrupting his breathing as he exhaled shakily. Skipper’s teeth caught the soft skin of his throat, letting out a quiet giggle, her lips sucking at his skin.

“Not until you stop ruining this with your hiccups.”

Almost instinctively, Elliot pointedly held his breath, Skipper pulling back and grinning at her husband. Her hands rested on his chest, waiting impatiently.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Kink rating: Giving praise

Kink Rating Ask Game

No | rather not | I dunno | I guess | Sure | Yes | FUCK yes | Oh god you don’t even know |

I love everything about praise. I think giving good praise is a bit difficult, which makes writing good praise a little difficult as well. It really depends on the dynamic of the characters.

Have some vaguely future Autumn Embers under the cut!

NSFW/18+/MDNI

CW: PRAISE, omegaverse, short because I need to stop avoiding my Kinktobervembercemberuary prompts.

Under you, Johnny's energy is flagging. All of them are. Your heat makes you feel invincible, but even you're losing steam on day four. But if there's anything you know about your alphas, it's what motivates them to rally.

"Johnny," you purr, leaning down to press your chest to his. By the time you use his hair to tilt his head, he's already panting, eyes blown. The noise he makes as you grind down onto him is pained. "You feel so good inside me, make me feel so good."

You yelp as he pushes you back and flips you until you're on top of a bleary eyed Kyle.

[naughtynoodle056]

Okay I neglected to post this here for a while untuil I felt like it was long enough to share but alas! I present my long running feedism story!! It's mostly male focused, but the main man in question is African-American, so it's at least a little different from the gainer fics we usually see xD

Fandom: Original Work

Categories: F/M, M/M, multi

Tags: stuffing, feeding, weight gain, intox, recreational drug use, marijuana, alcohol, eating, polyamory, implied sexual content, belly rubs, eructophilia, humiliation, drunken flirting, more tags listed on AO3