#Tit Wrench

[gotankgo]

Retox (Feat. Members of The Locust, All Leather)

Doomsday Student (Feat. Members of Arab on Radar)

Tit Wrench (Feat Members of Tit Wrench)

Secret Fun Club (Feat. Members of Some Girls)

February 16, 2012

The Casbash

San Diego, CA

[justgayskissinggays]

Me being physically incapable of making this oc have a happy healthy body bc it feels like im taking away smth fundamental to him, that that rotting infection from his first iteration has spread to every version. A prince or a random guy - its there, some infection to mutate and distort him.

[areyouwho-ithinkyouare]

the end we start from is the best film i’ve seen in ages and ages and ages and after a run of less-than-favourable cinema experiences i’m mostly just glad that it actually made me feel an emotion. several emotions even. many, some could say.

[screampied]

vegas id give you the sloppiest head ever if you wrote scissoring w shoko 🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

★ : rubbing pretty clits w shoko.

cw. fem! reader, wlw, scissoring, praise, spanks, nıpple play, overstim, petnames, mdni.

shoko who can’t help but giggle, watching with doe brown irises as your hips stutter every few seconds. you were simply no match for her pace. with your slick cunt repeatedly grinding back against hers, you were already this close to losing it. to making yet another mess. she’s lied flat on her back, one hand gripped against the left side of your waist before humming, tilting her head in faux coy. “cupcake, c’mon, thought you said you knew what you were doing, hm?”

as your mouth hangs open—you lock your legs securely against hers, trying to scissor her properly. the heat of skin clashing against each other makes a school of butterflies flutter inside of your tummy. “m tryin’ shoko,” you pant, watching as she trails a hand down your ass, a thumb brushing up against it’s shape as if it was carved into a heart. “fuck, feels so good, ‘sho.”

“try harder, honey,” she huffs, almost about to break out a sweat herself. long brunette locks tangle around her finger as she keeps a keen eye on you the entire time. puffy cunt hoods glissade against each other back and forth and oh, the stimulation. with the mixture of her growing heat, you felt hot. shoko’s angle of her thigh legs wrap around yours and you felt everything. “pick up the pace, uh huh—good . . girl,” and a sharp gasp wrenches out of her throat once you start to accelerate. “thaaat’s it, fuck me, pretty girl.”

both scorching hot bodies continue to move in rhythmic sync. she lets off a sweet moan, feeling the convulsing thumps of your clit pulse against hers and it feels almost too good.

her breath hitches as she snakes a hand toward your breasts that bounce right in front of her face. “come closer, cupcake. don’t be shy,” and her words were a bit low—she lets off a tiny hiccup as her eyes roamed at your perfect jittery body. with each lengthy second that passed, she was getting more and more drunk from your sweet cunt. as you lean closer, pawing your right hand into the mushy skin of her right leg, she grabs ahold of one of your tits, latching her plump glossed lips against the tender nipple. “mhm.”

you moan out a singular hiss, bouncing against her body as she lies right underneath you—

skewing the bulb of your cunt straight against her drooling opening. with the merciless speed of your hips, she could barely keep your sweetened neglected mounds in her mouth. although, she left a pretty trail of her sheeny saliva onto each of your tits. she sucks against them both, briefly closing her eyes shut as you’re merrily rutting into her sloppy core salaciously.

“shokooo,” you drag out her words in a candied slur of both twin syllables.

the slow yet deadly grind of your hips had her head spinning. not just hers but yours too.

clammy hands of hers make their way back toward your unsteady hips, yanking them closer to her sweltering, sticky heat before she spanks your ass.

with that single spank . . one turns into two, then three, then four.

shoko’s obsessed with your ass, never failing to leave it a few concise stings near the very plush parts of your flesh. “f— fuck,” she stammers, a shake in her voice due to your insane rhythm. she felt it too, with both sloppy mounds bumping against each other, the incoming pleasure was almost inevitable to feel. she pried one of your legs open just a bit farther apart, strumming her slender fingers against your pulsating cunt to play against your throbbing slit. “mhm, twitching so good for me, huh. you gonna make a mess already? barely been a few minutes, cupcake.”

your throat was parched with dryness — with the bed underneath you and shoko wailing out in weak creaks, you moan. as your head tosses itself back in rapture, your trembling thighs briefly shifts to acclimatize against her wide open angle.

“gonna cum, shoko,” you warn, feeling the furrow of your eyebrow pull both arched brows together. for just a second, you take a second to suck in a nice amount of balmy air.

everything around you felt so warm, including the welcoming cunt of your girlfriend who’s just humidly sultry with tepid heat.

effortlessly, it sticks against your own core, creating a lewd concoction of damp juices, forming into a little soaked cobweb. there’s an entering ring that goes through your ears and hers. it’s never ending screech makes your back arch at the moment of your climax and she slumps back against the mattress. her skin’s met with the velvety silk sheets. as her body directly underneath you moves back in drowse, her lowly hooded eyes meet yours again once you prepare to speak out a whimper. “can i cum, shoko? pretty please?”

“with those manners, you can do anything you want to me, cupcake,” she hoarsely whispers, pulling you close to her face.

inches away, you close the remaining distance to drag her into a needy, wet kiss.

both bodies remain to rut back ‘n forth, limbs all tangled and intertwined in pure bliss.

she tasted so sweet. her syrupy gloss ghosts against your tastebuds and you moan right into her mouth. shoko was handsy, wasting no time to feel all over the curvature of your presentable physique. starting at your ass — then back toward your hips and the rest of your body. she even leans in, lolling her tongue out to lick a long stripe down the valley of your chest.

“mhm,” you whimper, sappy soddened juices squelching against each other. as you both eventually succumb to your orgasmic peak, in each mouth, you both moan in pretty flawless unison.

your hips come to an abrupt slow but you’re still jerking against her, swerving in swift addictive arcs as she feebly wrapping her arms around your waist. the rickety of the bed continues to sob out creaks from the double amounts of weight. “baby,” she croaks out lowly, strings of fluids departing with each inch that you move your cunt away from hers.

exhausted, you slump forward into her chest and you feel a rumble of her shoulders. “ah, worn out already? i guess we can take a break,” she whispers, feeling your body still shiver within her hold. her touch was always gentle—she loved how you’d always lean into it, lean into her. with a sheepish smile curling against her slight crooked lips, she makes you sit up. you unlock your weak legs against hers before lying on top of her, droopy eyes meeting her lust filled gaze. she gives your forehead a single kiss before huffing. “you did so good, baby. always so good for me.”

“s- shoko,” you stutter out, her perfume making you throb. you were already starting to fantasize about the lewd feeling of her cunt rubbing off against yours in carnal harmony that was literally just seconds ago.

“shhh,” she shushes you, a thumb swiping its way over the part of your lips. body again body — it was warm, her sweat mixed with yours and you could feel yourself aching for more. already, you missed the way she felt bumping against your sensitive pussy. it made your head spin, your nerves were still in overdrive before she makes you lie on her chest. “let’s rest, okay,” and her slight raspy voice made you let off a soft content sigh. she strokes your back, hearing your breathing slow a bit before she coos against the shell of your ear. “when you’re well energized again, i’ll start a nice bath for us both,” and she gives the crown of your forehead one more kiss.

“my sweet girl.”

[rememberwren]

Thinking about fem!reader running out of condoms with Ghost, just something that plays into all my seedy kinks.

Both of you know it’s a bad idea, but he’s just come home from who-knows-where (“Classified.”) and you’ve had nothing but your fingers and lackluster toys for the last two weeks. The little drugstore down the road closes early on the weekends. It’s either hand and mouth stuff or more dangerous games like—

“You can just pull out right?”

And he almost takes that as a challenge. Can he pull out? Can he pull out? Yes, in theory he can. He can bury himself in your tight wet pussy, thrust himself all the way to the edge, and then deny himself. Absolutely. Self denial is his MO.

So proceeds the most frantic fucking you can remember. Something about the sheer naughtiness of it sends your arousal skyrocketing. Nothing ever feels so good as the thing you know you shouldn’t be doing, his body pressing yours into the bed, cock buried to the root inside you touching that place that your fingers can never reach.

Of course, it just so happens to feel that way for Ghost, too. You’re soft and wet and along with making these sounds that go straight to his head, muttering the softest dirty talk he’s ever heard under your breath like, cock feels so good, missed you so much, don’t ever want you to stop fucking me. And he’s getting close. Normally he could fuck you through his own orgasm and into one of your own, but these aren’t normal circumstances. You have to cum first.

I’d personally like to see him slow to near glacial speeds as he fights to keep a handle on his orgasm, sometimes having to grit his teeth and stop altogether, sweaty forehead buried in the crook of your neck. But when he does, it makes you even more frantic, Please don’t stop Simon, so close, need it, needed it yesterday, please don’t stop, which kills him all over again.

Maybe he pulls out early, before you cum. Maybe he crawls down the bed and eats you like you’re his last meal, but that’s personally not as fun as imagining him steeling himself and rolling onto his back, letting you set the quick frantic pace as he frees his hands to play with your tits or thumb your clit, his eyes shut and breaths stuttered until he feels the first blissful clenches of your cunt around him—and just barely wrenches you off of him in time for him to wrap a hand around his cock and jerk once, twice to a synapses-blowing release.

Immediately mutters: “Getting you that fancy pill first thing in the morning just in case.”

[shotmrmiller]

I totally believe that pornstar!reader's video with fan pathetic!Simon blows the hell up.

It gets millions of views in days, from a degenerate male audience who loved the expression he put on your face— discomfort from his monstrous cock bullying into you and cockdrunk after forcibly wrenching 4 orgasms out of you in 30 minutes.

And an astounding amount of support from the female audience who loved everything about him— his size, tattoos, and especially his mask (since masked men are a huge thing right now).

But the most striking aspect of the entire video was the sheer desperation he had taken you with.

He'd painfully stretched you open and reached a depth inside of you that not even the most well-endowed in the industry could hit.

He'd shown no mercy, even when you quietly pleaded for him to slow down, or ease up just a bit— that he would break you if he kept that rhythm up.

Needless to say, it was a fucking of a lifetime, if not two. You woke up extremely sore. From a fan.

A fan!

And the worst part was that your manager was making you fuck him again. Again.

You asked if he was so popular, why not another porn star? The blonde one with the big tits and tiny waist was always in high demand.

"Because Ghost— that's his alias now— said he only fucks you, or no one."

He cannot be serious.

"This is your chance to get an exclusive contract with a studio instead of this freelancing shit."

Wow. "You're really just gonna use my own spells against me, Potter?"

Your manager knows how badly you've been trying to secure a spot with a big-name studio.

Asshole.

"Fine. When?" you utter resignedly.

You're so fucked. Literally and figuratively.

(bonus hc that Simon uses govt resources inappropriately and long before being in the video he found out what your real name is, where you live, and your phone number. he also lurks in your favorite bookstore without a mask, so you don't recognize him.)

[dmitriene]

p!link with simon ghost riley, with your pliable body propped up on your elbows, jolting with each snap of simon's hefty hips forward, pounding in and out of your slippery cunt, pulling back down until he almost slips free from the clutches of your velvety walls, and then slamming back.

his thick, calloused fingers splayed on the hinge of your jaw, thumb tipping past your slick with saliva, puffed lips, rubbing against the warm and slick surface of your tongue, before sliding off to squeeze your pathetic face.

surypy little noises escape your slacked mouth with each thrust of simon's veiny girth against your spongy, sensitive spot, pounding with rapid pace, making the fat of your supple tits jiggle, catching his fervent gaze, as he delivers a harsh slap against your cheek.

skin stinging, making scalding sensation lick up your flesh, spreading down to your navel with churning, wrenching fervour, settling in your tummy and thrumming there, your eyes shimmering as you gaze at him.

unable to utter a single word when simon's rough fingers settle around your neck, squeezing at your throat, relishing in the way your pulse beats between his fingertips, as he gives a little squeeze, eyes crinkling with the way your sounds turn more pitchy, breatheless, gargling for him.

you make something carnal curl itself behind his ribs, aching for you, visible in his dark, half lidded eyes with a delirious zeal, beefy thighs slapping against the back of your own, as simon cants his hips, meaty cock grinds in wetly in your heat, fat cockhead rutting against your sweet spot.

purring as your head tilts back weakly, eyes fluttering to roll back as the clutches of your cunt start to pulse, adding more dripping slick to the already obscene squelches in the room, as simon runs his tongue against your jaw with saliva and small kisses, craning his face to suck at your lips.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[eupheme]

k.01 mutual mast. | can’t keep my hands to myself

professor!logan howlett x student!f!reader

rated e - 1.5k

tags: mild power dynamics, flirting, mutual yearning, vauge prof/student relationship (reader is 21+), kissing, mutual masturbation, come marking/eating

“You need it bad, huh?” He coos, “Go on and show me, sweetheart. I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

“Shouldn’t be in doing this.”

His protest is half-hearted. Murmured out of obligation, as his hand curves against your ass. Tugging you flush, as your thighs inch wider to make room.

“Shouldn’t be in here, sweetheart.”

As if he hadn’t kissed you first. Unable and unwilling to stray from your side, during the after-conference dinner - glued to you the whole evening. Dark eyes dipping low neckline of your dress, bare shoulders.

So many places to sink his sharp teeth into - make a mark - if he only could.

It had only been a matter of time. There had been a spark since the first moment you met, even if he had tried to stay away from you at first.

But you were all too eager to use semantics as an excuse. That his role of authority was something temporary in the trajectory of your life. That everyone was younger than him… so was he really going to draw a line here?

Logan can’t pretend he doesn’t like it. The way you watch him during the lectures. How his name slips from your tongue. The way he has to keep his eyes off yours, or he’d never be able to look away.

All points that you’re too willing to make, if he tries to stop kissing you.

Drink had flowed at dinner, and the wine had made you sweet. Made you bold, stepping into his space when he had walked you to your hotel room.

His own right down the hall, something both of you were achingly aware of.

Your fingers had traced across his chest, your eyes heavy-lidded - but he bridged that last gap.

Had wrenched the door open - walking you backwards as his tongue swept against your lower lip. Groaning at the way you part for him. How you cling to his shoulders, sigh into his mouth.

Lowering you onto the bed, as his body covered yours. Exploring every inch you give him, his palm hot where it curves against your bare thigh.

Only when your fingers brush the buttons on his shirt, does he pull back. His eyes blown dark, that pinch deepening between his brows. Seeing how you’re cradled beneath him.

The peek of your panties where your skirt been rucked up. An ankle hooked around his calf, keeping him close. Tits pressed against the low neckline - the tug of a finger against the fabric, and they’d be freed.

A rough sound, as his teeth clench. Nostrils flaring as he inhales a steadying breath - but it only makes his eyes dip down again.

“Logan,” You sigh, and his eyes are brought automatically to yours, “I want this. Want you.”

He bares his teeth. Makes to lean back, but his body moves on its own when your mouth tips up to his. Losing himself in you again, hips dropping, grinding into yours when yours lift.

Fingers trace from the outside of your thigh, inward. Inches from where you need him, from where you’re molten.

“Please.” Your teeth click together. The word breathed out, nails scratching against his free shirt. Feeling the ripple of muscles beneath, as he pants into your mouth.

“Can’t, baby.” The word pulls softly from him. An edge creeping in at the end, as his lips drag across your cheek. Open-mouthed against your throat, where your pulse hammers, “Charles is gonna know.”

You huff - biting back a groan when his teeth skim your neck. Can’t leave a mark, but he can pretend.

“Then don’t think about it.”

Logan laughs then, a rough sound pulled from his chest. Pushing himself up on an elbow. His lips pretty and kiss-swollen, and you’re sure yours fare the same.

“Should see yourself.” He growls, “Not gonna be able to think about anything else.”

A hand slipping down to adjust himself. Hips flexing into his palm, where his trousers pull tight. Where you’ve been able to feel him since his lips first pressed yours.

The movement had his knuckles brushing against your mound. Too high, but it’s still enough that you gasp, arching into him.

“Just touch me, then.”

A shallow shake of his head, “Don’t trust myself, sweetheart. Won’t be able to stop if I do.”

Your lip juts out, “I don’t want you to stop.”

He leans down, teeth capturing it. His words a low rumble, when the kiss breaks.

“Tryin’ to be a good man.” Logan rasps, “Tryin’ not to get either one of us in trouble.”

It’s the truth in that, that sobers you. You’re not worried about yourself. Emotions overriding logic some time ago.

But if it were to effect Logan, well.

You couldn’t - wouldn’t - have that.

Instead, your fingers drift down. Between your breasts, fitting between your belly and his hips. Ghosting over your core, against the soaked-through fabric.

“Can I touch myself, then?” You breath. A fingertip pressing down, chest rising with your inhale, “You don’t have to. Just keep kissing me.”

He makes a low noise, watching the flex of your wrist. His lips parted at they brush against yours, making your head lift as you chase him.

“Can’t wait until I leave to get yourself off?”

It comes out low. Soft and smooth, and your head is shaking. Two fingers pressing and circling now, a ragged moan slipping from you in relief.

“You need it bad, huh?” He coos, “Go on and show me, sweetheart. I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

Could tell him again that you don’t want him to - but he’s playing your game, so you listen. Easing your panties to the side. Letting him see how slick you are beneath - his fingers biting into your hip as your own circle against your clit.

“Logan.” You breathe, and his head dips.

Swallowing your moan as your fingers dip against your entrance. Dragging your slick up, sighing into his mouth as the pleasure sparks in your veins.

His hand moves to cups the back of your neck. Forearm flattened against the bed as he lifts on his knees. Palming himself with the other, squeezing.

“You, too.” Something in his expression flickers, as you beg, “Won’t touch you, either. Promise.”

Something cracking. A dark look as his fingers work at the buckle. A rough groan that makes your skin prickle, when he eases himself out.

Flushed and thick in the curve of his palm. Pride flaring through you, at the realization that you did that to him.

Letting his cock hang heavy, as his thumb smooths across your lip. Fingers following, gently pressing.

“Get me wet, sweetheart.”

You moan around the fingers that fill your mouth. Eyes heavy-lidded as you suck on them. Tongue swirling, as he hisses. Spit stringing from your lip to his fingers, when he eases free.

“Christ, you’re something else.” It’s muttered - dampened fingers curling around his cock. A deep groan rumbling from his chest that makes you clench, his mouth finding yours again.

Jerking himself off to the smell of you. The sound of your fingers circling against damp flesh, the curl of your tongue against his.

His hips roll, as he fucks into his hand. Losing himself in the kiss, as your hand twists into his hair. Mussing the tufts, as he presses you into the mattress.

His knuckles knock against yours, when you match his rhythm. Logan growls when he notices - a jerk of his hips that grinds his cock against the crease of your thigh.

The kiss turns messy. Teeth scraping your lip. Tongue licking into your mouth as the rhythmic swipe of your fingers fills the space between you.

Something winding tight behind your belly. Your fingers pressing harder, your other hand leaving his neck so you can palm at your tits. Tugging the fabric aside so you can pinch at the peaked nipple, the jolt of pain lacing with your pleasure.

Your whimper makes him moan. He drips, smearing across your skin with the next pass of his fist.

His name panted out, the syllables stretching with your need.

“Logan,” You gasp, hips rocking into your touch, “Fuck, I’m gonna come-”

“Almost there,” It’s low, desperate, “Wait for me, sweetheart. Almost fucking there.”

The admission does nothing to quell the surging pleasure. Your teeth biting into your lip as his lips press against the hollow below your ear. An inhale, as he burrows closer.

“Smell so fucking good,” He husks, “Wanna taste that pretty pussy, baby. Bet I could make you come so fast against my tongue.”

You clench around nothing, almost whimpering. He shifts, putting pressure against his forearm as he lifts. Pupils blown wide as his lips part, eyes dragging down - lingering on your breasts. Where your fingers work between your thighs.

“Let me hear you come, baby.”

The second you get permission the pleasure seems to explode through you. Hips lifting off the bed as your head tilts back. Your moan pitching high as the shockwaves of pleasure ripple through you.

His fist moving twice more, before he’s pitching forward. A rough growl as he spills against your mound. Dripping against your fingers, where they draw out your orgasm.

Wet and warm against your skin, as he grunts. As he moans, eyes rolling shut as his mouth goes slack.

He’s beautiful.

You’d thought that coming would be enough. But as your hand lift, your tongue fitting between your knuckles - licking him away - that need only burns brighter.

“Fuck.” Logan rasps. Head dipping, tongue slipping into your mouth before his lips meet yours. Eager to taste himself on you. His cock still hard, as it grinds against your folds.

Smearing himself with you.

Fuck is right.

You’re never going to survive the rest of the conference.

thanks for joining me on this little kinktober journey! 💖

[astralnymphh]

18+ subtop!ellie, and it's her first time using a strap, but not yours! watching you push the tip through your folds is torture enough—you expect those aurora eyes to be in the back of her head by the end. the head of her fake cock rolls over your swollen, shiny clit, and she inhales sharply. “sh—goddamn,” she whisperingly curses, attentive eyes perusing the connective passions. it makes her heart fucking rage. you, blatantly dripping from this, and something twice the width of her fingers, painted with slick. so fucking wet all around, the sounds created are intoxicating. light contorts as it gets dragged through once more, and aligned with your entrance. the pulse song inside her does not settle down.

you ease it an inch in, pussy lips swallowing up the tip graciously, only to be eased back out. this happens a couple times—with sickenly playful intentions—and it only riles ellie up. fuck, you know it does. you wanted it to; the easy phases of a smile catching your lips. “c'mon, babe..” a soft whine from her, the warm air it greets, and a delicate, yet pronounced gripping of your hips, entertains you. “just sit on it already, please?” her palms nudge you down slightly, fingers digging. it feels fulfilling to know you have this sort of hold on her—this thing where she has to grasp your hips and encourage you to get on with it. how cute, right?

although, it extends outside plain lust. she knows you have experience, knows you have the practice to tend to your own pleasures. most times, you tell her what to do anyways, and she obliges head-first. but, she wonders if her potential will rain with the same shine here. she feels only observant, and hot, laying under you. ellie almost dies when she gets to see your pussy, swallowing the girth of it. “fuck, babe.” she can't fathom any other emotion.

“oh my god, you're fuckin' amazing.” she is pleasingly overwhelmed. with each bounce, it ripples in her pelvis, smacks the now-reddened skin of her thighs, and she wants it harder. deeper inside. you have one of her nipples in your mouth, tough against your tongue, your moans, and the opposite under your palm, reacting identically to the friction. yeah, that encourages her alright. her fingers—still praying to your hips—scrape behind and pull the heart of your thighs apart, supporting you upwards with her legs. “let me try.”

she wants to be the sole reason you lose yourself. ellie certainly tries: palming her hands into your ass tightly, wrenching her brows, keeping you at this angle. but her pace isn't matched to yours. muscles in her glutes and thighs contract from how concentratedly she tries to keep up—probably a beautiful sight further down the bed—but she is imperfect. the shaft flops out constantly, and she can only guiltily chuckle when she feels your hand reach back and hips bottom out on it again. “not easy, huh?” you comment, breathing with the weight of the world in your chest. she, too, gasps for breath, the juncture of you two a sweaty entanglement. “yeah,” she breathes out.

regardless is she was perfect or not, you still came. loud and rocking against her. she felt bliss watching your chest shake with exhales. “ah, shit—that's fuckin' it ellie,” you splutter out. when you grasp her tit and give a confirming squeeze, she almost comes. she never did when you finished; a lack of friction at fault.

but it matters none. the salty, sweet taste of her precum is already lining the crevices of your face as you ensure she finishes what she began. she is so warm there. her wet, arousal-scented thighs clench you—choke you, as your tongue brushes a large motion and your hands push her hamstrings into a pain, a stretching pain. she cries out. “fuck—fuck, babe, too wide.” and inevitably feels her cunt fire a last pulse. it snaps. she writhes her pelvis up into your mouth, mound smushing on your upper lip, attempting to fit all of her sensations inside you. a strong gush trickles. you lick it happily. just taking, taking, and taking from her. it always helps to aid your girlfriend after treating yourself so well; your passion makes her fold. she rubs herself on your reposed lips afterwards, quivering and molding her mouth around little, heavenly moans—goddamn, if only it were you inside her.

a/n: love an experienced reader tbh. don't get enough of those around here! ellie pic from @/thereareboatsthisway on instagram.

[seattlesellie]

@astralnymphh we share a brain apparently.

ཻུ۪۪♡.🎀°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

farm!ellie placing you on her and dinas bed while dinas in the other room folding laundry, rubbing you through your clothes and pushing her front to your ass while it's scorching hot outside, melting, really. slipping her rough hand underneath your beige cotton shorts and covering your mouth as you whimper in search of some friction, whispering "shut up... i'm sorry, you have to be quiet", faux apologetic as she merely softly scratches your slit that is growing wrenched with the pads of her fingers. kissing your neck and wetting it with her warm saliva, licking it up and disgustingly placing her leg on your side in order to rub against you even more, cause this isn't about you -- this is about her, her pleasure and her disgusting, selfish, yearn to cheat on her loving wife with the girl who's really just the help, nothing more. you hear dinas footsteps outside of the room and the laundry basket bumps againt the door which makes you yelp, thinking you're about to get caught-- you have morals alright, but the other woman pressed against your back just hugs you tighter and squeezes, shushing you like she's pissed off that you dared to even move away from her grip, and says "jus' shut up and make me cum, she's not gonna see us, just shut up", holding and squeezing the fat of your tits like you're some kind of doll she's taking advantage of.

the air feels moist and the bed squeaks, your ears are burning and so are your cheeks, you're guilty, turned on, desperate beyond measure, and all you can focus on is ellie's hectic whispers of "yeah, like that"

[gender-sludge]

Girls and nonbinaries love the wrench necklace. I’m just trying to get them to stare at my tits. Win/Win

[husbandhoshi]

[9:47 AM] *suggestive

the first thing you learn about seungcheol is that his towels are embroidered. csc, they read, in gold thread on absurdly plush bath towels.

(actually, the first thing you learned about him was that he's a good kisser. you learned this the hard way, outside the bar, after all your friends had gone home and it just was you, him, and his tongue in your mouth.)

as a rule, you try not to learn anything about your late night escapades, but, evidently, you have already failed.

it's easy to notice his bathroom looks much bigger than it did last night, now that all the lights are on. he has not one, but two, matching rugs, and the sconce lights make the marble countertop look like it's made of water. nestled in the corner is a little tray with all his cologne lined up end to end—armani, dior, chanel.

you pick up the silvery one on the end and smell the cap. (yes, this one. he was wearing this one last night, right in the space where his collarbone met the base of his neck. you had kissed him there, and he had asked you to go home with him. creed, aventus, it says.)

he even has the drunk elephant moisturizer, although it looks criminally underused. it sits among a small pile of skincare that looks like it costs twice your monthly paycheck, if you had worked overtime.

you have to remind yourself you're not here to snoop through rich people's bathrooms, as fun as that sounds.

seungcheol was a quick fuck (and a really good one at that), but you already feel like you've overstayed your welcome.

the plan—in and out. you hate the sticky, too-warm goodbyes, the small talk at the kitchen table, the unexpected rattle of a roommate coming home. worst of all, they never want you as badly in the morning as they did the night before.

but the plan has already gone to shit. you woke up practically spooning him and your little bathroom detour cost you ten minutes. and it's almost 10, which is what he has his two-hundred dollar alarm clock set to.

you shut the bathroom door as quietly as you can, hoping to make a quick getaway. but it's here, caught in the waxy overcast from the huge windows, where, for the first time in your life, you almost want to say fuck the plan.

"morning," seungcheol hums, propping himself up on the bed. you take one look at him, shirtless and sweats slung low, and you lose the plot entirely.

yesterday, when you had met, it looked like he was made in some kind of factory for hot men—starched white shirt rolled to the forearms, hair perfectly gelled, and a fat breitling watch hugging his wrist. and yet, as you watch him blow a cowlick out of his eyes, he seems even more attractive, which you would have never thought possible.

"someone's eager to get outta here," he says, enjoying the way you avoid his eyes. "don't tell me it was that bad for you."

you smile nervously. what you can remember about last night is that it was anything but bad. the whole thing makes your face feel hot—you are no prude, but he sure makes you feel like one.

"is that what it looks like?" you answer. you realize you can't find your shoes. you think he threw them somewhere last night, between the memory of his hand up your dress and yours in his hair. he kissed his way up your legs and you forgot you even had shoes to worry about.

"almost, if you weren't checking me out just now."

damn. guilty as charged. you can't help it. things feel too good to be true.

first, you learned you got fucked by a million dollar dick last night. now, instead of kicking you out like any other one night stand, he's acting decent, maybe even more than decent. and he has the tits of a god.

seungcheol sees your face wrench up in puritanical shame and he laughs.

"well, if you have time in your busy, busy schedule," he starts, with a grin that makes you dizzy. "i'm making breakfast. and i would love to eat it with you."

suddenly you don't know why you ever had a plan in the first place. you watch him attempt to wink at you from all the way across the room and you think getting to know him might not be such a bad thing after all. maybe things are too good to be true, but you're willing to find out.

needless to say, the second thing you learn about seungcheol is that he cannot cook.

the third? he's an even better kisser sober.

[mv1simp]

my constant thought about max is him and virgin reader where r is saving herself for marriage and for her husband but max convinces her that doing anal means she’ll stay a virgin <33

Anon YOU EVEN MADE ME BLUSHH 🤭🤭🤭 do u know how hard that is. got me kickin and gigglin an shit, here u go u filthy animal keep the requests coming 🫶

Low Life ♥️

Max Verstappen x Horner! Reader

I been on the molly and ‘em xans with your daughter, if she catch me cheatin’ I won’t ever tell her sorry

Mad Max is back in full force with the poor Redbull strategy this season - and his boss, Christian Horner, doesn’t seem to be doing anything about it. Guess Max will just have to find some other way to get his revenge and relieve his stress…starting with his boss’s precious, spoiled daughter.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, innocent virgin!reader, who’s also a spoiled brat lol, dark! Max, blackmail, coercion, filming, VERY dubcon, anal, size kink, dom/sub, bimbofication, religious themes, EVERYTIME I WRITE A DARK MAX FIC IT KEEPS GETTING MORE NASTY GODDAMN, 5.2k WC

To say Max was pent up with rage would be an understatement. After dedicating himself tirelessly and dominating the track since his debut, the Redbull team had disappointed him this season with their pisspoor car and even poorer strategy. And to top it off, his boss was now making comments to the media about how he needed to spend less time on the sim rig the night before a race, making Max scoff. As if Horner knew more about winning a race than a 3 time world champion, Max thought angrily, yanking off his helmet as he stormed straight to his boss's office to give him a piece of his mind after another disappointing P3 finish.

Horner was having none of it, though, telling Max some bullshit about how the team needed to have a united front blah blah blah. Max has already tuned him out, cause what the fuck does he mean the team - he was the one bringing home the results every weekend, and anyone who tried to say otherwise just needed to look at the track record of Max completely dominating his teammates in equal machinery. God, he hadn’t gotten this mad in a long time, so he excuses himself rudely as he can tell he’s about to wreck something if he has to hear another one of Horner’s excuses. He wrenches open the office door just to have you stumble straight into his firm chest as you try to enter it.

You, Christian’s Horner’s daughter from his first wedding, freshly graduated from some private all girls college. He’d met you 3 months ago while you were trotting about like the spoiled little brat you undoubtedly were. No job, just using your degree as decor while you used your daddy’s fame to find yourself a rich man to spread your legs for, he had speculated, knowing just your type.

And it irritated him to no end that you looked the picture of innocence, an angelic figure in your white minidress and kitten heels and wide doe eyes, with a matching purity ring and all - even though your pretty tits and fat ass were openly ogled by many a male staff member. Max himself had to readjust his pants a few times when he’d seen you bend over.

He’d assumed you’d try to sink your gold digging claws into him soon enough, wanting some of his multimillionaire status for yourself, but you’d surprised him by skittishly avoiding him, almost looking a little scared, which he found amusing. He supposed he did dwarf your 5 foot frame though, and you had all the aura of a sweet little lamb compared to the Dutch lion. You’d surprised him again last month, when you’d introduced your dad to your pick of a first boyfriend - Tim, a docile looking, short guy who was a lowly new hire in the F4 reserve category. Too far down in the rankings to do any real benefit to your status. Conveniently, though, Tim’s father happened to own a software development app that was currently in the process of a $3 million acquisition deal. Chump change to someone like Max, but like he said, he knew your type, didn’t he?

But he’d been most surprised when he’d overheard moaning one night when he’d stayed late in the garage - and had pervily gone to investigate down the abandoned hallway and into one of the empty rooms - only to get an instant hard on at the sight of you on your knees, dress pulled down to your waist and those delicious tits out on display. So entranced by the angelic vision, Max hadn’t even noticed your loser boyfriend - till a scowl appeared on your pretty face as Tim furiously jerked his tiny dick off in front of you. He was panting and whining, sweat running down his face as he pathetically begged please, please can i touch your boobs-

You were no scared little lamb now as you snapped at him viciously. No! I told you, only looking and no touching! I promised daddy I would stay pure for my husband- Eww! Oh my god, what is that?

You’d been cut off as your boyfriend came, his small, clear load weakly spurting past his fist so that only a couple of drops landed on your caramel skin. Max had thought you’d been lying about the purity bullshit, just wanting an excuse to avoid Tim’s touch - but his eyes narrowed at your look of disgust at your boyfriend’s dick, and the genuinely puzzled expression on your face as you tried to figure out what the clear fluid that landed on you was - making the impressive semi he still rocked twitch, despite your pathetic boyfriend ruining his show. Interesting, you were still a virgin, huh?

Sure, you’d piqued his interest then, but he ignored you now as you stumble back from his hard chest, wide brown doe eyes blinking up at him. He’s still furious with Horner and starts to move past you but your aggravating father perks up, asking if you could show Max where his new drivers' room was in the refurbished wing, so that he could cool down and destress in peace after today’s race. Of course, daddy, you responded sweetly, making Max’s cock stir. He eyed you doubtfully as you lead the way. You had to know what you were doing, a grown woman using that word, right? But then again, he’d seen you call Horner by that title in a team wide press conference, making GP choke on his water next to him - so maybe not.

His anger hadn’t dissipated one bit as you approached his room, in a much more secluded area of the new wing for him to “cool down” as Horner had passively aggressively suggested. Still clearly nervous in his presence, you accidentally dropped the key you’d fished out. As you bent over to collect them, your miniskirt rose up, revealing your juicy ass peeking past your white cotton panties. Oh, he’d found the perfect way to get back at his boss, Max thought devilishly.

As you unlocked the door, he stepped in behind you, giving you no choice but to stumble inside - and then he’d casually stopped in front of the door to block your exit. You nervously twirled your keycard in your fingers, shuffling side to side.

Why don’t you sit down, he offered, we should get to know each other, yeah? You still looked like you wanted to bolt any second, but at Max’s authoritative tone you gingerly sat down on the plush couch.

He started with some generic bullshit about how he’d seen you around, you were his boss’s daughter after all, and as Horner’s best driver he should be on good terms with you too, no?

You relaxed, now looking up to meet his eyes and smiling brightly, pleased that the great Max Verstappen had come to seek your favour. You start saying that it was nice to meet him too, you’d heard lots about him, he was such an incredible driver-

You hadn’t noticed Max discreetly locking the door behind him. Stepping forward, he responded neutrally to your excited questions as he casually strips off his top layer, leaving him shirtless.

You abruptly stop talking, going pink in the face, and he asks what’s wrong, I’m just getting changed, are you a virgin or something? His mocking tone makes it clear that he still didn’t quite believe you were one. When you don’t reply, he gently lifts your face up with his large hand. And as your eyes shyly rise up to meet his, desperately avoiding looking at his broad, toned abs, there’s no faking the genuine innocence in them. I am, you stutter out. A virgin, I mean. I made a promise to daddy to wait till marriage.

You twirl your promise ring around anxiously as you say it. Max didn’t know what kind of sick brainwashing Horner had been subjecting his daughter too, but he fully intended to use it to his advantage. Really? He says slyly. Does your daddy know you let your little boyfriend jerk off on your tits?

You gasp, then glare as you demanded to know how he knew that, had he been watching, that was soo creepy and gross -

There’s the bratty angel he knew had been hiding. He cuts you off, confirming that yes, he’d been watching - but you’d been the dirty girl who seduced her innocent boyfriend in the garage for just anyone to see, hadn’t you?

You’d look outraged at his statements, but he reminded you of the power he had when he nonchalantly mentioned that he hadn’t planned on telling your father, but now that he knew about the promise you had made - well, it was his duty to let Horner know what kind of naughty things you’d been doing behind his back, right?

That had wiped the bratty glare right off your face, instead making you wide eyed and tremble with fear at the thought of your daddy finding out. You begged Max to keep your secret. Please don’t tell him, he would die, you'd do anything to stop him knowing!

Jackpot. Smirking darkly, Max pretended to consider your option before saying that he supposed he could keep it to himself if you helped him destress and relax like your father had sent you here to do, okay?

You nodded eagerly, looking up at him with those innocent doe eyes as he stepped right in front of you, watching you predatorily. His thick fingers brush along your pink lips, and his eyes darken as you instinctively take them into your mouth, sucking sweetly. Oh, you were going to be such a sweet little angel for him, he just knew it.

Within seconds he had you dropping your dress down to your waist, exposing those lush, pretty tits of yours. You blushed when he stared hungrily and ordered you to play with them, and at first you obliged and gently squeezed them, but then stopped to brattily ask just how this was supposed to help destress him, was he just being pervy again?

Great point, he said, and sat down next to you to easily lift you into his lap, taking over and roughly palming your tits. N-no touching! You had squealed, desperately trying to escape his strong arms. Rolling his eyes, he forced you back against him, explaining that it was okay, you knew that it didn’t count if it was to help him destress, right? And besides, nothing would affect your promise to your daddy except a man’s cock actually entering your precious virgin hole-

Okay! You had said frantically to put a stop to his explicit words, face flushed. Okay, if you promise it doesn’t count, I’ll still be a virgin, right?

God, it was so cute how naive you were. You hadn’t even realised that if what Max was saying was true then there was nothing illicit with what you and Tim had done - and Max had nothing to hold over you. Right, Angel, Max promised, enjoying the dazed look you gave him at the nickname as he squeezed your tits, bending down to take a pretty nipple into his mouth. It doesn’t count.

And that was how Max had his boss’s innocent little daughter wrapped around his fingers, ready to do whatever he asked of her, as long as he kept your secret. It was such a rush, having his way with you right under your father’s nose, being able to punish you for his crimes and ruining you more and more each time Horner pissed him off - and oh, did he piss Max off constantly.

So the next race, he’d had you fully strip for him, and yes, even those cute panties, Angel, when you’d whined, embarrassed from his intense gaze. You’d bit your lip and slid them off, obediently spreading your legs and gently playing with yourself like he’d asked, using unfamiliar movements. Soon enough you’d become accustomed to Max’s hungry stares at your innocent parts and began thrusting your tiny fingers inside your virgin cunny, because it had started to feel sooo good and soo tingly down there, and you’d never felt like that before.

You’d become distracted, closing your eyes from the sensation and when you opened them you shrieked, because Max was now standing right above you, greedily looking down at your petite form as he stroked his own private parts - called a cock, he’d made you repeat. He’d also warned you never to scream again in his room, or he’d gag you next time and tell your dad about Tim. You pouted, nodding obediently, but whining that you got scared Maxie, why was it so big, so angry, was it going to hurt you?

Of course not, Angel he’d reassured at the next race again, this time making you sit next to him, naked except for your kitten heels and a lacy blue thong he’d had delivered to your house - your father as clueless as ever when he handed the package over to you. It won’t hurt you, he promised, but it's very hard from stress and needs you to help drain it, okay?

He’d guided you to his large cock, smirking evilly as you struggled to grip him even with two hands. He moved one large hand over both of yours, showing you how to jerk him off the way he liked. You’d picked it up very quickly, innocently asking him why Tim's cock was so much tinier that his. Cause, Angel, I'm just a better man than he is, he had said with a chuckle. Oh, you had said, then - I hope my husband is a good man then, and has a big cock like you.

Oh, Jesus. Max was definitely going to hell after this. Feeling his peak approaching, he ordered you onto your knees, making you hold your tits up - and then proceeded to cover them with his thick, creamy release, so much of it that it dripped down onto your stomach - and much more than the time you had seen Tim’s cock explode. You’d almost screamed again but bit your tongue at the last minute, remembering Max’s threat last time. But it didn’t stop you from glaring up at him, brattily asking what this gross stuff was, eww, you didn’t want it on you-

That’s fine, Max had said cooly. That’s fine, because next time he'd make you drink it all instead. Your eyes went wide at that, tears forming and you adamantly denied Max, saying you’d never do something like that, it sounded pervy and dirty.

But your reluctance meant nothing to Max, as he smirked at you from your fathers side the next day, whispering something in his ear that had your daddy looking over at you and an icy chill running down your back. You were petrified as you got a text from your father to come see him in his office now, walking in on the verge of tears only to have him smile delightedly at you because Max mentioned you’d been very supportive of his races lately, it’s been a big reason why he’s so much more of a team player these days, so proud of you for helping the team, sweetie!

You’d accepted his praise, blushing from the attention, and later had dutifully wandered back to Max’s room to greet him after the race. He smirked at finding you there, already naked except for a pink lacey thong and heels, on your knees for him, shyly thanking him for keeping your secret and saying such nice things to your daddy. Of course, Angel, he murmured, unzipping himself. You know just how to say thank you then, hmm? And you obediently nodded, jerking him off like he’d taught you, then licking and sucking on his cock when he asked, and then taking all of his length inside your eager throat at his command, gagging the whole way as he tutted disapprovingly at you, taking over and controlling the pace with his large hands. It had really hurt your tiny mouth, and you couldn’t speak properly afterwards, but seeing Maxie swear and tell you how good you were doing, how he never wanted to let you go, made that tingly feeling come back in between your legs again. Instead of ignoring it like you normally did, this time you couldn't resist fingering yourself, thong pushed the side as you shoved your fingers inside your wet cunny.

Maxie had gone breathless seeing that, and then he tensed before you felt his warm, sticky thick cum fill your mouth. You swallowed every drop, opening your mouth afterwords for him to inspect. Good girl, he said, patting your head. My sweet angel, you drained my stress so well. Oh, so that’s what it was, you say innocently. I’m glad I made you feel better, Maxie.

After that, there were no races for a whole month as the paddock went into summer break. You had thought you’d be glad for the relief from Maxie and his mean demands, but you found yourself texting him often, missing his loving kisses and touches after you helped relieve his stress, missing the tingly feeling you got when he looked predatorily at you spread open for him.

You’d been shocked when you opened your eyes as a shadow had blocked out the sun while you were sunbathing at your family’s St Tropez holiday home, only to find Max grinning down at you, saying your dad had invited him to come for the week. Had you been doing your homework? You nodded diligently, looking at the banana you’d been practising swallowing whole without gagging to copy the dirty video Max had texted you of a petite woman eagerly sucking a very big cock - he must be a good man, you’d thought, just like your Maxie.

Secretly, you were so glad he was here, shooting him looks over the dinner table as he sung praises about what a good friend you’d been to him, helping him get back to P1, making your daddy proudly pat your head. And after dinner when everyone had gone to bed, he joined you in the hot tub to unwind. You’d excitedly begun to tell him about what you had been upto on the break when you felt his thick fingers creeping up the inside of your thighs. You’d frozen instantly, because Maxie had never touched you there himself, but before you could say anything your father stepped out onto the veranda, asking you something about your plans for the next day.

Answer him, Max mouthed, smirking as you had no choice but to let him keep gliding up your legs and undoing your tiny bikini. And when your daddy had gone back inside, oblivious that the flush on your face wasn’t from the heat of the pool, you’d tried to shove Max’s hand away, brattily saying you didn’t want his hand near your private parts, that was just for your husband-

Doesn’t count, Angel, Max had cooed, easily overpowering you and sliding a finger in, much thicker and longer than yours and making you squeal as he started pumping it in and out of you. And he hadn’t stopped despite your half hearted protests, because you’d started to feel really good, really tingly, and Maxie, I feel funny, I think I’m going to pee-

After you had your first orgasm, he carried your tired figure back into the house, setting you down and licking your cum off his fingers. And then, through your half asleep state, you felt his tongue swirling around your nipples, leaving hickeys and then trailing down, and down before his warm breath gently blew over your puffy cunny. And then you felt his wide tongue licking your folds, making you gasp awake and squeal cause why was he kissing you down there, that’s so pervy-

But he’d easily bullied you back into quiet muffled moans again, your skimpy bikini bottoms shoved inside your mouth as he warned you that your father was going to wake up right next door and come investigate if you didn’t shut up. So you reluctantly let him continue his filthy kissing, spitting and licking on your most innocent parts until you felt you had to pee again. He grinned wickedly as you squirted a second time, completely ruining the sheets, before redressing your passed out figure in a comfy hoodie. You felt the ghost of a sweet kiss on your forehead before he walked away.

You avoided him the next few days, glaring when he would approach you, angry he’d kissed you somewhere only your husband should. He’d promised you were still a virgin, sure, but still! It was just too much, wasn’t it?

But you’d been unable to resist his advances any longer when he’d cornered you in the family study one day when everyone else had gone out to the markets. He’d sweetly apologised, presenting you with a new Dior bag he’d had speed delivered that morning, and you happily snatched it up, gasping with delight as you look inside to find a Cartier bracelet. You’ll forgive me, right, Angel? Max had said, slowly wrapping his arms around you from behind and rubbing his practically blue balls against your plush ass as you distractedly admire your new gifts. I just wanted to make you feel good, hmm?

You nodded breathlessly, agreeing that you supposed it had felt really good, you liked that tingly feeling in between your legs. Yeah? Max had grinned, kissing you and slipping his tongue inside and saying that he knew a way to make you feel even better, Angel, and you’d still be a virgin after it, he pinky promises, okay?

With the new Dior bag and diamond bracelet you’d become a lot more agreeable, and didn’t protest as he laid you back on your father’s study table, lifting your miniskirt over your hips and grinning wickedly when he found no panties - just your glistening pussy. Y-you always just rip them anyways, Maxie you pouted.

Oh, you secretly wanted this, didn’t you? Acting all bratty just cause you wanted to make him work for it, he was certain. Your sweet body was such a good plaything for him that he didn’t really mind, deciding not to punish you for avoiding him.

You curiously watch as he unzips himself, taking his thick cock out, then you squeal adamantly in protest when he brings it close to your innocent hole. Shh, Angel, it’s just on the outside, he’d promised, I won’t put it in, it’ll feel so good, trust me.

And it had felt sooo good, making you bite your lip and toss your head back as he dragged his warm length along your folds, slapping your clit a few times with his cockhead, making you spread your soft legs invitingly as you felt the addictive tingly feeling come back again.

He’d been unable to resist the temptation, sliding just the tip into your virgin cunny- but you’d immediately screamed in protest, twisting away and he had generously released you from his hold, tongue in cheek as you sashayed away with a backwards glare, Dior bag in hand. He’d had to leave the next day, and you didn’t see him the rest of the break.

After the break, you had seemed different to Max. You carried the brattiness openly in your eyes, confident now in your ability to seduce him as he has brought such expensive apology gifts just for a little taste of your virginity.

You had infuriatingly said no when he tried to rub himself against your cunny at the next race, and at the one after that, so here he was, stuck fingering you and sliding his tongue in and out of your folds for the 3rd time this week while his cock ached to be buried inside you - when the wicked idea came to him.

He’d made sure to have all the preparations ready for the next race, knowing you would be a brat and try to weasel your way out of it. Like he’d predicted, you make your way to his plush sofa, spreading your legs to show off your naked pussy and demanding he come kiss it how you liked.

Oh, his Angel had become quite the spoilt little bitch, hasn’t she? He’d have to make sure you learned your lesson about who was in charge around here. You smirk as he drags his tongue up and down your puffy folds, thinking you had the millionaire driver all wrapped around your fingers. His thick third and ring fingers join his tongue, making you moan and close your eyes as he pumps them into your pussy. And then, his thumb drops down, lower, to circle your other winking hole before sliding inside.

You’d jumped in shock, naively asking why he was touching your dirty hole, that’s so embarrassing, you don’t want him to touch that place!

Max cooes that he couldn’t care less, besides, he can clean it out for you, yeah? If he just slides his cock in, just a little bit, he can make sure it’s all clean for you.

Your eyes go impossibly wide at the thought of his big cock anywhere near your ass. You furiously close your legs, brattily telling him that you’d had enough, wasn’t he just being a pervert now, and you’d already broken up with Tim ages ago and since Max seemed to be very relaxed now given his P1s has resumed you didn’t think you needed to help him out anymore!

Time to pull out the big guns. Sitting back on the sofa now, Max palms his growing erection as he calls out to you, making you pause from where your hand rested on the doorknob.

You know, Angel, I’ve had a lot of creepy fans sneak onto the garage lately. Some even got into my room. I guess they just really wanted to see me shirtless, huh?

You turn around to look at him, confused, until your eyes slowly widen in horror as he points to the camera tucked in the corner. There’s no trace of sympathy on his handsome face as he starts lazily jerking himself off, telling you that it had been your fathers idea to set it up, for his safety, and he’d even kindly offered to go through all the footage later - he took any threats against his prized driver very seriously.

You panicked, already teary eyed at the thought of your father seeing you spreading your legs sluttily and demanding Max pleasure you. You immediately dropped to your knees, begging Max to keep the tape himself-

Now why would I do that, Angel? Max cooes, getting harder at the sight of you kneeling in front of him and crying for his help. After all, you’re the one who’s forcing him to kiss her pussy on that video, hmm?

He knows he has you right where he wants you as you beg him, offering up your precious pussy to slide against again if he wanted, just don’t go inside, okay?

That’s not the hole he wants, Angel, he told you darkly. No - he wanted your other hole, the dirty embarrassing one, and he wants to sink his entire cock inside it.

He watches you stutter and gasp, before you take a deep breath and naively ask My husband won’t be able to tell, right Maxie? I’ll still be a virgin?

Max smirks. Of course, Angel. You know he’d never break your precious promise. And with that, you’re ready to become his obedient pet again, blankly turning around and sticking your ass up in the air like he asks, spreading your cheeks for him to look at.

And oh, Max takes his sweet time looking, enjoying the twisted satisfaction of having completely broken you down like this. He generously douses you in lube, making you squeal at the chill, before he’s furiously pumping his thumb inside your impossibly tight back hole. You tremble as he lines his cock up, ordered you to relax or it’ll hurt, Angel. Slowly sinking inside, he moans as he finally finds his way into your heat, feeling like he’s reached heaven. Tears stream down your face as you wail once he begins meanly thrusting, wickedly taking your anal virginity all for himself and giving you his fingers to suckle on and keep quiet.

He doesn’t stop until he’s finished inside you, panting heavily and pushing his matted hair out of his eyes, pressing kisses down your spine to let you know you did so well for him.

He pulls out with a wet squelch, enjoying the sight of his cum dripping out of your poor, abused little hole. Sitting back comfortably on the sofa, legs spread, he gives you a cocky smirk as you turn around, still seated on the ground in front of him.

Now clean it up, he demands meanly. He can’t have your hole make his cock dirty now, can he? And you obediently responded, crawling forward with glazed eyes, licking him clean from balls to tip like he’s trained you to do.

After that night, Max had held you completely in the palm of his hand. You’d be the perfect angel for him, doing whatever he wanted wherever he wanted - except for entering your innocent pussy, of course. He’d let you keep it yours for now, finding the fantasy hot. He’d buy you a diamond ring one of these days, he mused, so that you’d beg him to finally claim your virginity.

But for now, he had a couple other tricks to try out. And if you’d try to refuse, he’ll pull up the video he has on his phone of your eyes rolling back as Max ate you out on your father’s work desk from summer break.

He’d taken you back to his hotel room to teach you those tricks, making you wail and scream his name without restriction, headboard banging against the wall. It was hilarious when Horner had come upto him at breakfast the next morning, patting his back and saying it sounded like he’d been celebrating his win very well last night, congratulations, he deserves it and sounded like the girl couldn’t get enough!

Max had to hold back his laughter, as your clueless father had no idea he was carrying an extra croissant up for the very same girl who couldn’t get enough - his precious little daughter, who still lay sleeping in his hotel bed, exhausted from his dirty activities all night.

You’d ended up missing your flight back, making some weak excuse to your daddy and had followed Max into his private jet, obediently spreading yourself open for him as he pulled you behind the privacy screen. The flight attendants had blushed as they heard your eager moans and the lewd sounds of Max greedily fucking your ass again.

And when you landed, greeting your waiting family, Max had to discreetly wipe the line of cum that trickled down your skirt. You didn’t have to worry, though, he’d already thoughtfully ordered another delivery of sexy underwear straight to your home 🖤

—————————————————————————

A/N: I actually gave myself post nut clarity writing this (post writing smut clarity?? Post smut conscience??) time to go outside and reconnect with nature. As always,,,lmk what u think 🤔

[syoddeye]

down the hatch / badgering

141 x f!reader | ~1.9k | series page tags: p in v sex, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, bad jokes, manipulation, spanking, manhandling a/n: you know that tunnel scene in willy wonka and the chocolate factory? that's how it feels when i write this. a hoot and a half. banner by @/cafekitsune.

it’s an adjustment. living with roommates again. roommates who refuse to leave, thanks to all the death and destruction outside. convenient excuse, really.

no more naked mornings. you could go tits out—they fucking do—but you’re not entirely without reason. as salivating as they are, the hunks are your enemies.

even if they’ve showered, trimmed, and got some of the bloodstains out of their clothes. 

even if soap makes canned meat and powdered eggs palatable, whipping up a spam and rice bowl for you without asking.

even if gaz finds a five-hundred-piece puzzle on a scavenging trip and bites his tongue when you bat his hand away when he tries to help sort the pieces.

even if ghost slips a game of hangman under your door at lights out, and lets you guess a couple of letters each night. (first word? ‘wanker’. second? ‘larynx.’)

even if john—well, wait, no. the asshole hasn’t made a peace offering. probably because he knows you won’t honor them or because he’s sore about the whole ‘no cool nickname’ thing. whatever.

at night, alone in your room, you plot. how does one evict four man-roaches? make living with you worse than living outside.

in a weird way, your austrian neighbor and his aspirations for a fucking von trapp family: the squeakuel comes in handy. he hoarded all types of junk.

soap’s your guinea pig. he’s moody. something’s always itching under his skin. he snaps at the other men too easily and watches you like a dog admiring meat hanging off a bone. opportunity arrives one morning when john and gaz head topside and ghost settles in the living room. you corner the scotsman in the bunker’s tiny gym.

you linger in the doorway, fixated on the dark shapes under soap’s armpits. his mohawk sags, beads of sweat streaking over the freshly shorn hair. down his flexing muscles. and the grunting, christ. it’s a peek into heaven, which makes ruining it difficult.

without a word, you plop onto the other bench and take up the clarinet you found in your room. channeling the gusto of gus polinski, you wet your lips. how hard can it be? you don’t know polka, but you know rossini.

soap’s head snaps at the opening notes, nearly fumbling a pair of dumbbells, his face a flurry of anger, amusement, and annoyance. it’s a valiant effort, his ignoring you, but in the end, you only make it halfway through your best attempt at the william tell overture before he cracks. he rips the instrument from your hands and tosses it aside. he stands over you, smelly and slick, breathing heavily through his nose. 

you end up dragging him to your room.

soap is the definition of a romp in the sheets. a no-holds-barred deathmatch. it’s the first dick you’ve caught in months, and what a reintroduction. a miracle the bed survives. he starts with his mouth sealed to your clit, tongue working like it’s making up for lost time, as if your cunt and his face go way back. it’s refreshing, but you saw how fast he dropped to his knees for gaz.

two orgasms slip out by the time he wrenches off his damp clothes, chin glistening and eyes glittering. he goes cross-eyed the second his dick slaps against your folds, and you laugh at his desperate groaning when he sinks in. though, your laughs are choked off by his sudden, furious thumbing of your clit. (you punch him in the stomach—ignoring the filthy moan that elicits—and hiss out, “a genie isn’t gonna come out, stop fucking rubbing so hard!”) he ends up coming on your stomach and contorts to lick it off, muttering little gratitudes into your skin. it’s…cute. kind of gross, but cute. you kick him out after a power nap.

soap’s a wash. ba-dum tish. try, try again.

you set your sights on gaz. he’s tricky.

it quickly becomes apparent he’s the best at scavenging. smug about it, too, which you leverage. his ego’s easy enough to feed despite his unease. all it takes is batting your lashes and complimenting his hauls.

amazing. this must be the last jar of berbere ever.

pads? for me? so considerate, i’m stunned.

a mostly intact game of monopoly? wow, here, i thought we were done with landlords and taxes.

it’s simple. you begin with small requests. toothpicks. socks. lip balm. when he returns, he drops the goods in your lap like a cat with a mouse. stares at you with those pretty eyes while you lay it on thick. 

you escalate. either he’ll die on your absurd fetch quests or go crazy trying to fulfill them. brand new period panties. a specific type of hair dye. unopened baby lotion. naturally, he can’t find any of them. he still delivers approximations—granny pants, food coloring, and half a bottle of moisturizer—with a hopeful smile you crush under feigned hums of disappointment. ah, well, if this is the best you can do. it chips away at him. his smiles tighten.

you figure he’ll make a dumb mistake on his next outing out of some fucked desperation, and you’ll be down a roach. but after you tell him to keep an unopened pack of nail varnish because they aren’t your colors, he loses it. this time, you’re dragged to bed.

gaz pins you to the mattress, one hand on your throat and the other shoved into your leggings. pupils blown to the point where they’re shark-like. you’d spare a thought for all the poor creatures dead in aquarium tanks across the globe if he wasn’t hellbent on shoving a third finger in.

“so bloody irritating,” gaz seethes. “spoiled and greedy. have you always been a brat, or am i special?”

you spend your ration of oxygen wisely. “i think you think you’re special.”

for that, your knees meet your chest, and your pussy nearly chokes his dick. or so he tells you, pure filth spewing from his mouth. you giggle madly through the slight pinch of pain, mirroring the feral grin on his face. he’s big, and you could be wetter, but you’re not on your back for good behavior. he’s happy to tell you about that, too. how awful you are.

disappointingly, it doesn’t take long for him to lose his grasp on language. a shame, given his shit talk. 

he bats your hand away from your clit when you try to coax your orgasm along. clicks his tongue, eyes half-mast, and smirks. “gonna be good? gonna thank me?” 

in another world, you’d nod. whatever you say, beautiful. in this world, however, you flip the bird, and he flips you.

gaz pants like a bull, pulling you back onto his cock with an iron grip on your hips. his hand comes down across your ass, but there’s this je ne sais quoi missing. it’s the thought that counts, you guess.

after he makes a mess, you fully expect gaz to continue his tirade. instead, he finds a towel. he rolls you over and tucks you in. thanks you. it’s a shame memoirs are meaningless now as the perfect title comes to mind: ‘bunker bumping: backshots in the apocalypse’.

okay. zero for two. historically, settling for 50% isn’t unlike you. 

back at the drawing board, you reevaluate. annoying the men to death hasn’t worked, and they’re exceptionally durable in dogshit conditions. each day, they get closer to rigging the equipment necessary to contact their ‘friends’, seemingly unperturbed by your efforts. in fact, they seem more comfortable. at home. they poke around the utility room to assess what needs maintenance or improvement. the nerve.

it’s untenable. no matter what that dumb voice in your head insists, you miss solitude. miss not having an audience. you want to watch leon and the silence of the lambs without commentary. dance naked. leave the toilet door open. 

you withdraw.

the bedroom becomes your bunker within the bunker. you take meals alone. painstakingly move your puzzles and hoard books. shower at night after they go to bed. ignore them in the halls. keep your mouth shut when someone addresses you. it’s a fruitless endeavor, keeping your head in the sand, but a part of you hopes if you become as unobtrusive as possible, they’ll forget you exist. after all, they have each other. they put those squeaky single beds through the wringer.

problem is, you don’t account for scragglebeard himself. nosy fucker. 

it happens on shower night. towel-clad and testy, you trudge from the bathrooms and find your door open. you freeze in the hall, hearing clinking sounds and lowered voices. gaz and soap emerge, ferrying dishes and dirty clothes, not sparing so much as a glance. your stomach twists, immediately jumping to the worst-case scenario. they’re reclaiming the space, and they’re finally going to kill you.

unfortunately, it’s not so simple.

“whatever this is,” john sternly says the second you enter the room, “we’re going to fix it.”

ghost traipses past, arms full of unopened cans and more dishware. you glare at his back, then turn to john.

“get the fuck out.”

he chuckles. “sweetheart, what’s not clickin’? this isn’t just your shelter anymore.”

“got it,” ghost reenters, a roll of duct tape held aloft. 

well. you had a nice run. sure, the calamity was a setback, but considering you probably lasted longer than everyone you ever hated, present company aside, that’s a tick in the win column. 

however, ghost doesn’t bind your limbs or cover your mouth. he crouches at the ventilation shaft connecting our rooms, rips off several pieces of tape, and covers most of the grid. “you fuckin’ talk in your sleep.” he points at the small hole he left uncovered and stands. “my bed’s right through ‘ere. it’s fuckin’ unsettlin’.” grumbling, he shuffles out once more.

john’s not shy about scanning you from top to bottom, but apparently, he doesn’t like what he sees. he turns away. “what are we missing?”

you pick through what’s left of your clean clothes. “loaded question.” poking your head through a shirt, you shimmy the towel to your hips.

“where else would you find a clarinet?”

“up your–” he glares over his shoulder, and you smile sweetly. “there’s a small storage space in the closet here. it’s empty now.”

“we found the surveillance room and utilities. it stands to reason that there are others.” john scratches his chin, watching you like a hawk as you pull on shorts. 

“oh. you think?”

“i do.”

“well, think outside of my room. i’m going to bed.” you move to the bed and listen to john close the distance. he hovers, his breath hitting your neck in an exasperated huff. it sends a shiver down your spine. you bet he’s got what gaz was missing—experience behind the swing of his palm.

“like it or not, sweetheart, we’re sticking around. now, i’d prefer it if we kept things civil. based on what the boys told me, i know you’re capable of being friendly.”

it’s not the smartest decision in the world, wheeling on a man trained to kill. he catches your wrist as it winds up and twists it sharply behind your back. with one solid push, you get a mouthful of linen as your body promptly hinges at the waist. an angry string of obscenities gets lost in the sheets. you’ve never been so humiliated. or breathtakingly aroused.

john tuts.

“bad call, badger.”

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 21 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley hadn't really celebrated Mother's Day since Carole passed. It was a strange thing, trying to wrap his head around all of the emotions he felt as he watched you and Rose together. He wanted these feelings to last forever.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, lactation kink, smut, DILF Roo

Length: 3400 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

You thought your first week back at work went pretty well. You only cried five times. Bradley only threatened to retire early seven times. You only called your parents in a panic twice. And you only fell asleep in your office once.

"That could have been a lot worse," you said on Friday night while you sat on the couch and ate pizza while Bradley walked Rose around, trying to get her to fall asleep.

"You're right," he whispered, kissing her hair. "I only cried twice." You laughed as Rose's eyes fluttered closed and stayed that way. She already looked so much bigger to you than she did a few weeks ago, even though she still looked tiny compared to your husband's biceps in his undershirt.

"You're killing this dad thing, Roo," you told him as he slowly headed for the hallway to put her in her crib with Tramp at his heels. There was still some room temperature pizza left for Bradley to enjoy with you before it was time to head to bed yourselves, but when he strolled back into the living room, you could tell exactly what he wanted.

When you offered him the pizza box with an innocent smile, he shook his head. "I already had four slices," he whispered. "I'm not trying to get a dad bod already."

You pressed your lips together and said, "I have a mom bod."

"You're perfect."

He spoke with conviction and finality, and you weren't going to argue with him about it. "Are you ready for bed?" When he shook his head again, you asked, "What do you want to do then?"

"Are you going to make me ask for it?"

You watched his gaze dip down to your chest and stay there for a beat. It was unbelievable how much he could turn you on when he wasn't even touching you. Every fiber of your being was telling you to take your shirt off and give him what he wanted, but the reassurance he readily gave you was too hot to pass by.

"Yes. I want you to ask for it."

Bradley took a step closer to you as he grunted, his hand flexing at his side before inching toward the fly of his jeans. "Okay," he rasped before licking his lips. "I want to undress you." He swallowed hard, pupils blown wide. "And I want you to warm my cock with your perfect pussy while I suck on your tits."

"Oh my god," you gasped, already squirming with need as his words washed over you. "That was a lot more descriptive than I thought it would be."

His cheeks grew pink as he took another step in your direction. "You wanted me to say it."

"I did," you said as you wrenched your shirt over your head. Then you reached for his zipper, and as soon as you had his cock free, you took him between your lips.

Deep, guttural grunts filled your ears as you licked and sucked, enjoying the feel of his big hand at the back of your head while he said, "Now you're just giving me a bonus, Baby Girl."

You pulled him free, saliva strands landing on your chest. "I can stop if you're not into it."

His eyes went wide before narrowing. "Get that smart mouth back on my cock."

You did as you were told, overwhelmingly turned on by him, but he didn't let you give him head for too much longer. He knew what he wanted. It was what he always wanted now. He wanted your breasts.

"Let's go, Sweetheart," he coaxed, pulling you to your feet and stepping out of his jeans. His undershirt was the next thing to go as his cock bobbed, glistening with your saliva. "Let me have it."

He sat down on the couch, staring at you as you took your time removing your shorts and underwear. You watched him rub his thigh as he panted your name, voice laced with desperation as he reached for you. Then you let him have what he wanted. His cock was thick in your hand as you guided him through your wetness until you were sinking down around him.

"Oh fuuuuuck," he breathed as you came to rest on his lap with him fully seated, and then his mouth found the bead of milk leaking from your nipple, and you let yourself enjoy every sensation. Soft lips, eager tongue and harsh mustache. "You're so warm," he muttered, burying his face between your breasts before sucking on the other nipple. "So fucking warm."

You raked your fingers through his hair as your pussy pulsed around him. The delicious feeling of being so full was punctuated by his tongue licking sloppy stripes along your chest like he couldn't get enough. When he wrapped his hands around your waist and held you tight so he could push himself even deeper, your head dipping back in pleasure as you whined.

"I'll make you come," he promised, circling your nipple with his tongue. His thumb found your clit and started stroking you as he sucked you dry. You were exhausted now, but you were so close, and you couldn't help yourself from bouncing in his lap. "Fuck," he growled, and you knew he was done. He came inside you, still rubbing your clit, and soon you bounced along through your own orgasm with your husband's face buried between your breasts.

"Jesus," he groaned, finally pulling his body a few inches away from yours. You wobbled a bit when he helped you stand, and you could feel his cum dribbling down between your thighs. "That looks so pretty. I can't believe you wanted us to use condoms."

"It was just a suggestion!" you laughed. "I don't mind taking the pill."

He shook his head and muttered, "The creampies are just too nice." Then he opened the pizza box, stacked up the last two slices and devoured them as he followed you to bed.

-----------------------------

"I can't thank you enough for this," Cat said as she handed Jeremiah to Bradley. The two and a half year old was still waking up from his nap. Bradley was so used to holding Rose, it was shocking how much heavier and bigger Jeremiah was than his own child.

"Don't mention it, Lieutenant Commander," he replied with a wink as Jake set down an overstuffed diaper bag and some toys. While Cat was wearing her dress whites, Jake opted for a tuxedo, and frankly it was startling to see him dressed that way.

"Where's Angel?" Jake asked, bypassing Bradley altogether. "And where's my goddaughter?" 

"She's feeding Rose," Bradley replied with a grunt.

"I'm coming!" you called from the nursery, and everyone perked up, including Jeremiah, because Tramp ran out of the room behind you.

"Dog!" Jeremiah said, pointing down at the floor.

"Hey, little dude! Good job!" Bradley told him, kneeling so he could pet Tramp. "Since when did he start talking?"

"Not very long ago," Cat said with a smile. "Just a few weeks. His first word was 'Mum'."

"His second word was 'Dad'," Jake added, giving his girlfriend some side-eye.

"It was," Cat said quietly as Jake took Rose from your arms.

Bradley knew the other pilot wanted to be Jeremiah's dad in the worst way. He talked about the little boy all the time, spent as much time with him as he could, and bought him more stuff than he could ever use. Maybe once Cat and Jeremiah moved in with him, she would start to budge on the rest of it.

"Careful," you told Jake as he started to bounce Rose. "She didn't burp yet."

Bradley smirked, because burping the baby was his job, and he loved when you saved that task for him to do. But Rose had a bit of a reputation now. "She'll spit up," Bradley warned, eyeing Jake's pristine tuxedo.

"She would never spit up on her godfather," he drawled, tickling her belly until she made a cute gurgling sound. Bradley silently goaded his daughter to do just that, but to no avail.

"We need to leave," Cat informed Jake. "The ceremony starts in an hour, but I need to be there before that. And you need to find a place to sit with Uncle Bernie." 

She kissed Jeremiah in Bradley's arms, and then she headed for the front door as Jake sarcastically muttered, "Fantastic. Uncle Hondo still hates me on principle." Then he handed Rose to Bradley as well so he was left juggling both kids. "Thanks for watching him, Bradshaw."

Then he was gone, and Rose promptly spit up on Bradley's shirt. "Are you joking right now?" he asked his daughter as he knelt again to set Jeremiah down. "Nugget. We've had these discussions. I'm your dad. You're supposed to like me more than you like your godfather."

But you were all worked up now as Jeremiah said dog repeatedly and chased after Tramp. "Did you hear that, Roo? Jer calls Jake his Dad!"

"Yeah, I heard," Bradley replied, mopping up Rose's mess at the same time he tried to burp her so she didn't do it again. "I'm just in the middle of a huge betrayal at the moment."

"You're so dramatic," you told him, tossing him the burp cloth you left on the island earlier. Then you took Rose and said, "Go get changed, and I'll read everyone a story."

Bradley had to chase Jeremiah around for almost an hour before he started to show signs of fatigue. He knew quite a few words now, and when Bradley tried to teach him how to say Rooster, it came out as Woo. He was currently reaching for Bradley and saying, "Woo, up," which was actually the cutest thing.

"Does this mean we're finally ready for story time?" he asked, picking up one of Rose's storybooks that ended up on the coffee table. "Book?"

"Book," Jeremiah confirmed, and Bradley settled on the couch with both kids. 

Listening to you read about a spy princess with magical powers was something new for him, but Bradley loved your voice so much. As soon as you finished he whispered, "Will you read it again?"

You looked up to see both children sound asleep on him and smiled. "You really want me to? Because neither of them are listening."

"I want you to."

So you humored him by reading it out loud a second time and doing all the voices. Bradley yawned as you finished.

"It looks like all three of you need to go to bed," you mused, standing and stretching.

"Babysitting is a breeze," he murmured, patting Jeremiah's head gently. "It's like I know what to do now. Oh, and Rose is going to need to eat soon."

Like clockwork, she started squirming a bit, and you plucked her out of his grasp before she could really start fussing. Then you whisked her away to the nursery while Bradley watched an episode of Real Housewives with Jeremiah snoozing and thought about how nice it was to have two kids around. Eventually he stood up to get your Mother's Day gift ready to go.

------------------------------

When you woke up on Sunday, your breasts hurt so much, you could hardly stand it. You reached for Bradley, but he wasn't in bed. Squinting, you were able to see the alarm clock, and you sat up in bed so quickly, you were dizzy.

"Ten o'clock!" you gasped, shoving your glasses on your face. You jumped out of bed, holding your chest as you ran into Rose's nursery to find that room completely empty. "What is going on?" you called out as you made your way to the kitchen.

"Hey, Sweetheart," Bradley said calmly with a smile. He was wearing Rose in the carrier on his chest, and there was some delicious looking food on the counter. The room even smelled nice. "Happy Mother's Day."

"Why didn't you wake me up?" you asked, rushing to check on Rose, but she looked completely content. "Isn't she hungry?"

"I fed her a bottle of your breast milk from the fridge," he said, leaning down to kiss you. "Ready for breakfast?"

You stood there, taking deep breaths as your heartbeat started to slow back down to normal. "Yeah," you whispered. "I need to nurse her soon, because my nipples feel like they're on fire, but I'm starving." You realized, not for the first time, that your husband had absolutely everything under control. "Did you make those?"

There was a plate of slightly misshapen muffins, and another with avocado toast. There was fresh coffee and a yogurt parfait and a vase of yellow roses.

"Yes," he replied, clearly proud of himself. "Your mom sent me a foolproof recipe for blueberry muffins, and I think I fucking nailed it, Sweetheart."

"Don't swear in front of the baby," you murmured, kissing him a little awkwardly with Rose strapped to the front of him. "Thank you. This is really sweet."

"I just want you to have a perfect first Mother's Day. I've been thinking about it all week. The roses are from Rose, obviously," he said, gesturing to the vase.

"Homemade breakfast and flowers. Sounds pretty perfect to me, Roo."

"Well, I have something else for you, too." When you looked up at him with a muffin in your hand, his cheeks were tinged a little pink. "Eat first. It's nothing that exciting."

But you knew it would be. Everything he did was exciting. Or at the very least, abundantly sweet. Even the avocado toast had a little ramekin of hot sauce next to it, because he knew you liked to drizzle it on top. And you realized the muffins were arranged in a heart.

After you took a few bites of food, you asked, "What's my other gift? I can't wait. I really want it."

You watched him run his fingers through his hair a little nervously before he turned toward the refrigerator which was still covered in ultrasound photos. "It's not fancy or anything like that. I didn't even know you could make them fancy when I started it the other day. Which is just silly, because there's a whole aisle dedicated to it at the craft store, but I didn't realize that until I got there, and then it seemed too complicated."

Something was hidden on top of the refrigerator, and he reached for it as you asked, "What is it, Bradley?"

"Uh," he whispered, handing you a yellow binder, "it's a scrapbook." The cover said Happy Mother's Day in silver letters with your name at the bottom, and when you opened it, the first page was covered in photos of you holding Rose. Tears welled up in your eyes as Bradley said, "Like I said, it's not the best, but I tried. I think I should have found a prettier binder-"

"Stop it," you gasped, setting it on the counter so you could kiss him again. "It's the most wonderful thing."

Your fingers were in his hair, lips working against his, and Bradley's big hand trailed down along your back. "You like it?" he managed between kisses. "Seems like you like it."

"I love it," you promised him, "and I only saw one page."

You gave him one more deep kiss before Rose started to squirm and fuss. "I think she's hungry again," Bradley murmured, starting to unfasten the carrier. "I'll change her diaper and get her ready for you while you look through the rest of the scrapbook."

Then they were gone, and you were left with hot sauce and muffins and page after page of photos and little notes. It felt like your daughter had been here for so much longer than seven weeks. Bradley had made copies of all of the ultrasound pictures and put them in order. "She really did look like a cute chicken nugget," you mused before turning the page to find Rose's handprints and footprints.

You ran your fingers along them as Bradley flew Rose back into the kitchen like a fighter jet, and you had tears in your eyes that you didn't even try to hide. "When did you do the handprints and everything?" you asked him. "And what are all of these little notes from?"

"I had to get sneaky last week with the ink pad," he said with a shrug. "And I always wrote little things for and about you in the Nugget Notebook. I just copied some of them."

They were the sweetest musings. 

I hope my daughter is as smart and pretty as my wife.

I can't believe how lucky I am.

My wife makes me want to be an amazing dad.

You looked at him with the baby cradled against his chest and said, "There's nobody else in the entire world who would treat Rose and I as well as you do." His cheeks immediately turned an adorable shade of pink.

"I just love you," he whispered, kissing the top of her head and then your forehead as the baby started crying. "She wants her mommy."

Bradley sat on the couch with you and fed you bites of breakfast while you nursed Rose, and then when she eventually took a nap, he sent you back to bed for a nap as well. When you got up, the entire house was clean, and Bradley was playing on the living room floor with Tramp while Real Housewives was on in the background.

"She's still sleeping?" you asked, and he turned to look at you as he nodded. "Perfect. How about you give me the last thing I want for Mother's Day?"

Bradley's brow creased as he got to his feet. "You wanted something else today? Why didn't you tell me? I'd give you anything you asked for."

"I know you will," you whispered, linking your fingers with his and taking him back to the bedroom with you. Then you undressed and got on your hands and knees on the bed, and he was right there with you.

-----------------------------

Bradley was halfway through the Mother's Day FaceTime call with your mom when he realized his undershirt was on backwards. All he could do now was try to act natural, like he hadn't just fucked his wife until she was screaming into his pillow. He bounced Rose on his knee and smiled, thanking your mom again for helping him with the recipe for breakfast.

"Today was perfect," you said for the third time while you lounged on the couch after the call ended. Rosie was cooing and giggling as you tickled her, and Bradley had never seen anything he loved watching more than the two of you together.

He took a few candid pictures on his phone before saying, "Smile." You looked at the camera the same time Rose giggled again, and it was perhaps the cutest photo ever taken. "We can keep adding pages to the scrapbook."

"Take a selfie of the three of us," you told him, scooting closer. "And then tell me what you want for Father's Day."

Your words hit Bradley in the chest as he took the photo. He had never celebrated a single Father's Day in his life. Well, none that he could remember. Certainly Carole had made a huge fuss over her husband with Bradley when he was tiny, but he had no memory of any such things. As far as he could recall, there was nothing related to the holiday in any of the boxes you and he sorted through in his storage unit in Virginia. There was no tangible evidence.

Then when he met you, suddenly your parents were part of his life. Sure, he wished your dad a happy Father's Day every year, but it wasn't the same thing as having his own dad around. But now he would get to celebrate for real. For the first time. And he'd be able to remember it. 

Bradley wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pressed his lips to Rosie's soft cheek over and over again as he tried not to start crying. He'd become an overly emotional mess since his little girl arrived, and sometimes he wasn't sure he was well equipped to handle all of these feelings.

But it never seemed to bother you. All you did was make it easier for him when you didn't rush him to try to process everything that he was feeling for the very first time. As he inhaled Rose's sweet scent and kissed her one last time, he whispered, "I just want a day with my girls."

---------------------------------

I might just go right to Father's Day in the next chapter, and then his birthday after that. And then their mini vacation when her parents come out again. He deserves all of the sweetness! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

If you're reading this, thank you! I posted part one of Is It Working For You? almost two years ago! I've enjoyed writing this pairing so much, they just own my heart.

PART 22

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[eupheme]

— a good, good neighbor

john hancock x f!sole survivor/reader

rated e - 2.8k

tags: friends-with-benefits vibes, mutual yearning & jealousy, mention of chem usage, references to threesome, horny!desperate!hancock, desk/office sex, semi-public sex, piv, blowjobs

prompts: “i want to fuck you so badly” + “i'm simply enjoying the view. it's not every day i get to fuck someone so pretty.”

“How did you imagine us?”

“Every way,” Hancock husks, “Keeping my cock warm while I work. Eating you on the desk or bending you over it.”

“Hell, I’ve even thought about the balcony. I’d take you right over the fuckin’ railing if you’d let me.”

(Or - when you come back from a mission, Hancock can’t wait to get his hands on you)

Despite the bustle inside the Third Rail, it’s all just dull noise.

Hancock can’t say he’s heard a word Fahrenheit has said. It’s not his fault she had cornered him inside the entrance, right as he was on his way in.

Where he has a perfect view of the bar.

A perfect view of you, where you perch on one of the stools in front of Charlie. Looking like a dream, in your soft, faded clothes.

Not that he doesn’t like your vault suit. The way it fits like a glove around your hips and thighs, the swell of your tits.

He’s always been a fan.

But there’s something about this - how you look like you belong here, with him. It’s been a while since he’s felt his heart stir, but you really seemed to have woken it up.

His partner huffs, finally stepping to the side. Her own plans tonight, eyes already drifting over to the stage. A long-suffering sigh - a hand that pushes her undercut back, a scrunch of her nose.

“Remind me to let you two… debrief next time, before I talk to you.”

Hancock grins, only now coming back, “You got it, sister.”

He owes her one. Tomorrow he’ll sit down and really listen, but it’s been a long fuckin’ week and the chems he downed in his office are just now taking effect.

Tipping him towards being too high to be jealous that you’re talking to another ghoul - a sentiment that he’s only just becoming acquainted with.

That was never really his style, before now.

And just a tad too sober to suggest Deegan just join them, if your conversation doesn’t wrap up soon.

Really fuckin’ soon.

It’s as he sidles up to you that he notices just how good you truly look. Scrubbed clean from the wasteland, and he’s already imagining you in the Rexford, hands sliding over your wet curves in the shower.

Getting ready to come here, applying that pretty shade of red that darkens your lips - a treasure found on a recent favor you did for Daisy.

Something that had kept you away for days, his jaw gritting as you had left without him.

It’s the same shade as his coat - and that does something, too. A clenching in his guts, a wash of need as he imagines it marking up his cock. A pretty ring around the base, staining his skin.

Christ, he needed to get it together.

Your eyes brighten when you see him, “I was hoping you’d find me. Heard you were still working.”

He fits against you, leaning on the bar. A hand draping across your shoulder - eager to touch, as your head tips up to his.

“Never too busy for my favorite girl.”

The smile you give him, those pretty painted lips stretched wide, shoots straight to his cock. Uncomfortable, where it strains against the front of his trousers - and maybe, he just might be head-over-heels.

He needs to get out of here.

“You want to get out of here?” He asks - the back of your neck warm where his palm curves around it, thumb brushing over soft skin.

Feeling the low hum in your throat, as you answer.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“I want to fuck you so badly.”

Hancock growls it in your ear, as he wrenches the door to the Old State House open. Bypassing your room at the Rexford, opting for something closer.

He always seemed to like you in his bed. Late nights turning into slow mornings, getting acquainted with the soft drag of fingers against skin. Comparing scars until you’ve learned each and every one.

You think he’d keep you there, if he could. If you both weren’t so prone to wandering.

The rough admission sends your pulse racing. Never expecting to miss someone like you did him. Never thinking you’d get a chance like this again.

But something about being with Hancock feels so easy. Something invisible that ties you to him, but that tether is never-ending. Both of you always finding your way back to each other, in a slow orbit.

Never knowing what it truly meant to know that someone had your back - until you were looking down the barrel of something you weren’t supposed to come back from, out in the wasteland.

Knowing he would be there, as soon as you called.

“Then fuck me,” You sigh against him, at the landing of the second-floor staircase. The railing pressing into your back as his tongue licks into your mouth.

Hands fisting in the collar of his frock as his hips roll against yours. Getting turned around in path back to his room.

Ending up across the hall, in his new office. The door still cracked open as you both stumble inside. A soft sound of surprise when you find yourself bumping up against a heavy wooden desk, instead of the couches you’ve come to know so well.

He’s already herding you to the other side, moving his chair out of the way. Hoisting you onto the edge, before stepping between spread thighs.

Mouthing at your jaw, hands slipping beneath your shirt.

“Wrong room,” You sigh, as your arms wrap around his shoulders.

“Right fuckin’ room.” His hips meet yours, rolling himself against your core, “Know how many times I’ve dreamed about having you in here?”

The thought of him thinking of you has your thighs tightening around his hips. A needy moan when his hand fondles a breast over the fabric of your bra, before it’s slipping beneath.

“How-” You start, and then squeak as his fingers pinch against the tight peak of your nipple, “How did you imagine us?”

His black eyes are hazy when he pulls back. A shine on his lips from where his tongue soothed a mark left against your neck.

“Every way,” Hancock husks, “Keeping my cock warm while I work. Eating you on the desk, or bending you over it.”

You whine at the thought - a jolt of pleasure arcing through you as his hips jerk against yours, grinding against your clothed core.

“Hell, I’ve even thought about the balcony. I’d take you right over the fuckin’ railing if you’d let me.”

God, it’s tempting. Heat flaring to life in your cheeks at the thought - knowing he would.

He’s opened the doors to a lot of new aspects of yourself, but there’s still a shred of your old-world modesty that clings to you.

But it still sends a liquid warmth pooling in your belly. He can feel the way your hands tighten their grip that you’re picturing it too.

The balcony is out of the question, but the rest…

Your palms push at his shoulders, and he allows you just enough room to get down. To flip around until your hips are flush with the edge of the wide desk.

“Why don’t you show me?” You coo, with a glance over your shoulder, “Mister Mayor.”

There’s a flash of teeth with his smile - words as sweet and smooth as honey, “Sweetheart, call me that again and I’ll show you anything you want.”

His hand is quick to press at the small of your back, bending you across his desk like he had imagined. Your hand slipping down to work at the button and zipper of your pants, where he’s already gripping at the fabric to tug your layers down.

Hancock’s hips press into your bare center. Nudging the hard, clothed curve of his cock against yours, fingers already smoothing over your skin. Gripping on before nails drag over the curve of your ass, then slipping between your thighs.

You stifle a moan when he touches you, all slick and swollen already. A day-long lingering anticipation of seeing him, keyed up by his own laid-bare desire.

“You miss me, doll?” Hancock husks, when he finds how wet you are. The tips teasing your clit as he frees himself.

Fingers petting at your folds. Slicking them up until he can smear your arousal against his cock - the rough skin shining in the windows of light that peek in from the city outside.

“Yes,” You whine - he always seems to pull things from you, when he has you like this. Making you soft, willing to lay yourself open if it means he keeps touching you, “Hancock, please-”

The word strings out - as he grasps at your hips, tugging you back just as he drives himself deep into you. This is what you needed - the aching stretch, the way your blood sings already.

Squirming when he stays still, slipping half-way while his hands keep you pinned against the desk.

“Don’t slow down now,” You huff, as you rock back into his touch.

Hancock’s own laugh is low and throaty - you gasp when you feel his fingers slip from your hip. Boldly tracing where you stretch around him, letting his thumb rub at your clit until he can feel you clench.

“Just enjoying the view.” He husks, “It’s not every day I get to fuck someone so pretty.”

His words shoot straight through you, settling in your heart. So much understood and even more left unsaid.

You’re used to the before, when there were neat labels and expectations. Left on uneven footing now, with how the world has changed.

Maybe even scared to bare yourself fully - to let yourself feel so deeply for another person again.

But surely this - this partnership, his words, him - must mean something.

“It could be.”

It slips from you with a sigh, too late to snatch back. Something fluttering in your belly, a heady mix of apprehension and pleasure as he growls - a sharp thrust that has him filling you again.

A shift of his fingers until he’s circling your clit, with just the right pressure that he knows you need. A shallow roll of his hips that starts slow, and steady.

“That right?” His voice is low, lilting up at the end.

You couldn’t really ask him to join you - but tonight, you could pretend. The time you had spent together on the road was some of your best moments in this aftermath.

But you respected his decision to stay, to work a little harder at this Mayor business. Even if it had left you unsure of where you stood with each other.

Even if you did miss him, want him by your side.

“Yeah,” You manage, “Keeping touching me like that and, yeah-”

You can hear the smile in his voice as he answers, “Sunshine, you’re gonna have a harder time getting me to stop.”

He makes good on his promise.

A hand catching under your thigh, hoisting your knee onto the desk top. Opening you up further - a stifled cry pulling from you when he nudges deeper, stroking a spot inside you that steals your breath.

The door is still ajar - the thought of your whines and the slick drive of his cock has your heart pounding.

You’re sure he’d love that too - the shout of his name as he makes you come, echoing to where the drifters sleep above, and where the Watch lingers. The sound of his hips knocking yours into the desk, the rhythmic creak of old wood.

It still lingers as a whimper - bitten back as the pleasure builds. He hasn’t forgotten in the time you’ve been apart, pounding into you again and again. His touch circling just as he bottoms out, a pressure in his own belly with each gasp he pulls from you.

“Fuck, John.” You keen - a number already seeming to tick down inside you, with each circuit of his fingertips, “I’m gonna come-”

“That’s my girl,” He coos - keeping the same rhythm, the same steady pound that threatens to break you, “Give it to me. Soak my fuckin’ cock, sweetheart.”

His girl.

It echos - your cry going silent, when as the pleasure washes over you. Leaving you trembling as you ride out the waves of pleasure, meeting the thrusts that grow lazy.

You needed this, needed it as much as he does. So much packed noise inside your brain going quiet the harder he fucked you, now blissfully silent.

“Look at you,” It’s muted, as your back arches - as you drip around his cock, “You feel so fucking good, not gonna last-”

Almost as if he gets off to this - making you come. Taking you apart, until each breath is a wrung-out gasp, your fingers curling into fists.

It leaves you thinking that if he’s staying here - if he’s been thinking about you, you’ll give him something to remember.

Another check off of his list.

“Hancock,” You breathe - eyes heavy and dazed as you glance over your shoulder.

Where he’s arced over you - grinding himself deep. His own gaze blown-wide with need as it tips to meet yours.

“Come in my mouth,” You beg, “Let me taste you.”

Eyes flicking to his chair, still pulled up next to the desk. He’s always been able to follow you, a rough sound in his throat when the catches what you mean.

“Fuck.” His hips stutter, before he’s slipping from you, “Yeah. Yeah, doll. Anything you want.”

You’re sinking to unsteady knees in front of him, as he drops down into the chair. Knees spread wide as your hands run up his thighs, to where his cock hangs heavy against the unzipped fabric.

Already missing him inside you. A rough groan when your hand wraps around, before you’re swallowing him down. Tasting yourself smeared across him, as your cheeks hollow, your fist pumps.

“So fuckin’ perfect, you know that?” Hancock hisses, the words coming out ragged. Hips bucking into the wet suction of your mouth.

No teasing this time, no kitten-licks. Just the familiar weight of him on your tongue, the jerk of your spit-slicked fist.

A ragged sound slipping from him when your eyes drag up to meet his. Peeks of reddened and rough skin along the way that make you want to take a bite as well.

Noticing how he’s marked up with you - faded shades of red stained on his lips and chin. Littered across on his cock, down to the base.

You think you like the look of it, something warm flickering in your belly - an echo of the pleasure he gave you before.

Wanting him to think about you every time he sits here, after you leave. The feeling of your mouth around him, how hard you made him come. Leaving your own mark on this room, as well.

He groans at the way you watch, the soft lap of your tongue. How you squeeze him bringing him closer - waiting for him to show you how much he needs you.

“Fuck. You’re gonna make me come, gorgeous.” It’s a rough warning, as his hand cradles your jaw. The bite of nails against your neck, as his hips buck.

The groan he makes is loud and low - shameless - as he comes. His cock throbbing in your mouth, each pulse leaking his spend as you swallow him down. Coaxing every drop from him, until you’ve taken it.

Keeping him in your mouth, after - your tongue sweeping lazily across his skin, until he goes soft. Easing off him then, letting your head rest against his thigh.

Hancock’s head still tips back, lost in that soft haze. The shallow rise and fall of his chest, a week’s worth of want spilled across your tongue.

“Was that like you imagined?”

There’s the tilt of his head as he grins, his thumb reaching to press against your lower lip - a low growl when you nip at it.

“Even fuckin’ better.”

The room shifts in front of you - Hancock’s boot propped against the desk, sending the chair back and forth on a slow sway.

Your legs thrown over the armrest, where you sit in his lap. The sounds of Goodneighbor muted outside, as the lights spill across the floor in the dark room.

“Thought I’d stick around a couple days.” You tell him, “Skip out later this week, maybe.”

“You just got in.” He rasps, fingers tracing a pattern against your shoulder, “Got somethin’ going already?”

You hadn’t planned on it. Had been hoping to stick around Goodneighbor for a while. Spend some time with him, before heading out.

But…

“Edward asked me to do a job for him,” You stifle a yawn, your head tilted against his, “Some girl he works for ran off, said she does that all the time.”

Duty always calls.

"Edward?" Hancock’s brow lifts.

“Deegan?”

His tongue clicks against his teeth, a soft pinch of his fingers against your skin, “Didn’t know you and Deegan were that chummy. Edward, huh?”

Your elbow sinks into his ribs, and he grins.

“Well, you don’t gotta wait on me,” He hums, already thinking ahead. “You wanna get this show on the road tomorrow?”

A small mark puckers your brow as you lean to face him, your gaze searching.

“I thought you stopped running.” It’s soft - a question, hidden in your words.

Hancock huffs, “Not running.”

His voice drops - a softness to his beetle-black eyes as he thumbs at your chin, drawing your mouth down to his.

“Just realized I’d rather be by your side.”

With his admission, the hungry press of his lips…

You think you fall just a little harder.

loved the idea of a desperate/lovey Hancock paired with a sweetly oblivious “what are we” Sole, haha 💖 thanks for reading!! and for this perfect request!