#a cord of sticky flesh

[bathroomcorpse]

is there a place where i can read whats up with auggie elias and margot . index finger pointing right index finger pointing left

GOD I WISH. i can give a brief overview though. under the cut because i know i'm gonna ramble.

Augustus "Auggie" Ellings is, in every universe, the second-born son of Beaumont and Cecilia Ellings, a wealthy lawyer and former pageant queen turned bored housewife respectively. They live in Georgia.

Edmund Ellings is Auggie's older brother. They're 4 years apart in age and Edmund is just kind of a dick? Edmund is essentially being groomed to take over his father's law firm and as a result his life is heavily monitored and predetermined for him. Any frustrations with this way of life or really any emotion he ever has is turned into anger and taken out on Auggie. Read this for an insight into their relationship.

Auggie's parents do not want him and they do not care about him. They will throw money at him mostly in the hopes that he'll just disappear and never ask them for anything (it kind of works)

Margot is Auggie's twin sister. She doesn't always exist, but I thought it would be fun to think about what Auggie's life would be like if he did have a sister and then she became her own character. She and Auggie are obsessed with their own twinness. As children they once cut Margot's hair in the bathroom so that she and Auggie could be matching. As teenagers they traded clothes in the school bathroom and also played very weird games with the guys they pursued (if Margot and a boy broke up, Auggie would try to date him. Auggie hooked up with a guy that Margot then started dating and she cheated on him with the guy Auggie was in love with in his junior year). They're... well!

I haven't written much about Margot but I do know that if Beaumont is raising Edmund to take his place, Cecilia is raising Margot to take hers. She definitely got her daughter to bleach her hair and put her in pageants or at least tried to do something similar.

Elias Conrad works for Beaumont Ellings. I don't know enough about law firms or even what kind of law Beaumont practices to know specifics of Elias' job but I guess he's a lawyer? A junior lawyer? Is that a thing? Who cares. His job is important, basically. Elias is 10 years older than Auggie and therefore 6 years older than Edmund. Elias believes himself more worthy of taking over Beaumont's firm than Edmund. He's diligent and gets results, he's worked hard to get where he is, etc etc etc. Beaumont really respects Elias and invites him over for dinner and to the various parties Cecilia throws at their home. That's how Auggie and Elias meet. Elias is often the only person in the room who will pay attention to Auggie at all and that makes Auggie feel VERY weird.

The summer before Auggie goes away to college (he's 18), he and Elias (28) begin a sexual relationship. That summer, Auggie spends a lot of time at Elias' house. It's not healthy. I affectionately refer to this time as "The Summer of Auggielias".

Elias is living as the third version of Elias Conrad. He grew up as the first version, a quiet child with a troubled relationship with his father. When he was 15, his father passed away and he watched a bunch of people seemingly lie about what a great man his father was at his funeral and he had a little bit of a mental breakdown for 2 years (thats the second version of Elias). The third version is the one that got him into college and into the Ellings firm. The third version is entirely lies and never tells the truth. He sometimes gets close to truth with Auggie.

Auggie attends a highly prestigious art school where he and his small cohort are involved in the semi-accidental death of their professor/mentor but never caught. This part of his life is not fleshed out yet because I'm doing something completely separate with it.

After he graduates, he moves to New York and is eventually able to become a full time exhibiting artist. He has a gallery show when he's in his mid-thirties that Elias randomly shows up to. At this point, Elias has a wife and son (Harriet and Davey). I won't piece the whole puzzle together but tl;dr that visit at the gallery eventually leads to the events of this piece

I think that's everything!! Well. Not everything. But the basic info! I'm currently working on a large document that contains a bunch of auggielias vignettes spanning the entirety of their relationship. i also have some ideas for elias pov stuff and i'd love to write margot because i've written 0 margot!! idek what her relationship with edmund is like!! the auggieverse keeps rapidly expanding

[bleubrri]

۪۫ ༄ؘ ˑ ᴛʜᴀᴛ’s ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪ ʟɪᴋᴇ — ʜᴀɪᴋʏᴜᴜ

ft daichi / tsukishima / ukai / ushijima

summary: haikyuu boys realising they have a thing

༄ؘ ˑ SAWAMURA DAICHI — MARKING

running your teeth over the calloused tips of his fingers before taking them into your mouth is something daichi is used to. what he’s not used to is the feeling of your hand replacing the heat of your mouth, pumping him with languid strokes while you sink your teeth into his hip and bite. a strangled sort of noise leaves him, like he can’t decide whether to yelp or moan.

“what are you doing?”

“sorry.” you flash him a sheepish smile and press your lips over the reddened indents of your teeth. something swirls in his gut and daichi can practically feel his pupils dilate at the sight of the shallow imprints of your canines in his skin. claiming.

“no it—” he swallows thickly, broad chest heaving when you squeeze him at the base. your cheek is resting against his thigh, his aching length obscuring his view of your doe-eyed expression. “feels good.” he says, slipping a hand into your hair.

“really?” you look proud, eyes twinkling with delight as you trail your lips across his skin.

“mm, will you do it again, baby?”

this time, you can feel his dick twitching in your grasp when you nip at the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh. you’re jerking him with slickened strokes, your other hand caged between the mattress and digging crescents into his ass.

your mouth feels like it’s everywhere, and when he’s coming down from his high, spent and coated in a sheen of sweat, it looks like you have been: the corded muscle of his thighs is tender to the touch and covered in bruises. hues of raspberry and darkened plum sucked into his skin and teeth marks glistening with saliva that he wears like a badge of honor.

༄ؘ ˑ TSUKISHIMA KEI — HAIR PULLING

honestly, he has no idea what he’s doing. he’s never gone down on anyone before, but it’s easier than he thought, and you seem to be enjoying it. he’s hesitant at first, just exploring your folds, running his tongue along every part of you until he finds something that makes your breath hitch. you’re so.. receptive, muffled sounds of pleasure slipping from your lips and guiding him to focus in on what you like.

he makes a very interesting discovery when he curls his tongue inside you and you clench around him, a hand flying into his hair and gripping blonde locks between your fingers. he blinks, does it again, and you sing for him.

“fuck, tsukki, right there—” your nails are grazing his scalp as you tug him closer and he shivers, grips your hips and lets himself be shoved further into your cunt. his spine is tingling, nose pressed into your clit as he buries himself in your pussy and maps out your insides until your soaked walls are moulded to the shape of his tongue. he’s groaning into your heat when the flavour of you bursts across his tongue, lapping at your release and urging you to tug.

he mumbles something that gets lost in the lewd slurping between your legs, and when your hand slips away and you start to wriggle from his grasp, he snaps his head up and yanks your wrist back into his hair.

“harder.” he repeats it with so much fervour that all you can do is blink, slowly nodding in a lustful haze and guiding his mouth back to the apex of your thighs.

༄ؘ ˑ UKAI KEISHIN — BREEDING

the room is starting to get so hot that it’s making you lightheaded. ukai is hovering over you, pushing your knees further into your chest with each thrust as you desperately cling to his shoulders. the sticky tip of his cock hitting your g-spot has your nails reflexively dragging along the taut muscle of his back at a pressure that you both know will bloom angry red columns of scratches against his tan skin.

his cum has started to drip down the seam of your ass, sticky ropes of it beginning to coat his balls that press against you when he buries himself to the hilt and rolls his hips. it has your toes curling, your eyes hazy and pussy pulsing so hard you ache.

“‘m full keishi—hah!” you actually jolt beneath him when he presses a calloused thumb into the slick mess of your clit.

“one more.” he offers, “just one more, angel.” and it doesn’t take long either—all ukai has to do is picture you swollen with his seed, full tits and glowing features, and he’s releasing another load into your spent pussy with a drawn out string of expletives.

you’re reaching for him, navigating every hot curl of his tongue in a sloppy connection of your mouths while keishins hips fuck his cum back into you. he can feel your blissful smile against his lips, “that all ya wanted? hm? wanted me to fuck a baby into ya, sweetheart?”

༄ؘ ˑ USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI — LINGERIE

if he’s being completely honest he rarely pays attention to what you’re wearing before he fucks you—it’s coming off soon, so why think too hard about it? plus, he prefers you bare anyway.

but this, oh he likes this. and you can tell. you watch his adams apple bob when he swallows from his place seated on the edge of the mattress as you step out of the bathroom with a shy smile. you pad into the room, give him a little twirl as you present yourself to him. wakatoshi has to release the sheets clenched between his fists and remember to breathe.

“it’s cute, don’cha think?” you’re glimpsing at yourself in the mirror, adjusting a strap here, plucking at the fabric that sticks to you like second skin. he hums, feeling foolish for envying strips of lace and cotton.

wakatoshi reaches for your hip when you’re in his reach, pulls you to stand between his legs only for you to crawl into his lap. he can feel the heat of you, and if you notice the hardness between his legs you don’t comment on it. you’re nosing at his jaw, and he feels a groan bubbling at the back of his throat when you press your chest to his. nimble fingers tugging at the clasp between your shoulder blades pulls his focus from dragging his lips along the dips of your collarbone. when a large hand closes over yours and guides it away from your back, you fix him with a questioning look.

wakatoshi looks up at you through unfairly thick lashes, his mouth at your sternum pushing fire into your chest.

“keep it on, hm?”

☆ — reblogs / comments are super appreciated<3

[lavandiors]

( 📁 compose with love. by lee mark ＿ ⭐ O1O1 )

where you accompany mark while he composes new music, but under the comfort of his arms you can't help but fall asleep.

𓍯 . ݁ ✦ ݁ . ─── pairing. lee mark x fem!reader. genre. fluff, cuddles, established relationship, mark being in love. warnings. a little suggestive (really little).

lily notes. i love mark, i really think he would make a very clingy boyfriend. he is my clingy boy. <3

you couldn't help but sit on his lap when you saw him. mark was so focused on composing his music, he didn't notice his glasses slowly slipping off his nose.

his brown hair stuck to his forehead thanks to the hat he was wearing. his glasses fell down the bridge of his nose as he leaned over your shoulder. his hands hit the table in search of creating melodies while his tongue hummed inside his mouth.

while one of his hands hit the table, the other emanated heat on your waist, caressing it with his thumb or lightly squeezing the flesh.

you placed your hand on his, caressing his fingers with yours. you heard him sigh for your soft hands between his hums. pleased by your soft touch.

you settled further between his legs, mark suddenly tightening his grip on your waist at your movements.

he sighed "don't move so much, baby" he told you, you were hitting his point and it distracted him.

you giggled "sorry" you kissed his cheek briefly, letting your head fall onto his shoulder.

he quickly kissed you back before continuing with his music. you stared at the ceiling as his throat next to your ear continued to work his vocal cords with melodies.

your waist was completely wrapped thanks to his arm, caressing your side from top to bottom. mark loved touching your skin, he loved feeling you in his arms.

and although he was more focused on composing, he could never stop paying attention to you. you were his warm stove when it came to affection. because you lit an effervescent fire in his chest.

when he saw you, touched you, kissed you, felt you.

he was composing music like a machine right now, because you were there. you were his inspiration, his oxytocin was produced by you, by your presence. you were his muse.

he turned to look at you slightly when he felt a sigh leave your lips and your head become heavier on his shoulder. you were falling asleep.

he couldn't help but smile when he saw your face. calmed down. in peace. your muscles didn't show even a hint of tension. you were calm in his arms, comfortable, safe.

his hand left the table to envelop you completely. composition could wait when it came to you.

he kiss your cheek silently, once, twice, three, four times.

"my beautiful girl," he murmured, feeling peace rushing through his body. his body and mind belong to you. his thoughts are yours, because you are the only thing that wanders in his mind.

he rested his forehead against your face, while his arms continued to surround you protectively. his hands sought yours, intertwining your fingers.

words were not necessary for mark, he felt you and could swear that you transmitted your love for him with your presence.

as he fell into the limbo of sleep, with you in his arms, he kissed you again. a warm, loving and sticky kiss, that conveyed more than a thousand words.

"i love you, my muse" he whispered before falling asleep.

© LAVANDIORS | do not copy, translate or steal my works.

[inkykeiji]

character: ryomen sukuna warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, rough sex, daddy kink, true form sukuna, size kink/size difference, oral fixation, lil bit of mindbreak, implied fem!reader, toxic relationship, dacryphilia, blood words: 1.2k

Sometimes, when Sukuna fucks you real good, past the point of coherency, when your words have turned to liquid, all garbled with drool as they ooze from the corners of your mouth to stain his sheets, and your bones have melted and your muscles gone to mush, body perfectly pliant (just the way he likes it), and the only concept your fucked-stupid brain can comprehend is his name and his title, he’ll give your empty, slack little mouth one of his wrists to gnaw on.

The grabby hands are cute, and they let him know that your cognition has been eroded by immense pleasure, intense pain, and that you need something to ground you. 

It’s pathetically precious, honestly, how unbelievably needy you become when he fucks you past the point of lucid thought and intelligible speech, desperate for something to occupy that pretty little mouth of yours, to serve as a point of reference, a heavy and sure weight that keeps you tethered to this world.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” 

Oh, he knows, baby, he knows. 

You prefer his wrist to his hand, claiming it rests better between your teeth, but he doesn’t mind either way—it’s easy to shove one of his free forearms in your gaping mouth, obedient and open, wide and waiting. His flesh muffles those pretty little huffs of cracked breath and the mosaic of whines and whimpers and mewls he’s continuously fucking from your chest, smothering them to little more than damp exhales slicking his skin.

It’s barely a hitch in his movements at all, to wedge one of his large wrists between your eager teeth, two hands curled tightly around your hips as they hold you in place, pinning you to the mattress, another hand splayed wide next to your head, supporting most of his weight. 

You alternate between sucking and biting, wholly dependent on how hard his hips are snapping, and he loves to feel those little stuttered sobs flutter against his flesh, exhaled in juddered hiccups. 

And, God, it’s so fucking pretty—he isn’t sure he’s seen a prettier sight in his millennium of years, he wasn’t sure something could even be this goddamn pretty—glittering streams of salt streaking your cheeks, their flow steady and constant as warm tears pool around the seal of your lips, soaking into his skin; your mouth stretched wide around his arm, teeth grinding over that prominent bone in his wrist, scraping over the bump in rhythmic motions, back and forth with each strong piston of his hips; saliva trickling from your bottom lip in heavy, viscous cords to smear across your chin in a thick coat and drip off your jaw, stringy and sticky, substance already gone cold by the time it drizzles over your collarbone. 

That thick black band encircling his wrist looks so gorgeous lacquered with your spit, gleaming in the dim light as he pounds into you. 

He’ll rotate it in your mouth a little, so you drench his entire wrist, coating him in one of your many essences. he loves the smell of you on him, his favourite scent to wear, makes his cock twitch with each whiff of it as your drool steadily soaks into his wrist, steeping his tissues and saturating his blood, dousing his wrist until his skin has gone puckered from the wetness. 

Other times you won’t ask for it, because you physically can’t ask for it, tongue gone sluggish and stupid from intense pain.

During instances such as these, it’s up to him to read you, to decode and decipher the beat of your sobs and the melody of your whines, to care for you properly like all good Daddies do, like all good Daddies are supposed to, eager to nurture his most prized possession, to give her want he knows she needs most.

It’s easy to tell, even when your face is buried in his bed, webby smears of saliva streaking his dark sheets as you sob into the mattress—ugly chest-wracking things that leave your ribs heaving and your entire body quivering, fingers curled so tightly in his silk pillow that they’re frozen stiff, aching joints creaking as he uses one of his four hands to uncurl one, then uncurl the other, fingertips pressing tenderly into your knuckles and massaging the numbness from them, the gentleness a stark contrast to the brutal snapping of his hips. 

His remaining two hands stay curled around your hips, keeping them hoisted high and held still as he rams into you. A flash of heat spreads throughout your spine as his body blankets yours, his broad chest pressed flush to your sticky, sweat-glazed back, his lips moving along the shell of your ear.

“Does it hurt, baby?”

“Uh—Uh-huh,” you wail out, head nodding in sloppy motions, turning your head so his lips brush your cheek. 

“You need Daddy to pacify you? Huh?” 

“Yes, Daddy, please, Daddy, yes, Daddy!” you’re crying, mouth already wide open and waiting, tears leaking past the corners to stain your tongue with salt. 

“Oh, my poor little princess,” he’s cooing as he wedges a thick wrist between your parted teeth, your jaw immediately flexing around it. “Needs Daddy to give her something to gnaw on while he fucks her,” he tuts his tongue, as if it’s such a shame, as if he genuinely pities you, but you can hear the notes of sadistic glee infusing his voice. “How utterly pathetic.”

The insult is spit in your ear, fading to a growl at the end, a singular sharp huff of air against the curve of your cheek. 

And then his hips are pounding again, fucking into you rough and ruthless, the hands on your hips an anchor keeping you from being jostled up the bed as your front teeth involuntarily dig into his flesh. 

“Is that better, sweetheart?”

An affirmative hum vibrates up his arm, your head nodding in quick little motions, glassy eyes desperately trying to glance up at him as weighted lids struggle to stay open.

But that just isn’t good enough. 

A large hand tangles in the hair at the back of your skull and yanks, your teeth latching onto his wrist tighter, the sudden motion forcing them to scrape against his flesh, a pleasured hiss slipping through the gaps of his teeth. 

“Fucking answer me when I ask you a question.” 

Yes! you yelp around the wrist crammed in your mouth, instant and instinctual. Yes, yes, yes! 

“Good,” he snarls in your ear before shoving your head back into the mattress, front teeth gouging into his arm in the process. 

And it’s real sweet, the way such a simple, primal action—a body part shoved between your lips, little tongue curling around the bones of his wrist, sucking it harder, further, deeper—can provide such an immense amount of comfort; sobs calming to sniffles, limbs gone languid and limp, whole form malleable between his large palms.

But he loves it just as much as you do. Because despite the fact that it muddles your pretty sounds, it also leaves the cutest little bracelet of indents around his thick wrist, something he wishes he could wear forever, something that fades much too quickly for his liking. 

There’s nothing better than when you break the skin, little pools of blood filling the notches of your teeth until they overflow, drops of crimson streaming down his forearm and along the lines of his palm, because those ones scab, which means they last a little longer, look a little brighter, leave a lingering reminder. 

One day, he hopes you’ll scar him with all your gnawing, carve something permanent into his skin just as he’s done to you countless times before, stamp him with your unique signature and claim him as yours, eternally. 

[ghcstao3]

(part 1) (cw blood/violence)

Shifters should be born, not made. That’s one of few things that science has been able to say for certain about the biology (and ethics) of the species.

John MacTavish was born, not made, and all his life he’s told that’s something he should be grateful for. And he is.

Because it’s his heightened senses that aid him in excelling in his career. It’s his inhuman abilities that give him an edge; it's his differently-wired brain that deepens his perception, his instinct, and lends him a better gut feeling to tell right from wrong.

And Simon "Ghost" Riley is nothing but wrong.

John could sense something was off about the lieutenant from the moment they met—the man smells human beneath the smoke and dirt and gun oil, but he carries himself too strangely to not be something else. His voice, though obviously naturally gravelly, rasps like his vocal cords don’t take too kindly to words, and his limbs are slightly, almost imperceptibly disproportionate, and it's unsettling, but John just pastes on a friendly smile and promises to save you a seat, sir.

Ghost's stare weighs heavy on John's shoulders as he retreats, something dark and piercing and haunted. It bores a hole through John’s gear, burns the nape of his neck, but he has to continue walking away. He can’t pause, can’t look back, because somehow he fears he won’t like what he sees if he does.

It’s animal instinct that has his hackles raised in Ghost’s presence from then on. John acts unafraid, is unafraid, but there’s something about the man he needs to know but cannot, and it’s eating him alive. Ghost may say he’s human and Price might back that claim, but John isn’t stupid. He isn’t so naive to think that something isn’t wrong.

Then John gets his answer. Stranded alone with Ghost, exhausted and irritated and sticky with sweat in the middle of the Amazon, he gets his answer.

Their makeshift camp would offer scant protection, but being in the middle of nowhere John anticipates their worst enemy would only be the fauna—regardless, though, they’d take turns keeping watch. Or they might take turns, given Ghost has a track record of taking the first shift and never waking John up until they had to move.

Sometimes John thinks that the man might not actually sleep.

This time, however, John is roused by the tearing of flesh and the squelch of blood, by gargled screams and snapped bones. It’s too dark to make anything out, but rather than investigate John wills his body still and breath quiet, preferring he not get caught by whatever monstrous thing he can hear growling low in its throat.

As wary as he still is about his lieutenant, they’ve grown close enough that John itches to reach out for his assurance, to make certain the man is still alive.

But then there’s one last nauseating rip of limb from torso, and a desperate, choking plea, and then there’s silence.

John has to bite back his own scream when a wet snout suddenly nudges his face.

A cold nose brushes his skin followed by a whiskered, bloodied maw, the creature sniffing at him while John keeps his eyes screwed shut. He begins to worry that this is how he dies—like the other men that must have found their position just in time to get torn apart—but then the creature moves away from his face, wandering elsewhere, but not far, before it slumps on the ground.

After its breathing has evened out, John dares take a peek, and while the rainforest’s canopy blocks out most moonlight, he can still faintly make out the form of what he thinks is a jaguar, a black panther—but it’s too big, too gangly, its fur patchy and matted with crimson. John is tempted to pick through his gear for a flashlight, the moonlight too dim to pick out the details, but he ultimately resists. Just squints into the night at the strange disjointedness of the maybe-jaguar, its composition wrong, almost like it’s an amalgamation of animals rather than just one.

Eventually John rolls onto his back, staring up at the silhouettes of branches and leaves high above, trying not to think too hard about the massacre he’s going to find in the morning, or about the beast, or about where the fuck Ghost had gone.

He doesn’t really fall back asleep, only drifts in and out of consciousness, his mind restless and battling with his fatigue. When dawn mercifully breaks, John wastes no time getting up, unable to stay still any longer—he’d been right, of course, about the grisly sight of their camp’s perimeter.

A dozen or so dismembered and disemboweled bodies are strewn about, remnants of gear and weapons telling John they had, in fact, been the enemy caught up to them—and the culprit of it all, John remembers, is still asleep on the soft earth as if it hadn’t so easily caused all that carnage.

And Ghost is still missing.

John turns, tentative, to observe the jaguar-thing, and as his gaze sets upon it in the growing light, a violent shiver rolls up his spine.

What he first decides is that’s it’s not quite a jaguar, but nor is it really anything else. John’s eyes had not deceived him in assessing its size and too-long limbs; it’s almost grotesque in form, malformed, uncanny. Corded muscle is uncomfortably prominent, as are the ridges of its ribs, its shoulder blades, its hips. Teeth and claws long and sharp and deadly, fangs so lengthy they poke past the jaguar-thing’s lips like a sabre-tooth tiger.

It goes beyond mutation, John thinks, but he also doesn’t know how else an animal like that could exist without some kind of unnatural intervention.

Unless—

No. No, that’s a stupid thought. No one becomes a shifter, and if they do they certainly don’t live to tell the tale. No, that can’t be possible.

But it would make so much sense.

The jaguar-thing stirs, then, blinking open eyes the same dark colour of the spongy soil beneath them.

Not the right colour for a cat of any kind.

John doesn’t move. Considers shifting himself not to fight but to give him speed in fleeing, but he needs his gear, and he needs to know if this thing is Ghost, so he remains glued in place as the creature stands and stretches, moving lithely in spite of the way its body so wrongly exists. He stands his ground even when it approaches, even when it stands much taller than a jaguar should, almost like the beast is half-bear.

Then its presence shifts, and he sucks a sharp breath through his teeth.

What stares back at John is not human.

[ameliaenya404]

Chew Toy.

The room was silent. A comfortable silence. Finding solace in the quiet between you and Keigo as he looked down at you, like finding comfort in TV static buzzing through a room and the mindless ticking of a clock. His palms were hot as they molded against the flesh of your hips, the pads of his thumbs rubbing circles against your skin.

Keigo looked down at you with reverence and adoration pooling in the deep amber of his eyes. He always did. Especially in these moments as you lay naked beneath him. His perfect goddess. He took the role of a loyal devotee to the temple that is your body. But tonight he made his intentions as clear as the tears that formed in your eyes when he bullied his cock into you. He was going to ruin you. Desecrate you. Build you up, wind the cord tighter and tighter around your throat, before tearing you down. Before taking sadistic pleasure in watching you gasp and hiccup through sobs he took your pleasure into his own hands. Like putty in his palms, moldable to whatever he desired. Never asking much of you, only that you trust him. And you did, letting him play with you like a chew toy.

Allowing him to indulge in the feeling of his teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your shoulder and neck, which he followed up by soothing the bruising purple with his tongue, lapping at the marks, and soothing the ache. Betraying their once gentle grip his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, leaving bruises in their wake. You were his enrichment. A dog born to hunts chew toy. Despite his cruel actions he coos at you with every thrust, shushing you when you cry out each time the tip of his cock kisses your cervix. His fingers abandoned their grip on your hips to interlock with your own, a soft intimacy in the hunt.

"Such a pretty girl... all laid out for me to enjoy, huh?" He cocks a brow, the smug look on his face consuming you. Paired with the sweat dripping off his body and his brow slightly furrowed. He was tragically handsome. Reminded of the countless nights you've spent simply laying in silence with him as you traced his face with your pointer finger. You gulp and nod, your vision is blurry with tears and lips parted and glossy with drool. He had you ruined and falling apart at the thrust of his hips.

"A-all for you Kei!" You cry out when he lets his thumb rub at your clit.

"All for me, huh? What a good girl. All laid out for me like a meal, just for me to savor." He grunted, his speed growing impossibly faster and further driving you to tip over the edge. He sweetly thumbed away your tears as you came. Shortly following suit and filling you to the brim. Shallow breaths evened out. The lewd sound of him sliding out with a wet pop made you cringe as he chuckled.

"Good girl...so sweet, took me so well baby...love you so damn much," he softly panted, collapsing on top of you and nuzzling his face against your neck.

"Love you too Kei," you hum softly, your hand coming up to lazily run through his hair. You were sticky and sweaty and he was heavy but you couldn't find it in yourself to care all that much. Those feelings drowning in the mush that was now your brain. Ooey gooey sweetness was all you felt, lost somewhere in a realm between semi-lucidness and subspace still. A warm hazy feeling ever consuming.

"Let's get you cleaned up pretty girl, mm?"

[jwanniie]

Crocheted love!

Jwans note: I'm so sorry I lost the request that had this idea!!😭😔but here is your request babe!

Pairing: G!p Sakura x Fem reader

Summary: you have been teasing your girlfriend the whole day being slutty and bratty, she got enough of you and showed you what are the consequences of crossing the lines…

Warnings: unprotected sex (don’t be silly wrap your Willy), p in v, a lot of teasing, cream pie, basically porn with plot, degrading, Kkura calls reader slut, not proofread, cursing and just filthy smut!!!

—————————————————————————

Your Girlfriend, Sakura has developed a new hobby that she finds incredibly addictive. She spends hours on end engrossed in her crocheting projects, often forgetting about everything around her, including you. Despite your attempts to engage her in conversations or spend time together, she seems to be completely absorbed in her crafts and pays a little to no attention to anything else.

Whenever you attempt to initiate a conversation about it, she simply brushes you off with a quick kiss and reassures you by saying “Don’t worry babe, I’ll be finished soon.” Today, you found it difficult to tolerate her lack of attention towards you. Despite several attempts to grab her attention, she remained glued to the couch for hours, her hands moving incessantly with a crochet hook. While sitting next to her, you felt bored and got an idea to tease her.

You were wearing a sports bra under your already skimpy shirt. The sport bra was a little way too tight, hugging your breast perfectly. The tightness of the clasp making your soft pair almost spill out. Your lower body wore a skimpy tight fitting shorts, your ass cheeks on full display and under it was nothing. With every move you made your ass flesh jiggling and your ass exposing more and more.

As she sat there with her crochet hooks clutched tightly in her hand, she tried to push away the image of you that had been lingering in her mind. Despite her tense state, she continued working diligently on her project, weaving the threads together with precision and care. With each stitch, she hoped that the rhythm of her movement would help clear her thoughts.

You walked in front of her dropping your phone “accidentally”, only to bend over, your ass the only thing she could see. Unconsciously her fingers continued and being unaware of her hooks the work got a little knot.

“Fuck-“ she cursed loud and furious, you looked at her, a small smirk plastered across your face. She glared at you, standing up and heading towards your direction.

The anticipation making your arousal stick up your folds, the sticky feeling making your shorts uncomfortable. She threw her work on the couch and grabbed you by your wrist forcing you to lay on your back, head resting on the armrest.

She forced your legs wide open your wetness making a stain on your shorts, she looked before a dirty chuckle from her vocal cords.

“Dirty slut, always so needy.” Her fingers teased your entrance over the clothes, her fingers immediately getting drenched. It’s like you became sensitive for the slightest of touches. Her fingers moved from your hole to your clit rubbing it above the cloth, you were whining and squirming under her. You tried to grind your core against her knees that was In between your legs but she was quick to grip your hips tight and rough.

“Don’t you dare slut.” She enjoyed teasing you a lot but she got an erection to get rid of, her grey sweatpants stained by precum. She slid her pants all the way down and kicked them off, landing on the ground. She spit on her length then gave it few strokes, and aligned it on the wet stain on your shorts. Rubbing your clit then pussy with her tip roughly, a new round of wetness gushing out of you. Making the stain even brighter, she let out a loud growl.

Her tip found their way under your shorts, now started to thrust her tip inside your hole a little then push out, repeating the same cycle over and over. Your tried to grab her cock and push it in but she was quick to slap your hand away and shot you the same glare from earlier.

She smirked to herself at the idea she just got. Her hand found the discarded crochet project and handed it to you. Confusion was obvious on your face, looking at the project with no idea what to do.

“You are going to continue this and if you do something wrong or it turns out not right, I will stop.” She pushed your shorts now aside and she slammed herself all the way in, a broke moan came from you. Your eyes became glassy and tears flood down your. You have no idea how to continue this and she even has this knot that you need to get rid of.

She started ramming herself in, loud moans coming from both of you. You started doing what you thought was right, started trying to untie the knot. The way her tip was kissing the spot that needed her the most was way too hard to ignore. Gagging on your own tears or messing up a stitch only to get a warning star from Sakura.

With few more jerks of her hips your orgasm washed over you, the overwhelming feeling of overstimulation following right after. She needed to get off so her thrusts didn’t slow down, if anything they got faster, chasing her own release.

Without a warning from her, her semen shot into your hole. A loud sigh fell from your lips and she snatched the crochet project from you looking at it.

“Good fucking girl!” She praised you flashing a smile patting your head then kissing you hungrily.

[inpermanences]

Caryn Pines, whose still alive to witness her little free spirit Stanley miraculously rise from the dead. The Stan twins buy a brand new sofa that extends into a bed just for her, so she doesn’t have to make a treacherous journey up the stairs. It’s her own slice of heaven, seeing her babies get along like they did when they were children. Seeing her grandchildren parallel to their uncles; Dipper, studious and reclusive, Mabel, crafty and eccentric.

It all comes to a head when Caryn wakes up at the witching hour. There’s ruckus being made in the kitchen, pushing herself upright and cursing at everything under the sun as she grabs a broom. She’s ready to beat whatever creature made the mistake of entering her sons home — pausing at the sight of her two sons.

“We need to put a lock on the sugar. I don’t know if my stomach can tolerate another Mabel’s Guide To Cooking experiment.” Ford grumbles. He opens the fridge, taking out a lemonade pitcher and pours out two glasses.

Stan’s chuckles. “Mhm. I know where you could get some sugar.”

Ford rolls his eyes at the cheesy line, having heard it a million times before. Thick fingers hook into the band of Ford’s boxers to reel him close to Stan. Ford narrows his eyes, raising an eyebrow as both his hands are preoccupied with glass, the condensation wetting his palms.

Stan grins, leaning in to steal a kiss.

It lasts for a mere few seconds before Caryn’s screams bloody murder.

The twins pull apart as if they’ve been electrocuted. Lemonade glasses crash into the sticky hardwood flooring, as they both snatch the nearest possible weapon. Stanley, an animal spinal cord with it’s ribs still attached. Stanford, a lamp.

“Mom? Mom, what’s wrong?” Stan asks, putting the bones down and taking a step closer. Caryn clutches the broom like a lifeline. She can only stare at this-this monster that’s inches closers with every step. He holds out his hand, presumably to take away the broom from her clutch. Motherly instinct kicks in, to protect Stanford from his own twin. Her arms rise to strike Stanley down. “Ow! Ow! Mom — that hurts! OW!”

“You freak!” Caryn screeches in agony and anger. Stan goes frigid underneath the safety of his arms from his mother’s blows. He looks down at his mother with her fury in his eyes — Stanley thinks she’s talking about Stanford. “You’re a monster!”

“I know it’s - OW! - the old age talking.” Stanley growls, one hand grabbing the handle of the broomstick. It only infuriates her further. “I don’t care if you’re our mom. I won’t let you talk about Stanford like that.”

“Mom, it’s really early in the morning. I think it’s better if we talk about whatever is bothering you with some breakfast.” Ford tries. They think she’s stupid. She’s known everything about them. How could she miss this? Ford places the lamp down, stepping closer to de-escalate the situation. “Please, stop hitting Stanley.”

“I saw you kissing your brother!” Caryn screams.

The twins freeze.

Caryn turns her focus back to Stanley. There’s no love for him anymore. Not for this depraved abomination corrupting her sons innocence. She tugs at the broom and the handle spilts in two. “How could you do this? After all the pain and misery you put us through, how could you?”

“Mom, I’m sorry—“ Stan starts.

Caryn doesn’t let him finish. She thrusts the broom handle forward like a sword and lets the splintered wood make a flesh wound into his left shoulder. Stan yells in pain, hand coming up to cover the bleeding.

“You ruined your own life! And now you you’re trying to drag your brother down with you!” She tries to strike another blow but misses as he stumbles backward, falling flat on his ass. Ironic, that even as he raises his uninjured arm to protect himself, it’s a strikingly all-to-familiar position. As a child protecting himself Filbrick’s coropal punishment.

Ford steps between them then, using himself as a shield to protect Stan from any further harm. “You’re worse than Filbrick. At least he wasn’t a fucking pervert for his own family! I want you dead, Stanley. DEAD!”

Ford takes the wooden handle out of her hands without a fight, tossing it away. Silence fills the room, none of them knowing what to say.

“Grunkle Stan?” Dipper calls from the kitchen entryway. The three of them snap their heads in his direction. He stands there with a bat in his hands, Mabel tucked safely behind him with her own grappling gun; looking worriedly at their bleeding Grunkle. Stanley scrambles onto his feet then, walking past the younger set of twins.

“Stanley, wait!” Ford calls for him. He raises his hand in a futile attempt to reach him, feet frozen in place as he lets the distance grow further. There’s the sharp sound of a door slamming, followed with a car speeding away from the Mystery Shack.

[bathroomcorpse]

Glance and night

glance: At first glance, what stands out most about your OC’s appearance? What’s their distinguishing feature?

I'm gonna answer this for a few OCs bc I have so many! Mason is very tall. Franz has the tips of his hair dyed bright green. Pat is quite short and has pretty bright orange/ginger hair. Crystal dresses very well and wears very exaggerated/stylized makeup. I don't know if this counts but Piroska never goes anywhere without her large borzoi dog.

night: What does your OC wear to sleep? Do they have a favorite pair of PJs, or are they more the birthday suit type?

Auggie and Edmund had matching sets of pajamas as kids. Think the button up stripey kind. Edmund grew out of his pretty quickly, both physically and emotionally, but Auggie definitely wore them probably into his teen years. As an adult, I think he's a white t-shirt and pair of comfy pants kind of guy, but when he shops for those pants he does gravitate towards ones that look like the sets they had as kids.

[cyberrose2001]

Kinktober: Day 2

Prompt: Titfucking

TFP Optimus x afab reader

Warnings: reader has big honkers, cum milking, some light oral (reader giving)

Word count: 678

“Oh, Primus…” Optimus moans breathily. Optics narrowed to pinpricks as he watched his spike disappear behind the band of your lacy white bra and into your cleavage.

Optimus had always had an infatuation with you, and you weren’t entirely sure why at first; you were just like any other human he’d seen. But the longer you had dwelled on it, the quicker it took to realise that it wasn’t just you he was longingly staring at.

He had been staring at your tits. Optimus Prime, the gentle and seemingly innocent leader with the frame of a Greek god, had been shamelessly ogling at your tits.

And you don’t blame him, honestly. You were a reasonably endowed human, blessed and cursed with a larger-than-average cup size. It’s no surprise that Optimus had been curious about them or, more likely, turned on by them. And it was no surprise that you had started to appreciate the attention from him and enjoyed how his intake ceased to work when you would wear a skimpy spaghetti strap tank top to the base when the days got hotter.

But today, it was the berthroom that got hotter instead.

Curiosity killed the cat? No, curiosity makes the mech a begging, whining mess between your tits.

“Ohh, you like that, huh?” You moan with him, hands cupping the outside of your bra as you teasingly drag his engorged cock through your cleavage.

Optimus shudders as he melts into the berth, servos fisting the sheets as the tip of his sensitive spike disappears into your flesh, “I… I do.”

You give him a sultry chuckle, bouncing your breasts along his length, “Never would’ve guessed that Optimus Prime himself would have a thing for boobs, or do I just turn you on that much?”

“I… cannot help myself. You are so soft, so…” Optimus bites his dermas, moving his servos to push your hands away so he can squeeze your breasts around his spike himself, “Nggh… so foreign.”

You suck in a sharp breath as he massages them through your bra, and you can just feel his spike throbbing between your flesh as he does so. It’s arousing to watch him, so much that you’ve started rubbing your thighs together to stave off the aching heat pooling in your abdomen.

“Oh, Optimus, that feels so fucking good.” You whine, your own hands finding purchase on his Adonis belt.

Your praises must’ve done something to him, a snap of a cord that tosses all caution to the wind as he starts to fuck up into your tits. His servos squeeze them to keep you still as he loses himself in his long-awaited fantasy.

“F-Frag, I’m…” Optimus trembles, hips shuttering as he frantically chases his climax, “A lot closer than I -hggff- intended to be.”

“Aww, you’re so turned on you’re gonna overload already?” You try to tease, but you’re not too far behind yourself; the vibrations from his hips snapping into your chest travel straight to your core.

“Primus Y/n, if you continue to talk in that manner, I’ll- ahhhg!-“ Optimus involuntarily arches his back struts when he feels your tongue dart out to meet with his weeping tip.

And that’s the last straw for him. Optimus stills, letting your name fall from his dermas in a filthy, whimpering cry as he spills himself, spike throbbing and hot. Warm, sticky trans fluid floods between your breasts and leaks out of your cleavage. Some hit your chin, and some you can feel leaking from the bottom of your breasts. You keep still, letting him ride out the after-shocks with a few rolls of his hips.

“Oh, Primus…” Optimus groans, frame going limp after milking himself. He peeks down at you, and his softening spike pulses and hardens again at the sight.

You’ve peeled off your drenched bra and started to crawl up to sit on his abdomen, “You think my tits are the best thing we humans have to offer?” You moan, rubbing your aching heat along his spike, earning a sharp hitch of Optimus’ breath. “Just wait until you’re inside me.”

[archivedzeke]

can i request something with tengen and cunnilingus, mayhaps? 👀

AFAB ! TEGEN UZUI

warnings ! top m reader , cunnilingus , dirty talk , twitter link (✩)

tegen would never deny you the request of eating his cunt. anyway you wanted it , he’d give it to you. that’s how you both ended up like this now.

you preferred when he let you eat it from the back when he was full of your cum. you could always take the chance of grabbing a handful of his thick ass.

the way he was naturally able to arch his back and present his ass for you was astounding. his plump tits pressed firmly against the ground while he waved his ass for you , practically enticing and begging you to tongue fuck pussy until he came.

you loved to start out with him on his knees , face-down into the mattress , eating it from the back and prying his big thighs apart to make room for your face until he collapses.

spitting on his cunt every time his juices leaked into your mouth and using your tongue to fuck it back into him. you were fucking disgusting.

when you then get in between tegen’s legs and go to work on his cunt , pressing kisses up his thighs as he spreads his knees apart obediently , allowing you to lift his legs up to rest atop your own broad shoulders.

tegen is a sucker for your head and you were an absolute menace when it came to eating his pussy the way you wanted to. you’d tease him.

first , your teeth grazing his skin , nipping and sinking into soft flesh until red bite marks indent the fat of his thighs , staking a claim on what is rightfully yours. “stop teasin’ damnit ! please”

and you do. you would never refuse your lover. your technique drives him mad , you can’t get enough of him. his taste , his smell , the way his thighs shake as if he was already close to cumming.

tengen would be lying if he said he didn’t love how you ate him out like a starved man. the sexy way his eyes rolled into the back of his own head as you sucked on his engorged clit with lustful vigor. you seemed obsessed with making tegen cum. how he would grind his cunt into his mouth while asking for more. fuck the sight was heavenly.

you had a cruel tongue , sucking and slurping at your clit while two blunt fingertips press against the puffy swell of his cunt , sinking between swollen lips just to keep him satiated until you pushed your tongue inside. making him cum from just his clit was a priority first.

his essence would coat the lower half of your face , a small ring of white cum forming around your fingers as tegen finds himself clenching around the digits.

the pulsing of his sticky walls around your finger before he cums all over them and you find your self pulling away from his clot to lick them clean.

the moment you find yourself diving into your tongue first into his drenched pussy is when you know you’re to far gone. you moaned , his thighs tense and shaking around your head as his fingers found their way to your hair.

“fuck yeah . . ngh. keep eating my pussy love”you’re sloppy but precise, burying your face in his cunt and lapping up his mess , drooling all over his box and gripping his thighs , smothering yourself with his puffy pussy.

fuck breathing at the moment. you want him to cream all over your tongue until he couldn’t remember his own name. swirling the appendage and dipping it further into his minge. his cum and your salvia gushing out from around your tongue.

“j-just like that love. . . oh yess !” , tegen found himself moving his hips against your mouth , pelvis working overtime just to feel you more.

your nose nudges his clit and tegen grinds against your face , dragging his pussy against your lips which causes you to groan in encouragement , a low sound that send vibrations straight to tengen’s cord and he whimpers on his own accord.

you start to eat tegen with more earnest , alternating between the flicking of your tongue over the swollen bundle of nerves at the apex of his hot sex and laving the flat of his tongue over the plump folds.

“shit love ! your t-tongue feel ssssooo good” your grip on tegen is firm , keeping him in place so that you could fasten your lips to his cunt and suck. you know he’ll pull away from the pleasure.

“m’ g’nna cum !”

tegen’s dirty talk was unmatched. fuck his words could make you bust alone. you push two finger in along side your tongue , moving the digits at a separate pace of your tongue. you curl them , pressing into that soft spot deep in his carnal slick pussy.

“fu-fuck. . . oh fucking god ! right there !” tegen tenses , clenching around your thick fingers as your nose continues to graze the throbbing bundle of nerves more

“i’m cumming ! fuck i’m cumming baby !” — with each stroke and stretch of your movements , a shot of heat and tegen’s back arched off the bed , broken whimpers and sobs leaving his throat as the grip on your scalp becomes harder.

he falls off the edge with a sob , pussy clenching and spasming as white hot pleasure paints his mind. you pulls your fingers out and still your tongue, shoving it further into his pussy to catch every ounce of his delicious release—not a drop was to go to waste.

𝗰𝘃𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘇𝗲𝗸𝗲™

[mahiiimahiiii]

the lick of bhaal

a/n: I would fuck orin!gale. That’s the premise of this one. I haven’t seen this concept done and I feel that there is much to explore! Slight dead dove on this one for those who may be sensitive.

Cw: inebriated sex, blood, breeding kink, fun use of shapeshifting abilities, my excuse to live vicariously through Orin, biting (lots of it), possessive language, not gale behavior, rough sex, dubcon, humping, frotting, tail play, anal play piv, orin has sex with a woman and is a bit confused, guilt, not really enthusiastic consent.

read below the cut, or on a03!

Orins lips buzzed with the taste of drink, sat in her lap- rather his- was a contently buzzed teifling, the poor wizards mate she presumed. Her hips wiggled occasionally when she shook with laughter. And oh ye gods! Did the pressure feel excellent. She cant remember a time previous when she was truly intimate with another fleshy being. The only passion for sanguinity she had was her affinity for a kill. His hands rested on the swell of the creatures thighs, a slight grip in pressure had her staring into her lovers eyes, something swirled in her mind.

Here? Her gaze asked.

“Here” she whispered in his voice. The Tiefling, li’ia, had a wonky smile on her face. She stroked her lower lip plush and plump. She captured hers in a chaste kiss, tasting the bubbly wine on her lips. Her heavy breaths graced Orin’s ears, a strange tightness in her chest and pants.

“Gale- fuck…I don’t know.” She pulled away “not like this…”

“Oh, but my dear- I know you’ve ached for it, yearned for it. How I’ve craved your skin. How I yearn. Let me taste you. Let me mark you, I don’t want anyone looking at you without seeing me.”

She let out a stifled groan in the short space of their lips. Unspoken egging coming from her stare. Oh how she will be ruined, oh how she will defile her.

Orin closed in, the unfamiliar feeling of clean skin pressed against her disguise beard, how she felt heat surge to her core when Li’ia gently tugged at his chin. She nipped at li’ia’s lip mindlessly, inwardly grumbling at the lack of sharpness from the humans’ blunt teeth. With his hands he anchored her into his lap, groping the warm flesh of her ass. She slid her cool hands down the others’ pants line, her skin was warm and spongy. Well taken care of she’d wager.

Lia groaned into her would-be-wizard’s mouth, throwing caution to the wind as she bumped her core against his low abdomen for some sort of friction.

“Warm my cock won’t you love?” gale hummed beneath her, “I would quite enjoy feeling your tightness.”

“I don’t think I’m necessarily ready for you like that.” She sputtered.

“Come now!” she slid the tips of her fingers against the others core, the heat and slick pooling off of them came in waves “I can feel how ready you are- your body doesn’t lie” his eyes darken with a hunger she’s never seen before. His lids lower as he removed his fingers from the entrance of her sticky cunt. Orin swiped her tongue over them, their taste fruity and sour with a tang of iron, how refreshing. How greedy she was for a taste of this infernal nymph; she licked her fingers clean a moan of ecstasy escaping gale lips. How guttural his set of vocal cords are.

He wriggled from underneath her and scooped her up, tromping back to stalemanes bedroom. With a kick she shut the door behind her, she dropped her on the bed, a flick of the wrist for a silencer and an arcane lock. The bed creaked underneath his popping knees, still dried browns, and maroons from the delicious stains of blood. He lifted the crest of her shirt, kissing down her stomach- nipping and nibbling at the sweet flesh. She sank her teeth into her warm skin, the tang of iron and a cry from her nightly lover. She knew of her sweetness, her reluctance. She was hers to take from.

A fist came to the wizard’s hair, it burned as she tugged gently at his scalp. Her whines and sobs fluttered to her ears. They sounded like sweet music. She lapped at the wound, placing small apologetic kisses to her sides, lips stained with her conquest.

“claim” the not very gale murmured, his tone taking a pinched staccato in focus, “mine.”

He hooked his thumbs into her pants, her hips squirmed slightly, but obliged in his pilgrimage arching gently for better access. Her breaths were hot and heavy, she rested gales head on the teiflings thigh, tracing circles onto her lower abdomen. She watched her chest rise and fall.

His breath felt like cooling velvet on her wet cunt, a whine clawed its way through her throat, nudging her hips up for the others attention. He smirked, not a warm one but a dangerous and hungry one. Gale grumbled again, staring slightly confused and hesitant. Li’ia tilted her head watching him cautiously. He tentatively licked her folds, pulling them apart with his tongue. His nose brushed against her clit, a low hum warming his mouth.

He angled himself so he could lazily grope at her chest, mouth kissing up her public mount to her clit. He latched onto the sensitive bud, sucking at it gently. Another hand for balance found its way to her core, stroking her labia lazily. She shivered at his blunt touch, shifting her hips up to prop a pillow under it to sit more comfortably. His digits prodded her sex, sliding in before bucking the pads of his fingers against a spongy mound. She inhaled sharply, ending in a warm moan. His fingers continued to pump and curl inside of her, the scuff of his beard brushing against her skin. Orin kissed the sides of her thighs, sucking at the skin under her mouth. Her skin was littered with imprints of her teeth and gorgeous flowering bruises. Li’ias grip became tight and steely, almost like the poor girls’ fingers took root in her skin, blunt nails scratching at her scalp. It made her dizzy.

Orin felt her knot break, the spasming of the woman’s hips beneath her the glazed over vision, to the silvery curls stuck to her forehead. Her orgasm was silent and ridged, toes cramped to a curled position heels dragging into the mattress.

“Roll over for me, my sweet.” She licked her fingers clean, helping the struggling teifling about. And finally, oh finally- she could drop the act.

She settled herself behind the static tail of the teifling, long brown hair fading and scattered with platinum blonde. She steadied her voice, clearing her throat to remain as gales.

“So pretty for me….” She hummed, his tones marking her words with affection, “look at you… “she quickly spanked her pretty ass, massaging the red into her cheeks. The sounds of smacks resonated on the hollow walls of the room. With each punctuated smack li’ia hissed and writhed under her. She felt tears dribble down her cheeks, from embarrassment, from pain? She really couldn’t Identify.

Orin ran the length of her cock against her ass, the heat from her member a soothing feeling to the bard’s aching cunt. Her tail curled around orins thigh lightly smacking the flesh of her ass, a grumble coming from her head in the pillow.

She chuckled, in tones gentler and more dulcet than she. “Easy pet, you’ll have me soon enough.” Orin angled her hips, gales skin being peachy, and pink, mottled with stretch marks, scars, and a sea of freckles. The tip of her tail prodded her entrance, she spat in her hand, rubbing the makeshift lube against her lover’s tail. It prodded and slid into her, wiggling gently inside of her. She exhaled relaxing herself at the fullness, re-settling her knees she rubbed the leftover spit in her hands against her hard member, siding her tip against her slick entrance.

With a quick flick of her hips she sheathed to the hilt, drawing a sharp gasp from the woman underneath her, followed by a delicious moan. She was warm as ever, walls fluttering quickly around her. Hand on her hip digging into her flesh, the other clutching at the headboard in front of her. Her ass made a hollow sound as she fucked against her tail, a delightful sting clenching around her. She lowered her hips biting at the tips of her ear, settling her legs into a hopping crouch position. The wizard’s knees she was using popped and screeched as she moved about.

Her hips arched up; her face planted into the cushion beneath her. Her toes curled into odd positions, whining as they locked up. The wet slaps echoed against the bloody bedroom. Her cock pulsed inside of the teifling, hitting the spongy tissue until it felt numb.

“Oh, ye gods- li’ia- “her voice came out higher than she wanted, the mimic of gale slowly faltering, “gods you are so sweet- bhaal below- “a moan rumbled through her chest. Orin folded over teeth, nestled into li’ia’s shoulder, platinum blond hair sticking to her forehead. She felt the bard squeeze down around her cock, her hand found her clit, pinching and squeezing it. A strangled moan came from her mouth, her walls clamped down around her.

“Are you cumming?”  the bhaalist hummed, her hips stuttering slightly, the other hand wrapping around to headlock her. Both of their knees slumped into the mattress, Orin’s knees pinning li’ias claves into the mattress.

Li’ias teeth sank into the pink skin of orins arm, decorated with freckles and hair to mimic the wizard. Drool and spittle ran down her lips as she tried to stifle the pathetic noises ushering themselves out of her mouth. She was quick to nod, quick to please.

“Good, good, good- “she repeated slightly breathless, “come for me my pretty dove, whisper my name like a prayer, worship me with your lips.”

Orin felt a slight loss at the whispers of gale on her lips, the dedication to her lover a man not worthy of her desire. A pathetic man at best. What did she see in him? Did she know she deserved better?

She had little to think about when the bard’s tail curled against a sweet spot. A flash of white struck her vision.  She went limp against her, li’ias hips sank into the bed. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ears and settled into the cleave of her ass, hands clamped around her thighs. She pressed her lips against her puffy folds, lapping at the mess she had made. Her lips held quick and contented sighs, tasting the mix of spent cum.

She withdrew, rubbing small circles into the melted bard’s back. She kissed her cheeks, pulling the covers over her fragile body.

Li’ia slept soundly, her breaths heavy. Her dreams filled with troubling messages.

She woke to an empty room a gift box tied with ribbons and the seal of bhaal sat at the edge of the murder scene. She inspected it, body pricking with goosebumps in the open air. The ribbons were satin, the seal a deep red and shiny wax. The box contained a note… and a ring. Shed recognize it anywhere, a matching set she had gotten for her lover, a twin set with magical effects to notify where the other partner was.

The note was simple, it read:

Dearest, Li’ia.

The steel watch foundry is a good place to start.

We shall cut the strings that work the tyrants’ puppets.

Thank you for indulging me in an evening of debauchery.

I can still taste your sweetness.

Orin the red.

Ps. Your wizard is such a sweet crier, I can see why a woman of your caliber likes him plenty. Her stomach churned, that was not gale.

[cookie-crumblr]

Hype Train!

F! Streamer Reader x M!Yandere Streamer OC

Part 3~

His Info: 📹✨

Part: 1 2 3 4

!!!MINORS DNI!!!

CW: Use of the name jasper🫡✨ (u no who u are soldier💀) !F reader, use of she/her when referring to reader, reader has a vagina, trauma related hallucinations, GORE, violence, murder, torture, kidnapping, blood, sadism, M! masturbation, pet names(good girl), not TOO smutty yet sorry i hope it’ll be worth it 🙈✨

You aren’t sure when you fell asleep… It’s nighttime, “Fuck!” You reach for your phone.

It reads 9:24pm.

You have to work in the morning, but you’ve slept all day, how are you going to get proper sleep now?

You look over at your microwave, the time is blinking 12:00.

“Hm… Power must’ve went out,” You speak out to yourself.

Hearing your own voice is always better than hearing none.

A loud *BANG!* on your door startles you, you lurch forward.

Is it them? “Oh god, no, No NO! I can’t go back!! I PAID YOU!! Please!!”

the banging continues, as you claw at your own head.

and then,

It stops.

Just as abruptly as it started.

You get up to take one of your emergency meds.

They’re so expensive…

You don’t take them as much as you should.

You sigh, and gulp it down.

You turn your computer on, and get ready to stream.

“AHH HAHA HAH,” Pleasured laughing all day long has rendered his vocal cords sore and hoarse.

Jasper gazes fondly over his work so far.

The man you’ve been meeting every month, sitting bound to a chair.

His screams have reduced into nothing but strained guttural noises.

He can’t handle much more.

Jasper did too much, too quickly.

He’s usually more methodical, but the way you make his heart burn, has him losing every strand of sanity in his body.

Squares of this brutes flesh have been removed, the facia torn to shreds.

His teeth have been ripped out.

Fingers snipped off joint by joint.

That wasn’t good enough, Jasper had seen the way he groped you.

The hands up to his wrists sawn off next.

He wrapped him up to stop the bleeding.

He shot him up with adrenaline.

But this—This pathetic thing, isn’t lasting nearly long enough.

Even for how long it’s been going on.

Jasper wanted to savor his pain longer.

So much longer.

He launches the knife like a dart, aimed straight at his head with a furious grunt. It flies through the air and enters dead on the bullseye.

“FUCK YOU! FUCK. YOU. FUCK YOU!FUCK YOU!FUCK YOU!” He pants.

The black handle sticks out of the man’s eye socket.

He lolls his drenched head back and forth, coughing up what’s left of his own blood.

How he isn’t dead is a wonder.

“Awww, doesn’t it suck SO much not being DEAD yet?”

He walks over to him, resting an arm on the wall behind the restrained man. He leans his face down to just above his level.

“Wish I could’ve taught ya a real lesson, you disgusting thing. Sadly I think your time is jus’ about-”

*PING* his blown out pupils slowly follow the air to his pocket where he slides out a phone.

You’re live-streaming!

His hand grasps the handle.

He gurgles out one last labored plea.

“I have to go now~” He shoves the blade back in one swift motion all the way through the man’s socket, and the tip breaks through the back of his skull hitting the grey cement wall behind him.

“and so~” He flips the blade, before another vicious jab into the same socket making the hole an “X”.

“do.” *Crack*! one more

“YOU.” Blood spurts onto him one last time, he doesn’t flinch.

Jasper’s face is now completely coated sticky, drying crimson.

“Mmm” he sighs contently. “I guess I’m done here.” A final pleasured chuckle leaves his chest.

He wipes his face with the back of his hand before whipping it toward the ground, flinging more spatters of blood around him.

He pulls up your stream up on one of the laptops, and puts a phone to his ear. The man’s blood is leaving little pools on everything Jasper touches.

He can’t care less.

He’s too engrossed, too mesmerized by your precious voice.

He quickly informs the cleaning crew on the phone of his location, and that he has spilled cake all over the floor… And walls…And ceiling… Everything really.

“Yes sir! we will send the heavy duty crew asap”

Without knowing it, you soothe him, his eyes flutter shut.

A hand slowly trails to groin as he deeply listens.

He types with the other; “Hey! how are you, Y/username?”

“Hai Jasper!!! I’m so happy to see you again!!”

“mmf” he grunts as his thumb presses down on his clothed lap. “Yess” he whines, “Say my name again”

“I’m good by the way! thanks for askin! How are you!”

He finds the button and unzips his pants with his eyes still closed picturing your actual face and replaying you saying his name again, and again, and again in his head.

He can’t even hear anything you’re saying, to anyone else.

“Good! Wanna hang later?” he types deftly, hoping you’ll call out his name again.

“Omg! Yes please, Jasper!” It’s so innocent, yet he’s still fading fast into a lusty haze.

“Haah! yeeeessss,” His palm wraps his length and squeezes. His thumb teases the tip, pressing down and then massages his glands. “Beg me! Yell my name!”

The blood is acting as lube as he continues to work himself, while one hand desperately clings to the table.

He’s losing his mind just imagining the possibilities; how wet he can get you, how well you’ll take his girth. You’ll be such a good girl, won’t you?

His imagination runs wild: “Harder, Jas-Jasper! M-more!” He can picture you begging, “P-please, please! Fill me, Jasper! Fill me!”. He wants you begging.

“YN!” A low grunt leaves his mouth as he climaxes, mixing white with the red splatters across the keys.

He’s not satisfied though.

You’re not in his lap.

The pain doesn’t subside, and the swell refuses to go down.

He covers his face with his hand.

“I can’t wait to have you…”

[inkykeiji]

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, drugs, sucking waka off through his undies, lots of cum + cum swallowing, clear hints of a toxic relationship, fem!reader 

words: 1.3k

anyway this was supposed to be like a three hundred word drabble but it grew way out of proportion and now here we are. he’s so icky and yummy hehe c: inspired by that photo of his bedroom where he’s just chilling in his undies

Thinking about Waka in his undies :( lounging around in his tight black briefs :( thinking about lazing around with him, draped over his lap maybe, in your own undies :( a cute matching set of delicate lace and satin ribbons that clings almost tenderly to all of your curves and edges, something much too pretty to be hidden away beneath layers of clothing—or, at least, that’s what Wakasa had sworn to you.

Thinking about getting high with Waka in your undies :( straddling his lap with your palms pressed to his stomach and your giggles wafting across his face, using your tongues to shove smiley-stamped pills into each other’s waiting mouths, licking at the edges of teeth and chapped lips as they retreat. 

Thinking about the manufactured bliss gushing through your veins in thick torrents nearly half an hour later, that sweet, sharp, telltale gasp he loves so much spilling from your lips as it hits all at once—eyes wide, mouth wider, lungs swelling with a heavy intake of air—one of those leery, lazy smirks smeared across his face.

Everything is heightened; smells and sensations, the scent of sugar twined with his breath as his mumbled words melt on your tongue, cascading down your throat in warm, tingling streams.

You can taste his voice, you swear you can, though he laughs when you tell him so, violet eyes lidded and heavy as fingers follow the line of your hair, the curve of your cheek, the edge of your jaw.

You’re so cute when you’re fucked up, he tells you, compliment shimmering in the air. It’s precious how low your tolerance is. 

But he has to be careful, he’s mumbling to himself, almost as if making a personal note aloud, voice scrawling it in the air, eyes rolled up to the ceiling, forehead scrunched in serious concentration. If he isn't careful, he’s gonna ruin it, and then you’ll be no fun at all. 

He needs to cherish this, to savour this, to indulge himself only sparingly in a effort to keep your tolerance from climbing too high. He doesn’t want to waste more drugs on you than he needs to. 

You don’t really understand, but you suppose it doesn’t really matter either way—not when he’s here, and he’s so pretty, made of amethyst and gold and glittering in the setting sun pouring through the grimy front windows of his apartment.

It’s impossible to keep your hands off of him, desperate to feel his bare flesh against your own—the smooth, sleek planes of his abdomen, the bony bumps and ridges of his ribs, the soft curves and dips of his biceps—and, it seems, he feels the exact same way about you.

Time drips by in slow, stringy dollops as you both knead and fondle and caress and grope, marvelled by each other’s skin alone, by the sensation of each other below your palms, between your fingers, beneath your nails, hands gliding over one another until his cock is hard and flushed and leaking, constant dribbles of precum seeping through the straining black fabric. 

It looks cute, you think, yearning for your touch, your tongue, and you trace it with an index finger, collecting the gluey mixture on the pad and giggling at the way his head flops back against the couch and his cock jumps, a groan rumbling behind his sternum.

Your cunt is soaked, too—he can feel it, drenched lace tacky against his bare thigh as your hips rock in tiny uneven movements. You don’t seem too concerned about it, though, despite the unconscious little rutting against his leg, more interested in his drooling cock. 

His precum is thicker than anything you’ve ever seen before, messily oozing through the material of his briefs like sticky syrup, viscous, glassy cords keeping your fingertips conjoined as you idly tap them together, and you wonder aloud if it tastes as sweet as it looks. 

Why don’t you lick it up and see for yourself? he says, hips nudging up just a little in indication, in anticipation. 

That sounds like a wonderful idea, the best idea he’s ever had, you’re absolutely sure of it, you’re babbling with cute enthusiastic little nods of your head as your body slides down his own, knees sinking into his scratchy carpet, torso wedged between his spread thighs.

Holding his bleary gaze, your tongue unfurls from your mouth, tip flattening against the clothed head and giving one slow, hard lap, thoroughly sopping up the substance. Another fat glob instantly weeps through the drenched fabric, eager to replace what’s been lost.

It doesn’t taste as sweet as it looks, you’re astonished to discover, bitter and putrid like his favourite brand of cheap cigarettes, but you keep lapping away at it despite the taste, quick, firm laves of your tongue diligently blotting up the endless trickle. 

Because you just can’t get enough of him; can’t get enough of the throaty whines and shards of curses you keep yanking from his mouth, splintered to bits by those sharp intakes of breath, can’t get enough of the way his hips jerk up in twitchy little motions with each roll of your tongue against his slit, his blunt nails scraping against the polyester couch cushions, his thighs flexing.

It has you drawing the whole head into your mouth, tongue curling around the underside and suckling on the tip, then rubbing over the head in faster, stronger strokes as your lips pucker around it, the cotton of his briefs beginning to chafe your tastebuds, each drag across his cock sprouting burning little tingles in its wake. 

It has him cumming within mere minutes, hot and gooey and so, so much, soiling the inside of his boxers and staining your tongue with his taste. It bleeds through the fabric in steady surges, decorating his lap in pretty pearlescent piping, thick stripes of cream that have saliva pooling beneath your tongue.

You can’t help but lap them up, acrid and tart and burning your throat, a cruel trick your foggy brain, pumped full and drowning in artificial euphoria, has played on you yet again; looks like icing, is most definitely not icing, a notion you’ve discovered many times in situations exactly like this, a notion that refuses to stick.

Because it’s so pretty, way too pretty to be left to dry, hard and crusted and glazed, on a pair of cheap underwear, and you swallow all of it, not a single drop gone to waste, mopping him clean with your eager tongue until his briefs shine with your spit.

He cums so easily when he’s rolling, you’re giggling into his soggy cock, nuzzling your cheek into his lap, another weak spurt of cum melting through the material.  

You collapse against his thigh, tongue dabbing at your lips, sopping up any remnants of him and humming softly. 

You could stay here forever, you think, you drool out dreamily into his skin, tangled in threads of spit. He wouldn’t mind if you did, he admits quietly, a palm cupping the crown of your head, thumb moving in rhythmic caresses across your sweaty hair. 

But then the grinding starts, jaw flexing and clenching against his bare thigh as your molars scrape together, and he’s sloppily hoisting you up with his thumbs hooked beneath your arms, cradling you in his lap. 

Calloused fingertips, gone hard and numb from cigarette ash, massage soothing little circles into the hinges of your jaw—one of his many (failed) precautionary measures, to lessen the pain when the grinding and clenching starts. 

“S’any better?” he questions and you shake your head, a small frown marring his face in response. 

Reaching around your body, he fiddles in a small glass bowl, plastic crunching and candy tinkering, until his fingers find what they were searching for. 

“Here,” he’s saying as he unwraps one of his favourite lollipops—half chocolate, half vanilla, fingers extra careful as they peel the candy from its casing—and holds the sweet to your lips, urging them to open. “This will help, I promise.” 

[dailysabinasmuts]

Aria squirms in her chair, her arms tied against its back and her legs lashed open with cord. She lets out muffled grunts through the tape covering her mouth, eyes wide and straining as Jaime finishes tying up Aria's date. Jaime hums in appreciation at her work, a good slut always has some rope handy; just don't ask where she stores it. Ignoring her friend for now, Jaime explores the body of her latest prey, stroking his trembling flesh. Her hands discover his manhood, and she pretends coquettish surprise as its splendid stiffness.

Jaime drops to her knees, giving Aria a teasing glance as she orients herself so her friend can see everything. Slowly and deliberately she licks up and down his length, never once looking away from Aria. Then she takes him in her mouth, her pert lips locked around shaft as she bobs her head. Jaime's hands selfishly caress herself, fondling her tiny breasts and rubbing her pussy. Eventually she grows too excited and lithely moves towards Aria, breathing heavily.

"Fuck I am so horny Aria, you really know how to pick cute boys, can you blame me for stealing them from you? Mmmph his cock is just delicious, I can not wait to have it inside of me... Oh whats wrong Aria, dont you like this? You love it dont you, you filthy little pervert, you dirty fucking cuck, you love watching me fuck your men. Dont lie to me, I can see how wet you are!"

Jaime's hand shoots forward, her fingers plunging into Aria's pussy with ease. Wet squelching noises come from Aria's crotch as Jaime vigorously fingers her. Aria shakes her head and whines with pleasure, her heavy breasts jiggling in time with Jaime's efforts. By the time Jaime relents, her fingers are coated in a thick, sticky layer of Aria's juices. Trembling with excitement, she brings her soiled fingers towards her cunt, before plunging them in.

"You may not get to fuck him Aria, but at least you can get his dick wet." Jaime pants as she fingers herself, smearing Aria's girl-cum all around her sopping cunt. Now thoroughly in heat, Jaime hauls her meat-dildo closer so that she can fuck him while near Aria. She backs onto his dick with an exultant groan, sliding every inch of him into her until his balls are kissing her clit. "Oh FUCK he's perfect Aria! He fills me up so nice, ugh you're so good at picking guys out for me!"

Aria whimpers in despair as she gets cucked by her best friend, watching wide-eyed as her date gets fucked in front of her. Jaime cups her friend's cheeks, tenderly soothing her in a perverse manner while she whispers to her. "Oh Aria, he's hitting my spot so hard! Mmmph, do- do you think that he would keep fucking me if I let him out? Oh god he would be soooo mad at me wouldnt he? He would probably rape me for being such a whore. I bet he would even stick it in my ass raw to punish me, oh you'd love that wouldnt you? Watching your best friend getting fucked senseless for being a filthy dick-slut? Just thinking about it makes me... OH FUCK IM CUMMING!"

Jaime sticks out her tongue and squeals as she orgasms, blubbering against Aria's sweaty breasts. When she has recovered enough, she notices a slimy feeling on her pussy. "Aria... I think he came in me, I can feel his cum inside of me... why dont you have a taste?" Completely ignoring her fuck-meat's cock, Jaime allows it to flop out of her as she scoops his cum out. She wrenches the tape off of Aria's mouth before feeding her her semen-covered fingers. Aria gags and chokes as she is forced to clean the cum off of her friend's hand, slobber running down her chin. Jaime follows this up with a sloppy makeout session, while her now free hand traces through the puddle surrounding Aria's pussy before entering it. This time Jaime doesnt stop until Aria climaxes so hard she squirts onto the floor.

Utterly cum-drunk, Aria gurgles quietly to Jaime, "Jaime... untie my arms... I wanna- hah! I wanna watch you get raped..." Jaime feels herself drip a little bit at that, and she swiftly complies, releasing Aria's arms.

Jaime nuzzles against Aria's cheek, "Of course I'll let him use me Aria, what are best friends for if you cant watch them get fucked senseless? I love you so much..." Aria watches as her best friend is true to her word, and is soon having her asshole brutally stretched out by Aria's enraged date. Aria doesnt mind though, her hand is already busy between her quivering thighs...

[sebsxphia]

wildflower, wildfire. | chapter three. epilogue.

rhett abbott x reader.

￫ description: “tell me cowboy? what do you love most about me?”

￫ c/w: mentions of sex and fluff, fluff, fluff.

￫ word count: 703.

￫ a/n: i had this half written in my drafts for nearly a year now! i wanted to finish it and tie off this little series. i hope you enjoy! the series masterlist can be found here! my main masterlist can be found here! 💌

previous chapter

Rhett loved you and everything that came with you. But what he loved most, more than anything he’d ever come to love, were your wildflowers.

Rows upon rows of flower beds ran outside the porch of your home and grew wildflowers that you couldn’t even find in Wyoming yet. Come the Summer time, the sickly sweet smell would hit you as soon as you stepped onto the porch, and the assortment of colour would beat away at your eyes. Rhett would spend his evenings perched on the porch, nursing a freshly chilled beer and watching fondly as you hummed a lullaby to yourself and tended to your wildflowers.

The wildflowers that you could find in Wyoming were obtained after a sticky, sunset walk with Rhett to a pasture way out East. Somehow, you always found yourself with the wildflowers tickling at your bare thighs as Rhett had your sundress hoisted over your waist.

Every room of your home was covered in them. They sat in antique vases and they were tied together with a thin cord of rope, which always made you blush, heat rising to your cheeks, as you remembered what Rhett used them for. If they weren’t sat in vases, they were dried and pressed and sat in photo frames decorating the boarder of photos of you and Rhett. He would stick the pin in the wall, hammer it in and hang up your new press of flowers. He’d glance over at the whimsical look on your face as you gazed up at your new arrangement and he’d smile softly to himself.

“They’re beautiful, darlin.”

“Thank you, cowboy.”

There were occasions when you got to tie the wildflowers into his hair. That’s when Rhett treasured you, his wildflower, and your wildflowers, the most.

The cool dusk of the Summer night encased your bodies as you sat on your porch in an old and beaten up swing seat. The wood had splintered and it still kept that damp smell when it would rain. From the Summer day, you could still smell the hay thick in the air from where the sun had been beating down on it all day. It radiated off Rhett, with an even heavier musk of his drying sweat running from behind his ears and down his neck.

His Stetson was perched on his head to sheild his cobalt blue eyes from the suns dying rays. You reached over and gently tipped his hat up to allow access to his hair. You tucked the stray strands of his hair that had turned golden by the sunlight, behind his ears. He caught your eye as you tucked the hair behind and a soft smile graced his lips, years old creases in the corners of his eyes appearing with it.

His eyes squinted, “what are you doin’, sweetheart?” His smile turned into a curious grin as he watched you eagerly.

You drew your eyes away and reached behind in your own hair to pull out the yellow wildflower that was nestled in your own. You tucked the sunshine yellow flower behind his hair to rest candidly on his ear. You pulled away from your cowboy momentarily to admire your nifty handiwork, pursing your lips together and smiling at him. You were desperately awaiting his reaction. Rhett’s scraped and worn down knuckles reached up to his ear and he brushed past it, feeling the soft petals against his coarse flesh.

He loved it.

He loved you.

He brought his hand up to your cheek and gently cradled your face. God, you loved his hands. You loved how they could be so rough when he was working away in the pastures, how they were strong with a vice like grip when he was atop of a bull, but the moment they touched your face, they would soften instantly, as if you were made out of glass.

He ran his thumb along your bottom lip, tracing the cracks and crevices and caught your eyes once again.

“My beautiful, beautiful, wildflower.” His voice was barely above a whisper, with his Southern drawl hanging low and punching on every word. It made the blood pool in your cheeks and your thighs squeeze together.

Still, after five years, he knew how to make you swoon.

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