#also that hip pop in those tight leather pants | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tiptapricock · 1 year ago

Note

what do you think of jake + jerking off?when do you think he does it or where or why? anything really! :D

o7777 As usual I hold many simultaneous headcanons that can change depending on story, so here is! One vibe :-) Heads up for a kinda negative/uncomfortable dynamic w sexual pleasure. Also this is MCU!Jake specifically.

———

“Ai…”

Jake sighs in frustration as he settles in the front seat of his cab, glaring down at the swell of hardness in his pants. He runs a hand down his face, pausing a moment to squeeze anxious energy into his jaw and look up out the windshield. A stretch of dark, empty, street is all that greets him there, no further threats, no incessant bag of bones to argue with. He glances back down, and huffs in resignation.

He really… doesn’t want to do this right now.

Adrenaline has always been one of those Things for them, something about the rush of chemicals crossing over wires and leading to… this. It’s happened plenty of times after missions or close calls. Not as bad now as it was in their earlier years, of course, and Jake will always be grateful that infrequent boners are one of the perks of getting an older body.

He pulls himself into the passenger seat with a wince, back popping, and settles back. Then he clicks open the glove compartment casually, tugging a few clean napkins out from the clutter of old maps and reminder notes.

“No tengo tiempo para esto…” he mutters under his breath, hissing as he unbuttons his jeans and tugs them down far enough to get to his boxers.

He’s hard through the cloth. Their cock strains up against the elastic fabric, a small damp spot forming where the head is pinned against their thigh. Jake brushes a hand over it, making a small noise of discomfort as the heat in their stomach twists and bleeds outwards. Their body is aroused, he knows, but it always feels too much like anxiety to him, like the same breathless pressure to escape.

But maybe that’s… just him. Marc and Steven don’t seem to be bothered in the same ways. Escape long enough, and every flick of green looks like a go signal, or something like that.

Anyways, he can work with it. He’s learned to. He could, of course, just leave it, could drive home and let one of the others tackle getting off, or even better sleep and let it subside on his own, but he’s found it’s better to deal with this kind of thing before long drives. That off-ness flaring in his gut and between his legs never does great things for his focus.

Jake grips himself firmer, pushing up into the rough press of leather seams as he works along the line of his cock. He tries to be fast with it, fingertips dragging along the clothed line of his shaft, hips grinding upwards. He follows the zing of energy, the rising glow of heat tugging up from his skin, choking back small sounds and trying to focus on the pleasant feelings over the growing wave of strange, uncomfortable, jittery.

He manages somewhat. Just like on his hands the leather feels good, solid and intimate, even if the barrier makes them rougher. It almost makes Jake want to rut against the seats, to chase whatever shaking energy is squeezing his throat so tight and get it out of him. But he doesn’t.

Instead, when he gets to that warm, sensitive, crest, he slips his waistband down and directs himself into the handful of napkins, breath hitching as he works the cum from his tip. Rocking slowly, easing it out.

He shivers to a halt when it seems finished, fingers still wrapped around his base, his gut cooling rapidly like a doused flame.

Done. He’s done.

Jake swallows thickly, wiping the last bit of fluid from himself before shoving the lump of crumpled trash into his car’s portable garbage bag.

He leans back against the seat with a sigh, licking his lips as his stomach and the back of his skull settle into an odd, empty kind of space. He wonders if this is what it’s supposed to be like. It’s cold, really, like losing heat out from under a blanket. Not that it matters in the big scheme. Not that any of this really does.

Jake sniffs loudly, tucking himself back into his jeans, and pulls himself over into the driver’s seat.

The sound of the engine coming to life comforts his chest, the rumble beneath his feet and hands grounding. It’s a good place to find his stability again, especially when his skin still feels clammy and sensitive and his tongue is dry.

He blows out a breath, pushing down a swell of strangeness, and flicks on the headlights. Then he peels out of his parking spot, washed in the liminal glow of street lamps, and begins the late night ride home.

———

Send me a character, kink, prompt, etc. and I’ll do a short bit of nsfw prose on it!

#hashtag sometimes the high of getting off Hits Bad actually #cot n balls #cot n balls writing #moon knight #nsft #jake lockley

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cdyssey · 1 year ago

Text

Facetious

Summary: After the end of yet another long work day, Melissa comes to collect Barbara. [Post-1.01]

CW: Emotional Infidelity

AO3 Link

—

At precisely five past three, there are two blunt knocks on her halfway open door. Barbara doesn’t even have to look up from the reading diagnostic that she’s skimming to know that it’s Melissa dropping in to either say goodbye or to forcibly collect her at the end of yet another long day. She glances up anyway, her golden-rimmed glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose, and smiles softly.

For this is habit between them, long-established and well-loved tradition—as baked into their daily routines as their shared communions at their favorite round table in the teacher’s lounge or their little rendezvouses at the copier, where they trade new bits of gossip with their elbows pressed on top of the machine.

Melissa comes to look for her at the end of every day—of course she does.

And Barbara’s enduring role is to simply let herself be found.

“The ops are upstairs with Jacob,” the younger teacher says, leaning against the door like it’s both habit and home. Her vivid hair is haloed by the ring of Barbara’s sunflower wreath, and the effect is lovely—all that scarlet, crowned in pops of autumnal gold.

“Quick. You ‘n me can make a break for it if we hustle.”

“Girlfriend,” Barbara can’t help but chuckle, “you’re fooling yourself if you think I ever belong in the same sentence as the word hustle. I don’t hustle, I—“

“—sedately shuffle from place to place?” Melissa grins, waggling a mischievous brow.

“—gracefully swan from one destination to another,” she finishes with a mock sniff, unable to be especially affronted when Melissa laughs like she does, so loudly, with the entirety of her belly. “Don’t tease! You’re not making it anywhere quick either on that hip of yours."

They both have a bad something or another. Melissa’s bad hip and Barbara’s bad knee. They're mutually bad backs. They complain about these grievances to each other often, especially now that it’s fall and the cold is starting to seep into their bones.

“Sheesh, don’t remind me,” her friend half-smiles. “Almost threw it out again luggin’ that new rug to my room.”

But then she half-grimaces too, lightly rubbing the affected area with three fingers, and Barbara frowns just as immediately, pushing her playfulness to the side along with her class’s reading report.

"You should really go see a specialist about that, you know.”

“And let some rich quack put me on a bunch’a painkillers? Hell to the no,” Melissa scoffs easily. She has distrusted doctors for as long as Barbara has known her, thinks they’re all two-bit charlatans and overhyped clowns. The only person she ever goes to see is her second cousin, Frankie, a general practitioner whose practice is adjoined to a pizza joint that may or may not also be a money laundering front.

Barbara doesn’t like to think about that fact very often.

“Well, at least come here and get yourself an Advil for the road,” she exhales, making the more expedient decision not to press the point. They’ll have that row another day, and it’ll likely be spectacular—as their rare arguments usually are—but that’s future Barbara’s cross to painfully bear. “You know I hate it when you’re hurting.”

“I hate it when I’m hurting too,” Melissa quips, always a snarker, even in the pits, but all the same, she obediently peels herself off of the door and limps on over, one plod of her clunky boots at a time. Barbara’s heart inexplicably plummets into her gut when the second grade teacher decides, apropos of absolutely nothing, to partially lower herself on the edge of her desk, rattling her pencil cup with her added weight.

Her sheer and overwhelming presence.

Her leopard-spotted blouse and those tight black pants. The way the leather rasps when her thighs brush together as she incrementally shifts and makes herself comfortable—cozy even—on Barbara Howard’s extraordinarily immaculate desk. The endless cascade of her fiery red hair and the saints that are perpetually worshiping at the altar of her marble bosom. The slight citrus smell of her favorite perfume.

“What?” Melissa chuckles, apparently seeing something complicated in Barbara’s expression, something that Barbara would probably shy away from in the uncomplicated honesty of a mirror. Sudden heat crests within her. It becomes a knot in the column of her throat, becomes a ticking time bomb, a violent pleasure, a pleasant wound. “You prefer I keep my ass off your stuff?”

She has less than three seconds to decide which is worse—having Melissa Schemmenti on her desk or not having her there. Neither of these options frankly brings her closer to God.

“You’re being absolutely facetious,” she finally mutters, not looking the second grade teacher in the eye as she dives down to retrieve her purse. She makes quite a meal out of rifling through it for a bottle that she handily keeps in a side-pocket.

“That isn’t an answer.”

“Your question was hardly appropriate enough to warrant a response.”

“So I’m being naughty, huh?” Melissa guffaws. Melissa jokes. From Barbara’s limited perspective, it’s all a joke to Melissa: her innuendoes and habitual crassness, the intimate geography of their bodies in relation to each other.

Their closeness in general.

In so many more ways than one.

She’s always like to flirt with Barbara, no matter their respective marital statuses.

Nothing ever truly inappropriate, of course, calling her hot mama here or lightly ribbing her about them being work wives there. And that was all fine and good until one day, after many, many years of them being the very best of friends, Barbara suddenly collected the punchline like a baseball bat to her gut.

Until one day, every touch and casual glance, every hon and other pet name lightly thrown her way, actually did something to her.

Set her eternal soul on fire for one thing.

Condemned her.

(Saved her.)

Condemned her.

“That word has an entirely different connotation, and you know it.”

“I mean, depends on how you’re using the word.”

“Melissa!” She groans, flushing, feeling nauseous, vaguely suspecting that she’s flirting back.

“Okay, fine, fine. I’ll stop being a cagacazzo—“ Melissa chortles obliviously and goes to get up, but before Barbara can capably stop herself, before morality can catch up to the rest of her usually well-ordered senses, she impulsively places her free hand on her best friend’s knee.

They both shiver violently upon first contact, stunned silent, both incredulous that she actually dared.

Melissa’s cheeks blanch and then just as immediately color, all the mirth draining from her face and becoming… well… Barbara doesn’t know.

(Barbara doesn’t want to admit the mirrored emotion—even to herself.)

(Especially to herself.)

“You don’t have to get up,” she croaks, withdrawing her hand as though burned, cupping the pill bottle she finally retrieved like it’s the only thing keeping her from kissing her colleague. Surely, there are other barriers, though.

Surely, there is her wonderful husband.

Surely, there is God.

“I was just… joking.”

“Me too,” Melissa says quickly, eyes averted. “I was just joking too.”

And they both laugh then because they’re both joking—obviously—a little too loudly to ever sound entirely sincere. Still, they grant each other the kindness of overlooking this inconvenient truth. Still, they laugh and unpleasantly laugh.

(That’s how this—whatever this is that exists between them—keeps going after all: this almost tango, this halfway song-and-unending-dance. This terrible thing. This beautiful thing. This unfathomable sin. This simultaneous grace.)

(They’re a chemical collision that keeps never, ever happening, and there’s primal relief in the fact. There’s unspeakable sadness too.)

“Here,” she says, untwisting the cap of her bottle and finally shaking an Advil into the palm of her hand. Extends it. An offering. A perfect opportunity to move on from the stickiness of the moment.

Melissa takes it. Her fingers scrape Barbara’s lifelines.

“Take a swig of my coffee,” she continues weakly, all her atoms thrilling at even that barest touch. “I don’t mind.”

“Thanks,” Melissa grunts, popping the pill into her mouth and hastily lifting the aforementioned drink to her lips. Her nose promptly screws up in disgust.

“Blegh. Too flippin’ sweet.”

An unsurprising criticism coming from this particular woman. Melissa usually takes hers black.

“It’s just French Vanilla creamer.”

“It’s a milkshake in a mug is what it is,” she shakes her head fondly. “Don’t how you flippin’ stand it, Barb.”

“Oh, well, believe it or not, I have my sundry vices too,” Barbara chuckles lightly. They both do. And it’s far more genuine this time, perhaps simply because it’s the kind of banter they’re more accustomed to. It's familiar territory, safe and solid ground. They won’t get themselves in trouble joking about their coffee preferences, and Barbara almost convinces that she doesn’t regret their capacity for discretion, their exercise of extraordinary and remarkably Christian restraint.

“You? Vices?” Melissa arches an amused brow. “Get outta here, Mrs. Barbara Howard, perfect woman of God.”

Barbara opens her mouth and then abruptly closes it, immediately wants to refute the point, needs for Melissa to know that faith and perfection aren’t necessarily intertwined, that she is as flawed as any other human on this God-blesséd earth.

But she stops herself; she disciplines her wayward tongue.

She’s spent decades upon unceasing decades constructing the meticulous reputation that her friend is proposing that she has achieved. And that gratifies her, of course—sure, yes, absolutely. Her lifelong project of embodying excellence beyond excellence has clearly been a quantifiable success.

But still, there is something in her that instinctively balks at Melissa elevating her to a lofty pedestal. She wants the whole world to believe that she is perfect but needs just one person—this person—to understand that it’s all just a well-executed and beautifully performed facade

She’s saved from trying to resolve this frankly unresolvable contradiction, though, by Melissa suddenly wincing again, her hand going to her hip as she shifts a little on the desk, and Barbara latches on to this microgesture and readymade excuse gladly. She leans forward, shoving her own thousands of invisible hurts away.

“You should have told me that your hip was bothering you, sweetheart,” she murmurs seriously, still flexing her fingers around the Advil bottle, resisting the urge to reach out and help her friend, to work her fingertips into the sore tissue there… discovering the plump softness… the forbidden fruit… of her rosy skin…

She briefly turns away, coughing into her own shoulder.

Ridiculous impulse.

Absurd.

“We could have gotten one of the Three Musketeers to shoulder an additional load.”

“Pssh,” Melissa rolls her eyes, “I don’t think Jacob could lift a log if the log was a two-by-four with the word log written on top of it.”

“Foul!"

“But I’m right,” the younger teacher grins.

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” she agrees as Melissa laughs again, all mischief, so playful and unapologetically loud. Barbara swats at her arm, always pretending to be the sanctimonious one between them.

A smile smuggles itself at the corner of her lips anyway.

“‘Sides,” Melissa eventually shrugs, “it was worth it to see the pipsqueak all happy.”

“Mm,” Barbara shakes her head fondly. “That Janine.”

She’s certainly a handful, that’s for sure—overeager and overzealous, clearly overcompensating for something that’s likely above Barbara’s thoroughly abysmal pay grade to ever fix. But even still, the young lady has a kind heart and an admirable passion for what she does. She’s good with her kids and tries hard to be better for them every day.

Those traits alone aren’t sure signs and predictors that she’s going to survive this Sisyphean hell of a public school system, of course, but they’re certainly not going to hurt her chances either.

After a year of having known her, Barbara likes her—not that she'll ever admit as much to her, though.

“A flippin’ mess.”

“Oh, beyond a shadow of an entire doubt.”

“Think she’ll last?” Melissa asks, which is a pretty remarkable question in and of itself. No new teacher has stayed long enough recently for either of them to bother caring. Their investment is hard won, fought for, far from easily earned.

They’ve both been endlessly burned in the past, or rather, more accurately still, they’ve mutually spent their lifetimes burning themselves trying to care for other people.

“If life has taught us one thing,” she starts thoughtfully, “it’s that good things rarely do…”

Before she can continue, though, Melissa cuts her off with a short laugh like a bark.

“Ha!” Her verdant eyes twinkle. “What about us old bats then?”

“Exceptions to the rule clearly.”

“Clearly,” the younger teacher mocks.

“Girlfriend!” She chides, laughing. “Let me finish.”

“Okay, okay, go on telling me about how shit the world is.”

“Vulgar,” Barbara shakes her head in a long-suffering manner, “and not where I was going with that sentence anyway. Good things rarely last, yes, but who but the good Lord ever truly knows? Perhaps Janine will surprise us in the end. Maybe Mr. Hill too.”

“Oh, look who’s bein’ all facetious now,” Melissa grins as she finally sidles off the desk, straightening up on the tiled floor with a thud and a slightly pained grunt. She towers over Barbara now, who’s still in her rolling chair. The skin of her leopard-print shirt stretches across all her delicious curves.

“At least it’s not the same thing as being naughty,” she mutters, glancing away as her friend seizes with laughter.

“Semantics, schemantics, Barb. We both sound like total lesbos sometimes, y’know.”

Barbara can't help herself—she splutters incoherently, accidentally dropping the Advil bottle she’s been fiddling with for the last five minutes. It rattles and comedically rolls somewhere far beneath her desk.

“W-what?!” She eventually gets out, now gripping the arms of her chair. “We don’t? I could never. Melissa! You and I—“

“God,” Melissa goes on, all her features alive with raucous delight, positively shit-eating. She taps her chin with one finger. “Come t’think of it. I’d make one hell of a good lesbian if I didn’t also like dudes—“

“Melissa! Be serious!”

“I am serious,” the second grade teacher laughs, not sounding particularly serious at all. “About who I am anyway. Don’t worry, hon. I know you play for a different team.”

But that last sentence, even if it’s a part of the joke—of this game of fluster-Barbara-Howard-senselessly that Melissa is expertly playing—suddenly veers into an earnest sadness that Barbara can’t quite unhear and her friend can’t just as quickly disguise.

“Shame,” Barbara mumbles without really intending to, but the word slips from her mouth before she can catch it and scold it for being reckless anyway.

“Shame,” Melissa agrees and tries another smile. It's an exhausted, little thing; it slumps like a body in the darks of her eyes.

“You would'a made a great one too.”

#barbara howard #melissa schemmenti #work wives #s: abbott elementary #abbottrw #reginianwrites #I am back on writing two old ladies pining for each other bullshit again <3

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blackacre13 · 2 years ago

Note

Debbie with blindfold and handcuffs plzzzzz

“Do you trust me?”

“Isn’t that a given?”

“Debs,” Lou scoffed, holding up the set of leather lined handcuffs in one hand and the blindfold in the other. “I’m the one holding the supplies. I ask the questions. You provide the answers.”

“None of those sentences were questions, baby.”

“Honey, if you decide to be a brat, that’s fine by me,” the blonde smirked. “But you’re just going to bring a world of frustration your way.” She glanced down at her gold watch, the smirk on her face only growing more devious. “Believe me, I have nowhere to be. Happy to drag this out allllllll night. What’s it gonna be, Ocean?”

Debbie pretended to zip her lips, offering her wrists out to her partner as Lou pretended to pout.

“Maybe I wanted some bratty Deb tonight.”

“You don’t want me to be good for you?” Debbie asked, batting her eyelashes. “Daddy?”

“Debssss,” Lou groaned, leaning forward to kiss Debbie softly, putting the toys on the bed so she could cradle Debbie’s face in her hands. “You have no idea what you do to me, honey.”

“I have somewhat of an idea,” the brunette whispered, hands dipping below the waistband of Lou’s pants and behind the fabric of her underwear as the blonde let out a hiss. “Just as I suspected. Dripping.”

“Debbie,” the blonde warned. “Hands.”

Debbie held her hands up, admitting defeat, but not before taking a moment to slide two of her fingers into her mouth as Lou watched her, unable to chide her, Debbie letting out a deep moan as she released them with a pop.

“Also as I suspected. Delicious.”

“Hands,” Lou repeated again, her firm voice wavering just slightly. “Now.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Debbie smiled, sticking her wrists out once more as Lou accepted them, tugging them towards her roughly before she hooked the handcuffs around them, snapping them closed with a click.

“Okay?” Lou whispered, kissing each wrist gently before looking up to meet Debbie’s eyes as she nodded.

“Okay.”

“Blindfold?” Lou raised the silky piece of fabric.

“Yes,” Debbie hissed, letting Lou tie the fabric in front of her eyes and knot it gentle but tight behind her head.

“Lay back for me,” Lou instructed, helping Debbie lay down on the bed, her hips already trying to roll up to find Lou and try to detect what she was up to. Lou prodded at her hips, directing them down. “Hips.”

“Please, baby,” Debbie whimpered, her thighs rubbing together as Lou leaned over her, the body heat building between them, Debbie hungry for her.

“Tell me what you want,” Lou murmured, leaning down like she was going to kiss Debbie, the brunette’s head lifting slightly to meet her, but Lou dodged at the last minute, dipping down towards Debbie’s heat, blowing air over her core before turning to her thigh and biting down. Hard.

“Tell me how bad you want me,” Lou hissed, nails raking down Debbie’s thighs as the brunette moaned.

“I want you, baby,” Debbie whined, legs moving frantically. “I need you.”

“Yeah?” Lou asked, running her fingers through Debbie’s heat as she squirmed. “Show me.”

“Show—“ Debbie cut off confused as Lou grinned. It was partially a ridiculous request knowing that Debbie had her hands bound and her eyes covered, but she was enjoying the seize of power and she knew Debbie was too.

“You’ll figure it out, love,” Lou shrugged. “If you need me so badly.”

Debbie didn’t need to be told twice as Lou felt her lover’s fingers climbing up her legs to her hips, feeling her out, before messily tugging her down against her using Lou’s shirt, her hands stuck together, and then Debbie’s legs were wrapping around, one of her still fully clothed thighs.

“I might need to move my hips a little this time,” Debbie whispered, rolling against Lou as she grinned against her thigh, the blonde letting out a string of curses at the thought of how wet Debbie was and how she was ruining her pants. She’d worry about the dry cleaning price of vintage slacks later. This was every bit worth it. “You feel so good like this, baby. You always fuck me so good.”

“Use me,” Lou growled, moving her thigh to match Debbie’s hips as she grinned up against her. Debbie didn’t know what to do with her hands, but Lou looped them over her own head letting Debbie’s arms halo her shoulders, the cool metal of the cuffs hitting against the back of her neck. “Get yourself off like this, Debbie. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“Baby,” Debbie panted, her hips moving faster as her rocking grew messier, Lou’s hands weaving into Debbie’s hair and tugging. “I want you. I want all of it. Your tongue. Your fingers. Fuck—I want your strap. Fucking me this.”

“I’ll give you all of it,” Lou promised, her thumb finding Debbie’s clit as she heard her breath bitch, starting to work it in lazy circles. “You’ll never know what I’m about to do. Wanting my strap and feeling my tongue. Wanting my tongue and feeling my fingers twisting inside you.”

“Fuck—Fuck I want that, baby.”

“I just need you to come for me,” Lou hissed. “Come all over daddy’s thigh and I’ll give you what you want.”

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hydrasshole · 2 years ago

Text

✨️TELL ME ABOUT YOUR OCS✨️ From @vincentmatthews

♡Name

Vanessa Ito

♡Nicknames

Van, V

♡Age

Twenty-seven

♡Pronouns

She/Her

♡Sexuality

Bisexual

♡Hair Color and style

Her natural hair is black but she’s constantly changing it. Currently, it’s a teal/green long bob with blunt bangs.

♡Eye Color

Naturally dark brown almost black but like her hair, Van tends to change it up pretty often. For the past year or so they’ve been white cyber eyes with pink rims.

♡Height

a whopping 5′1″/152cm

♡Body Type

Slender

♡Personality

Van is the type of person who loves to be the centre of attention. She has a big personality and is able to make friends with just about anyone, though those relationships are usually fleeting and in the moment. She is bright, bubbly, and loves to laugh, most of which is a defence mechanism to keep people at arm's length.

♡Tattoos

No tattoos

♡Piercings

She has her nose and ears pierced.

♡Any definable features such as: Birthmarks, Scars, Freckles, Beauty Marks, Accent when they talk, Lisp, Natural slurring of words, Walk with a subtle limp, ect.

A brightly coloured prosthetic arm which she lost as a child.

♡Hobbies

Singing, dancing, writing music, partying.

♡Gang/Occupation {Mox, Max Tac, etc}

In her early twenties, Van worked as a dancer on Jig-Jig street in order to support herself while trying to make it big in the rocker scene. Now that she's got a little more street cred, she's stopped working as a dancer and is making music full-time.

♡Do they smoke?

Most definitely. Not like a chimney but she goes through a couple a day.

♡Do they drink? Is so, what's their poison of choice?

Can probably drinks too much. Her poison of choice is whatever she can charm out of someone.

♡What do they usually wear on a normal day?

A normal day is going to be some tight shorts or comfortable pants, a sturdy pair of boots, a fun-coloured crop top and some sort of bomber jacket or vest, also in a bright, fun colour. She almost always shows a lot of skin, gotta show off that fashionware.

♡What do they wear when they "Get dressed up"? And what would be considered a "special occasion" to them {such as an "Oh they're gonna be there so I have to look my best." Or an "It's our anniversary".}

Probably something sleek and all-black with a nice pop of added colour in a coat. She always has to have some sort of colour on her.

♡What do they smell like? {For example: they smell like cinnamon flavored liquor, cigarettes, leather, and motor oil.}

Van is the kind of person who wants to be able to walk by someone and leave them going "whoa, what smells so good?". She changes it up a lot but she usually smells jasmine, orange blossom, and sandalwood mixed together is the usual for her.

♡How do they walk? Do they sway their hips? Do they walk with a sense of determination? Do they bounce as they walk? Etc.

Van sways her hips and definitely has a bounce to her step unless she's got places to be. Then her walk is straightforward and determined.

♡Are they more of an early bird or a night owl?

Night owl, for sure. She's a night life babe.

♡If you had to use one word to define them, what word would you use?

Bubbly

♡What words or catchphrases do they say that's unique to that character?

I'm not sure if she has one

♡Favorite Season

Summer

♡Favorite type of weather {Thunderstorms, sunny, etc}

Sunshine

♡Do they have someone they're with relationship-wise? If so, who?

Kind of. Van and Judy definitenly have something going on, it's just hard to let herself get close to someone again after losing Jackie.

♡Main Ship/Pairings

Judy

♡Side Pairings

A lil Van/River. Van/Takemura

♡How do they show affection to their loved one?

Van is definitely the kind of person who affectionately picks on the people she's closest with. For love languages, she definitely shows hers in acts of service.

♡How do they sit in a chair?

Like a goddamn goblin. Any which way- sideways, cross legged, upside down. She's constantly moving around.

♡How do they sit in a chair {uncomfortable version}

Perfectly still and straight, hands in her lap, feet together.

♡What do they wear to bed?

Most nights Van is falling into bed and passing out so it really just depends. If she's alone she might strip down to her underwear or throw some pajamas on but sometimes she passes out in whatever she was wearing for the day.

♡How do they usually sleep? {Side sleeper, back, fetal position, backwards, nest sleeper, blanket mountain, etc}

Fetal position, curled into a safe little ball.

♡How do they sleep in a place they don't know? {Can't due to anxiety, in small bursts of sleep that are short lived, holding themselves, etc}

Van can sleep basically everywhere. When she's somewhere new, if she isn't absolutely wasted, she's a light sleeper due to paranoia.

♡Do they have to have a form of "white noise" in order to sleep? {The sound of a fan, the sound of rain, the sound of a city, etc}

Growing up in Night City has made her pretty accustomed to the sound of it. Sleeping without the sound of the city is difficult for her.

♡What's a place they go to feel comfortable, that's their "spot" they always go when they're upset?

El Coyote Cojo has been the main spot since meeting Jackie. The Welles' are the closet thing Van's ever had to a family.

♡What do they do when they're nervous? {Fidget with jewelry, pick at nails, bite nails/lips, play with knife/zippo lighter, etc}

When Van is nervous her legs tend to bounce. If she's sitting, one will bounce incessantly and if she's standing, she'll bounce on the balls of her feet.

♡What is their "tell" for lying?

When she's lying, Van will start fidgeting with her jewelry.

♡What is their favorite color?

She loves then all but her favourite is pink and teal.

♡Favorite flower/plant

Cherry Blossoms.

♡Favorite sweet of choice

Pretty much all of them. She's a big sweets person.

♡Do they have any pets? If so, tell me about them

Van isn't a big animal person as she can barely take care of herself but since finding Nibbles, she's decided that she is, in fact, an animal person. Is Judy the one who feeds him most of the time? Yes.

♡If they could visit anywhere in the world, where would they go and why?

Van would love to go to Tokyo one day. About the only thing she knows about her family is that her father was born there and she would like to see where she came from. Maybe even find some relatives along the way.

♡What is their favorite comfort meal?

Van spent the first portion of her life only eating kibble as it was the only thing she could afford. The first time she ever ate anything but she was in her teens and it was noodles from a small shop just off Jig-Jig street. She still goes there all the time.

♡Do they have a food they hate?

K i b b l e

♡What is their favorite {non-alcoholic} drink?

Probably soda. Any flavour, any time.

♡What are their plans for the future {if they have any}?

Get as famous as she can before she ends up dying. Live the best life she can for the next six months. Maybe figure out how to not die.

♡What's a song that "fits" them?

Daisy by Ashnikko

♡Give me 5 facts/random bits of information about them

Van was originally a Cyberpunk Red character I never ended up playing.

During her time as a dancer on Jig-Jig street, she had a cybersnake installed in her throat for extra protection.

Losing Jackie was the first time Van allowed herself to grieve since her parents died. If soulmates exist, she's convinced that he'd be hers, whether that was simply platonic or something more, she'll never know now.

She used to really look up to Johnny Silverhand but now that he's like a disease in her head, she's over it.

Van's never been away from the pacific coast and she's barely been outside of Night City.

♡Give me their backstory {can be long, or brief.}

Here's the bullet points

Both of Van's parents worked for Arasaka when she was young.

They lived in a nice corpo apartment provided by the company.

Her father was Sota Ito.

Her mother was Yui Ito.

Her brother is Soichi Ito.

She was born Momoko Ito.

When Van was 3 her parents were killed by the very company they worked for, resulting in her life being torn to shreds.

Her brother Soichi, who was only 13 at the time, took it upon himself to take care of them.

He changed their names out of fear Arasaka might come for the two of them, too. Van only has memories of being called Vanessa.

He got odd jobs for cash where he could, mostly running various things for gangs.

As she got older, Van did the same thing. Running the streets of Night City with a small group of other kids like her.

When she was 15 her brother revealed to her that he got a good corpo job.

Shortly after he told her about the job, she found out it was for Arasaka.

The two had an explosive fight which resulted in nasty accusations and hurt feelings. Over the years since they've tried to reconnect but as Soichi continues up the ranks and Arasaka, Van can't find it in herself to forgive him.

After finding out about her brothers job, Van took to music like any brooding teen would.

Johnny Silverhand being her favourite artist as both his music and his attempt to take Arasaka down were inspiring to her.

She worked her butt off to get better, writing songs, learning to play instruments.

To sustain herself but still have the freedom to do shows at whatever seedy bar would take her, Van started dancing at various bars on Jig-Jig street.

♡Free Space! Give me any sort of extra information about them you'd like to share

Hope you enjoyed this and feel free to attach any images/aesthetics that represents them💕

#cyberpunk 2077 #fem v #oc: van #about: van

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babs-babbles · 2 years ago

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the kda girls look absolutely impeccable!! how did you decide the way you drew each girl/their outfits? your art is so unique with them, you really bring them to life (if that makes sense)

Thank you! Half of it is me taking inspo from other kda artists, and as I got to know them as characters I started drawing them the way I saw them. A lot of their looks and outfits are based off of their personalities and notes I took from official artworks

Ahri - she's a leader, soft but knows when to take charge and guide her group. I went for a lighter blonde with her hair and less vibrant pink (to show time has passed since the 'MORE' era) and her whiskers are a more pink tone in the kdaverse than her runterra red. Kept her eyes gold at all times and her pupils are slits, but are often dilated. Fashion wise I noticed she might not like getting overheated/shows a lot of skin, so it's easy to pick fits for her. Pinks, nudes, denim, satin, fitted with a hint of sparkle and a touch of classy, but comfortable all around

Evelynn - second in command, dark and mysterious. She's expressive and creative (in her own way) with a "look at me" aura. I immediately locked into @linaisbluepancake version of Evelynn and never looked back. I hc Eve as black/afro Latina. Her freckles were from a quick zoom in on her MORE splash art, I just doubled how many she had. With hair I went more into a lavender tone thank pink, and I actually like the idea of her having a short curly pixie cut, but she changes it in public. Physical build I went for pear shaped(more hips n booty) instead of hourglass and gave my gal a tummy. Fashion is dark colors, leather, and latex. Lingerie is often worn as clothes (ex. bra=shirt) she prefers skirts and leggings to actual pants (anything that hugs her hips) and big jackets/blazers

Kai'sa - idk why, but I always saw Kai'sa with tan skin, and her accent just really sealed the deal she'd be from South Africa. I think she's really just that one ambiguously mixed kid in school, it suits her to me. Made her taller than in lore (she reaches nearly 6 ft instead of 5'6) and musclesss. Also gave her a more slanted nose, and for me her prime asset is them big ol peepers. Makes the deer nickname have a more obvious origin. Fashion taste is simple, easy to move around in fabrics and crop tops. She's like a more sporty vers. of Eve. Darker colors, turtlenecks, workout clothes, hardly ever anything too tight and those shoulders must be seen

Finally Akali - I heavily prefer Akali's tanned skin in both runterra lore and her pop/stars era. I think she dyes her hair often, and shaves her sides/has an undercut here n there. She's got scars mostly on her upper body and arms, and if you squint there's freckles there. Deep red brown eyes and small triangular eyebrows. Fashion style is more tomboyish. Having a taste for street wear(bay area style), tech wear, easy to throw on clothes. Likes oversized anything, and has an eye for color blocking in her looks. Often seen in orange, reds, off whites, black and blues and loves accessories

Sorry if that's a lot! I just love doing deep dives into more than just drawing them, there's so much that comes with drawing the girls that I see day to day

#i cpuld talk abou them for hours #sorry if this is overwhelming i got excited #canyou tell who my favorites are just from reading this #kda #ramble jambles

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hyperiontiles-co-uk · 16 days ago

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Belt It Out: How to Choose the Right Belt for Any Outfit

When it comes to accessories, a belt is one of the most versatile and essential pieces in any wardrobe. It’s not just a functional item; it’s a statement-making accessory that can elevate your outfit instantly. However, choosing the right belt can sometimes be a bit tricky. The key lies in knowing how to select a belt that not only fits your waist but also complements your personal style, the occasion, and the overall look you're going for. Let’s dive into the art of choosing the perfect belt for any outfit.

1. Consider the Occasion

The first step in selecting the right belt is to consider where you're wearing it. A belt can play different roles depending on the setting:

- Casual Outfits: For everyday wear, choose a belt that’s comfortable and understated. Leather or woven belts with simple buckles work perfectly for casual looks. They add structure to your jeans or chinos without drawing too much attention.

- Work or Business Attire: When dressing for the office, opt for sleek, polished belts in neutral colors like black, brown, or navy. A leather belt with a simple, elegant buckle is the ideal choice for pairing with suits or dress pants. Avoid overly large or ornate buckles, as they can clash with the formal tone.

- Evening Wear: For a night out or formal occasions, a statement belt can enhance your outfit. Look for metallic finishes, embellished belts, or those with intricate designs. A chic, slim belt can cinch your waist and elevate a dress or jumpsuit, giving your ensemble a polished, elegant touch.

2. Match the Belt to Your Clothing

Your belt should complement the colors and textures of your outfit. Here are a few general tips:

- Neutral Colors: Black, brown, and tan belts are incredibly versatile and can be paired with most clothing items. They work well with both casual and formal outfits, making them a wardrobe staple.

- Statement Pieces: If you’re feeling bold, choose a belt that stands out with color or design. A brightly colored belt can add a fun pop to a neutral outfit, while a patterned or textured belt (such as snake print or studded designs) can serve as the focal point of a more minimalistic look.

- Materials Matter: Leather belts are timeless and work with almost anything, but fabric, woven, or canvas belts bring a more relaxed, casual vibe. Pair fabric belts with lighter fabrics like linen or cotton for a laid-back look, while leather belts exude sophistication and work well with structured pieces like blazers or tailored trousers.

3. Pay Attention to Fit and Comfort

A belt should fit comfortably around your waist without being too tight or too loose. Here’s how to ensure the right fit:

- Waist Measurement: Your belt should fit snugly around your waist or hips depending on where you wear it. When choosing a belt, go for one that’s about 2 inches longer than your waist size to allow room for adjustment. It’s better to have a belt that’s slightly longer than too short.

- Belt Width: The width of the belt plays a huge role in how it complements your outfit. Narrow belts are great for sleek, minimalistic outfits, while wider belts (typically 1.5 inches or more) are better suited for casual or statement-making looks. For formal wear, a thinner belt is often preferred.

- Comfort: While aesthetics are important, comfort should never be compromised. Make sure the belt is adjustable and provides enough room to move without being too restrictive.

4. Buckle Style: Keep It Simple or Bold?

The buckle can make or break the belt. Here are some things to consider:

- Classic Buckle: The classic belt buckle is simple, functional, and timeless. It’s a safe bet for almost any occasion, from business to casual. If you’re unsure, a belt with a small, metal buckle in silver or gold will never fail you.

- Statement Buckle: If you want to make a statement, go for a belt with a large, ornate buckle. This works especially well with casual or boho outfits where you want the belt to stand out as a feature. These belts can add drama and personality to simple outfits.

- Unique or Vintage Buckles: For those looking for something different, a belt with a vintage or unique buckle can be an eye-catching addition to your wardrobe. These often work best with casual, laid-back outfits that benefit from a touch of individuality.

5. Balance Proportions

When choosing a belt, balance the proportions of your outfit. A wide belt can emphasize curves and define your waistline, while a thinner belt works well for more subtle looks or when you're layering pieces. Consider the overall silhouette of your outfit—if you're wearing a voluminous top or dress, a wide belt will help to define your waist. On the other hand, a skinny belt works well with structured or more streamlined clothing.

6. Play with Trends

Belts, like any fashion accessory, come with trends, and incorporating them can be a fun way to update your look. Currently, oversized belts, western-inspired styles, and double-buckle designs are making waves. These modern twists on classic styles add a contemporary edge to outfits, whether you're wearing dresses, skirts, or pants.

Conclusion

Choosing the right belt for your outfit is all about understanding the occasion, pairing it with the right materials and colors, and ensuring comfort and fit. Whether you’re dressing for a casual day out, a formal business meeting, or a night of elegance, the right belt can pull your entire look together. A belt isn’t just an accessory; it’s an essential style tool that enhances your outfit and makes a powerful fashion statement. So, belt it out with confidence and let this accessory take your style to the next level!

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kpfamco · 2 years ago

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What To Look For While Buying Women’s Trendy Dresses?

There's nothing more stylish than a woman who knows how to accessorize. Dresses are one of the easiest ways to add a pop of color and style to your look, but they're also a great way to make sure that you don't leave any room for error when it comes to fashion. That's why we've compiled this guide on how to accessorize your dresses—from belts, to shoes, to jewelry—and come out looking amazing every time.

Dress Belts

Dress belts are the perfect way to add some serious edge and flair to any outfit. They can be worn with jeans or with skirts and dresses alike, so they're a great way to make sure that your outfit doesn't feel too boring or too plain. Dress belts are also great because they keep the waistline of your dress from falling down around your hips when you bend over (which is something that many women experience when wearing tight-fitting pants or skirts). This can make it feel like your entire body is falling apart at the seams! Dress belts can help alleviate some of those

Women’s trendy dresses

They are versatile, easy to wear and can be worn in many occasions. But the question is how to accessorize your dress? That’s where belt comes in. Belt is an accessory which can be used to accentuate your outfit and make it more fashionable.

Different kinds of belts are available in the market these days. These include:

Simple Belts: These are made from simple materials like leather, cotton and elastic etc., which can easily be matched with any kind of dress that you have on.

Fashionable Belts: These are made from high quality fabrics like silk satin, velvet and leather etc., which give a sophisticated look to your outfit.

Stylish Belts: These are available in different styles like square buckle or round buckle etc., which can give a unique look to your outfit by adding some style to it.

Dress belts for women are a great way to add a little bit of style and personality to your wardrobe. We have a variety of styles, materials, and colors to choose from, so you can find the perfect belt for you.

#Women’s Trendy Dresses #trendy dresses #biker jacket #women's sweaters on sale #leather biker jacket #women's cropped jacket

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years ago

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s.o.s, m | knj

pairing(s): namjoon x reader

summary: It's two in the morning and Kim Namjoon is at your doorstep, asking you to fuck. In a fuckbuddies way, because, as a wise man once said, "I may not know love, but I know snacks." Well, you do agree with this statement. Let's go with the flow!

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; smut (fem reader, slight D/s dynamics, blowjob, cowgirl); friends-with-benefits and feels through fucking (classic for me, haha, maybe I fell in love with him while writing it, oops)

happy birthday, Kim Namjoon <3 #happyRMday

now playing – pado by bibi

“Hey!”

“Shit, Namjoon, are you trying to break my door down at two in the morning or what? What’s with you? Why didn’t you just type in the lock?”

Kim Namjoon’s large frame and big brown eyes glanced at the silver-blue electronic number pad on your apartment door. “Oh. Right. I forgot you had that now.”

“I have it because you keep losing my key!”

He rubbed the back of his now blond head sheepishly. He must have dyed it recently because it had been dark brown last week. It was shorter than before, trimmed at the sides and longer at the top. Usually it was styled, but right now it was messy and puffy like he had been running across the city on those long legs of his or, more likely, windblown from riding his bicycle on his way here.

Namjoon didn’t drive. He said it was to maintain world peace.

“Do you wanna fuck?” he asked you breathlessly.

You looked down at your massive black sleep shirt that made you look like a lump of fabric, but, well, he picked today to pop the question and what were you gonna do? Say no?

You snapped back up, smacking your finger on your left wrist. “It’s two in the morning!”

“One forty-five, yeah,” Namjoon agreed, glancing at his brown leather-banded, white-faced watch. Simple and sleek. You noticed he had a few colorful string-woven bracelets on his wrists, likely handmade by someone in the various rural villages Namjoon liked to visit in his spare time. He dropped his arm and smiled brilliantly at you with those dimpled cheeks.

“I was thinking about you. You know, that habit you do when you run your hand through your hair and flick your wrist at the end, elegantly spreading your fingers out. Super sexy.”

You felt your ears heat. “Hahah… what?”

He scratched his head and stuck his hands in his loose black pants, draping his warm gray t-shirt over his wrists. Lowered his chin and flickered his eyes to you, awkward half-smile on those full lips.

Oh.

Shit.

“D… Don’t look at me like that,” you muttered, backing up and shifting your eyes. “You always do that.”

“Do what?” Namjoon chirped, stepping inside and out of his brown sandals.

“Give me those puppy eyes even though you’re built like a fucking tank.”

“I snore like one too.”

“Yeah, I know.”

But none of those things really mattered because your arm was snaking up, your other hand slapping the door closed, looking down until you couldn’t look down anymore, lifting your head to playful dark brown orbs and a dimpled smile, already leaning down, his scent of warm cotton and faint florals washing over you, and then his lips touched yours and it was over.

You could say no, you could, but you never really wanted to.

Namjoon wasn’t being rude showing up so late. After all, you had already told him it was one of your fantasies, a late-night rendezvous, a bit of unexpected expected fun. Namjoon was willing to help, a game of ping-pong between casual, sometimes lovers, both too busy and scatterbrained at this point in life to commit to anything, but that worked for you and for him, or at least that’s what you told him and what he told you, his large hands now encircling your back, fingertips pressed into the thin fabric, sighing into your mouth, rhythm of those long fingers dancing up, up, sinking into your hair, tangling himself in it, nibbling at your lower lip.

“I just love touching your hair,” that deep, deep voice whispered to your lips, eyes still closed, smirking as the tip of your tongue darted out, playing with him as he spoke. “And I like messing it up a little.”

“A little? You like messing it up a lot.”

Namjoon curled his fingers inward and pulled back, your head following automatically, grinning with you as he opened his eyes, devious even with the dimples.

“Okay, yeah, you’re right.”

It wasn’t fun if it wasn’t with him.

You raised your hand and spread your fingers out, slowly running your nails up and then down his chest, smirking back at him, your tongue peeking out between your teeth.

Namjoon once said to you, let’s just go with the flow, ride the wave.

He sucked in a breath right now and pulled you close, hands letting go of your hair as he captured your lips again, deep, ravenous kisses that took your breath away, such wonderful lips that loved to travel across your body and wander that wonderland, his hands already reaching for the hem of your shirt, bunching it up as he stumbled back into your apartment, dragging you with him, you riding the wave of his passion, dragging his shirt up with yours, tossing them aside, body to body, exploring lips on that warm skin and muscular chest.

Namjoon also said things like, I may not know love, but I know snacks, so, yeah, he was always poetic like that. Full of wisdom and weirdness, arguably the best combination one could have when struggling through this nonsensical world.

You pushed him down on the bed, kissing all that tan skin, running your nails down his shoulders, walking down his defined biceps finger by finger, digging in a little harder, pairing it with kisses and drawing stars on his pecs with your saliva, making him smile and flash those dimples.

“Like that?” you teased, drawing back a little so he could watch the mastery of your tongue at work.

“You know me,” Namjoon chuckled, the sound radiating from his chest to your mouth, sending ripples through your spine. “I like cute things with a little pinch.”

“Like those tiny beach crabs?”

Now he actually laughed, that throaty, booming laugh of his, nodding with affirmation.

You sometimes wondered when the waves would stop and roll out, sometimes wondered if the tide of Kim Namjoon would go low and leave you behind, but maybe it was the moon or something, cosmic threads that sent him rushing back to your beach, bright and sparkling, always catching the light and looking good from every angle.

“Fuck, I always forget you’re huge.”

“I am not huge. You are being dramatic.”

“Dramatically sucking your dick.”

You knew how to take his breath away, how to make him gasp and his hand fly to your head, groaning as he pushed you down, your throat closing around his rapidly swelling length, tongue all over in the small window you had to wetly caress every contour and vein, bobbing your head in time with his gentle nudges, waiting for you and your jaw to adjust before thrusting a little harder, a little rougher, choppy waves and lost breath. His scent filled your nose, his toned hips in your hands, digging your nails into that muscle, inhaling and drowning in the feeling, pressing him between tongue and roof of your mouth, feeling the head hitting your throat, so you tightened your muscles.

Namjoon moaned your name, brown orbs turning darker from dilated pupils.

It filled your ears and soaked into your chest, your heart pumping faster, beating harder, drawn to the sound like a sailor to a siren.

You took him deeper, pulsing around the head, sticking your tongue out a little to lap at his balls collected in your hands.

“A-Ah, fuck… You’re always so, so good… always making me think of you…”

You watched his eyes close, his hand gripping your hair, not unkind, simply adding a little bit of force, but you were in control of the pace, riding the wave, filling your mouth with his hardness over and over, closing your own eyes, small tears collecting at the corners, unable to breathe, but you already knew you were diving and you practiced for this, holding your breath and bobbing your head fast and tight, your fingernails clawing at his sides just the way he liked, a little neediness, a little desperation, maybe an act or maybe not, honestly hard to tell with how often you had blown him, so maybe it was part of you now, just like how sometimes you would be alone and smell his scent even though Namjoon wasn’t there at all, maybe real but probably an olfactory memory, strange that it would happen just like that, a wave of warm cotton and faint florals that you drank in small trickles right now, your mouth occupied with his thick length, listening to the sloppy, wet sound of his cock being swallowed over and over again by your suffocating mouth, saliva sliding over his balls and onto your chin.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, fuck!”

Pushing you down, forcing you to deep dive, swallowing on instinct, clamping your lips around his jerking cock with every gulp of gushing cum, the strong salty taste lingering in the back of your tongue as your throat was stuffed with the swollen head. Namjoon shuddered deeply, resonating pleasure that drifted down his torso and through your fingertips. You lapped up anything you missed, sucking it off and Namjoon hissed at the sensitivity, tugging at your hair sharply.

You hummed and retreated a little, breathing again, licking the underside of the tip, wiggling your tongue over the slit and around head, opening your eyes to Namjoon’s panting smile.

“You want me to punish you or what?”

Nah, you wanted to ride the wave, but this particular wave was pretty fucking big.

“Oooh, fuck…!”

Namjoon raised his arms and grabbed your pillows, thrusting his hips up into your pussy after you had lowered halfway. The condom wrapper flew off the bed, probably to be found in some random place in your room tomorrow morning.

A later you problem.

Hands on his chest, sinking down, gasping for breath at the forced stretch at his girth, but it was nicer that way, wet and getting wetter, spreading your knees and arching your back, your hair falling down your shoulders, rolling your body to smack down onto his crotch, fuck, so hard and so full, starting a rough, choppy rhythm because Namjoon was deliberately not letting you set up a reasonable pace and kept thrusting up a little too fast, a little too hard, hot moans tumbling out of your mouth, feeling the crashing pleasure try to overtake you, drawing your knees back in to feel all of him, your palms sliding up, grasping those strong shoulders, lowering your head to speak to those sultry brown orbs reflecting your open mouth and half-lidded gaze.

“Namjoon… please, oh, f-fuck… if you’re gonna be like this, j-just fuck me…!”

He grinned, dimples on display.

“Anything for you.”

Mayday, mayday, you needed to be saved from that teasing smile and those words.

His hands fitted to your shaking hips and held you up easily, lifting his hips up at a deep, hard pace, emphasis on strength and less on speed, the muscles of his arms tense and locked to keep you above him as he slammed his hard cock into your pussy.

“Ah, yes, yes, right there, Namjoon, yes…”

You could go deeper so you did, slapping your hips down too and making Namjoon grin under you. Shit, something about those round cheeks and bright smile while he was railing you practically to heaven was doing something to you, washing out your senses and giving you no time to think, squeezing him inside you and feeling him twitch back, something so sexy about how he could do that even while fucking you, and you saw him suck in a breath, witnessing your effect on him, his hold becoming tighter, his dark lashes lowering, hooded eyes and locking with your gaze.

Drowning in the pleasure with you.

“Come on, you want it, right?” he panted under you, voice so deep it felt like you were underwater, your skin vibrating with the seductiveness of his tone and the depth of his sound mixing with the harsh slaps of skin to skin, wet and wonderful. “Show me you want it, give it to me.”

You couldn’t say no, already tightening your core and smacking down on him harder before he could even finish speaking, the ecstasy shooting up your spine and pouring all over your scalp and mind, letting go, pitched cries and blissful moans, Namjoon moaning with you, your name on his lips and filling up your bedroom, clutching his shoulders and staring into his eyes, breathing in warm cotton and faint florals, cast away into a wild paradise.

You clenched around him and gasped, a powerful jolt rocking through you, surprised at the sudden squelch but then you felt the overwhelming rush barreling through you, sweeping you into pulsing pleasure, one of your hands losing grip and grabbing onto the pillow beside Namjoon’s head, his heavy breath and your exhaled name blowing over on your prickling skin, realizing you were accidentally closer than usual because your hand slipped, his hands tightly wrapped around your waist and slamming you down onto his crotch, groaning and tipping his head back, his eyes closing, Adam’s apple prominent against his flexed neck.

If possible, suddenly you could breathe even less.

Your pussy throbbed around his twitching cock, his orgasm spurting into the condom and your juices soaking his skin with each flinch of the aftermath, wave after wave crashing into you, your arms trembling to hold yourself up so you could absorb it all – him, the dwindling pleasure, the moment when his eyes opened, your name drifting out of those lips in a lustful haze.

“I should… go back to mine, huh…” he wheezed, chuckling slightly. “Otherwise, I’m going to snore too loud and you’re not going to be able to sleep…”

You slid down, closer, closer, seeing the mole underneath his lower lip with his rueful smile. His fingers were drawing circles on your hips.

“I bought earplugs.”

You silenced his laugh with a kiss.

masterpost

#namjoon x reader #bts smut #namjoon smut #namjoon x you #kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x you

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avintagekiss24 · 4 years ago

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—you can pretend you don’t miss me; bucky barnes

pairing: tfatws!bucky barnes x black!reader

word count: 4049

warnings: 18+ ONLY, knife kink, vaginal fingering, orgasm denial, tiny bit of blood, attempted murder

challenge: @cockslut-padalecki a decade under the influence “what if I can’t forget you? I’ll burn your name into my throat”

request: bucky barnes + “i have a feeling i’m gonna get lucky tonight” + orgasm denial

author note: surprise! it didn’t take me two months to write something sjsksjs please enjoy fic #3 of my 5/5.5k follower celebration! also another quick congrats to lisa for hitting 10k!!

inspired by this art ; gif by @zacharylevis ; line divider by @firefly-graphics ; title inspired by billie eilish bitches broken hearts

The taste of bourbon and cigarettes is on his lips and tongue as he licks into your mouth. He moans into you, fingers digging into the meat of your thigh as he hooks your leg right around his waist. Your back is up against the heavy door of his apartment, fingers in soft brown hair, wet lips smacking and sucking, teeth nibbling on his swollen, red bottom lip. He laughs, relaxing into your kiss and lips and teeth as he anchors your weight in his metal hand, flesh hand rummaging in his almost too tight black jeans for his door key.

There’s a smirk on your face as you pull away from him. Your lips are still touching. Foreheads resting on one another's. Eyes a little shy, only connecting for fractions of seconds before they’re on the floor or a pair of lips. The jingle of keys fills the hallway, then the thunk of one as it pushes into the slot and stops hard against the rusted metal of the lock. The deadbolt slaps back into the door and with a push of his foot, and a little help from your weight being pinned against it, the swollen door scrapes against the frame as it pops open, swinging back into the wall.

Bucky slips his hands down your sides, grips your hips tight as he starts to back you inside. They stay there, those hands, as his eyes bounce back and forth between yours and dip down to your mouth where he licks his lips and catches his bottom lip between his teeth, like he’s fantasizing about wanting to feel them again. A metal hand cups your face, his palm warm as he sweeps his thumb along your cheek.

His tongue sneaks out just before your lips meet again to tease the roof of your mouth before he grabs your top lip between his. You both inhale deep, breathing each other in, a concoction of soft and sweet and smoke and warmth.

You’re not sure who moves first, whether Bucky is pushing or you’re pulling— probably a little of both— but you’re inside of his apartment before you know it. The door slams shut. Your leather jacket slips off your shoulders and hits the hardwood floor as you back further inside.

Fingers and hands are everywhere. Yanking at shirts, popping buttons, pulling zippers as lips get more desperate. You back into a set of bar stools, knocking them around just a little as you stumble and catch yourself, throwing your head back as laughter spills from you. Bucky pushes out a breath and a small laugh while he eyes you all hungry like as he pulls at his boots.

You tease him a little, putting those feminine wiles to good use— tilt your head, twist your hair around your fingers, push your tits forward. With your shirt crumpled on the floor, the titanium bars pushed through your nipples catch the soft pink, blue, and purple lights of the neon signs pouring in through the kitchen windows through the sheer mesh bralette covering your chest.

Bucky looks a mess. Hair all over his head, pants open— the band of his Hugo Boss boxers peeking out— plain black t-shirt now in a rumpled pile on the floor. His footsteps heavy as he stalks towards you. He stops short, wraps black and gold fingers around your wrist and yanks, collecting you again to crush your soft body against his hard one.

You tilt your head up towards him, eyes turning to slits, lips brushing against his as manicured fingertips push just inside his jeans. Soft tips sweep over a rigid cock, the size making a sly smile curl onto your face. This one is full of surprises.

“Well well,” you purr, kissing him quick, wet and loud, never taking your eyes off him, “I have a feeling I’m gonna get lucky tonight.”

A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest, a breath pushing out through his nose as a lopsided grin paints his handsome face, “Aren’t you a smart girl.”

You curl your fingers around his neck, digging the tips into his messy hair and draw him in— dragging the wet velvet of your tongue over his mouth real slow, watching as his eyes close, “You, bed,” you instruct, “Me, bathroom.”

Footsteps fill the quiet, surprisingly lived-in apartment, the clicks of your heels and his heavy thumps as he pulls you towards the bed. He just points off to his left as he falls onto the mattress, resting a leaden head on a wide palm as he settles in. Eyes blinking at you slow as you disappear behind a white door.

The bathroom is immaculate. White. Sterile. Nothing out of place— very military of him. You undress slowly, removing your shoes one by one before moving on to your jeans, leaving you in nothing but a see through bra, waist high panties— and a black leather ankle holster housing your six inch, hand crafted, butterfly knife.

You lift your foot, place it on the white countertop and slip the blade from the holster before carefully, quietly undoing the straps. Taking a deep breath, you stand up a little straighter, roll your neck and shoulders as you stare back at your reflection. The pony tail comes down, silky hair falling over your shoulders and down your back— best fifteen hundred bucks you’ve ever spent on yourself.

Gotta look good on the day you finally get to kill the Winter Soldier.

With a soft flick of your wrist, the blade flips out and you can’t help but run a manicured finger over the edge, pressing the sharp point into the pad. You find yourself in the mirror again and tilt your head a little as your brain goes a little empty— except for maybe one thought.

You wanna fuck him. You’ve earned it, and regrettably so, you find Bucky Barnes sort of interesting. Funny. Engaging when prodded a bit but still somehow deadpan and aloof.

His huge cock doesn’t help matters either.

You sigh, oh well.

The door clicks as you open it and pass through. You keep your hands behind your back as your body softens— sinks into itself a little. Hair falls in your face as you feign shyness, batting big, soft brown eyes and sinking your teeth into an ample bottom lip.

Bucky took the time to get completely naked. Hard cock gripped in his flesh palm, slow drags from the base to the glistening tip.

God, you really kinda wish you could fuck this man.

“Come ‘ere.”

An outstretched metal hand accompanies the gentle beckoning. You move soft, a small sound of your feet sinking into the carpet before you reach out with your empty hand and slide it into warm metal, using the sturdy grip to hoist yourself up and over his stomach.

His hands find your hips— big, warm, manly hands. They slip upwards just a bit to grip the soft of your sides. Move down again for thick fingers to graze over your ass and tickle the backs of your naked thighs. Still, you palm the handle of your knife tight and high, in the small of your back, as you use your free hand to push the dark strands of hair out of your face.

Bucky’s eyes meet yours when his fingers push between your parted legs, finding a wet spot in those mesh panties. You inhale deep, blinking back at him as his fingers keep a sweet little rhythm back and forth against your cunt. Hips defy your brain and push forward into those fingers— wanting just a little more.

Maybe you can wait… maybe until after...

You lean forward before your brain can finish stringing the words together— you have to or you’d lose all your nerve and give into that weak devil telling you to taste the sin. Let him spread you open until it hurts. Your mouth finds his hot and swollen and you kiss him hard, so hard he groans into it. You pull back just enough to lick his mouth again, eyes bouncing between his.

“What’re you waitin’ for, sweetheart? You need more of an invitation than this?” Bucky asks low and slow, pushing his cock right into your ass as his fingers creep inside your panties.

You smile, real nice and sweet before swooping the arm from behind your back to push the knife into his neck, “Oh nothing, baby,” you purr, “Just waiting for the right time to kill you is all.”

You lean back a little to see his face, tipping your head to the side. He’s pretty calm for a guy who’s minutes away from bleeding out on his own bed— but he is an assassin. Not much can shake him— should shake him.

Bucky blinks slow at you, hands coming to rest by his sides. His eyes don’t widen, pupils don’t dilate. Steady breathing stays just the same— he doesn’t even shift uncomfortably. Just blinks back at you. Slow. Easy. Without a fucking care in the goddamn world.

An angry heat blooms across your skin at his nonchalance as the seconds tick by. Your chest starts to rise and fall a little harder. Your eyes start to bounce between his as you suck your teeth in indignation, “You don’t remember me, do you?”

A blink is all you get.

“Of course you don’t,” you hiss, “Why would you? I was just one of many in the wrong place at the wrong time, right?” Your grip on the handle of the knife tightens as you push it harder against his skin— this time he swallows, “Who cares how many innocent lives you’ve destroyed as long as you got what you wanted.”

He still doesn’t say a word, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react. Just stares up at you as you crack, laughing angrily as you take his silence mockingly, “Well, I couldn’t fuckin’ forget you. Eight years. Eight years of living in absolute terror that you’d come back for me.” You’re seething now, eyes wild, breath coming harder and faster than the one before it, “Constantly looking over my shoulder, jumping at every bark of a dog and clink of keys and slam of a car door outside my apartment— do you know how it feels to live like that? Huh? Expecting to die every second of every hour of every goddamn day?”

Another silence drops over the room and it’s just the two of you staring at each other. You’re not even sure why he isn’t fighting back— why he’s just lying there and then it hits you, like a ton of bricks.

Of course he knows what it’s like to live like this. He’s used to it.

A trickle of blood slips down the side of his neck, the singular plop staining the white sheets below, “I’ve never thought about after— once you’re dead. What if I can’t forget you? I’ve spent so long hating you— it’s, it’s like by killing you, I’ll burn your name into my throat, you know? You’ll always just,” you tilt your head, digging the knife in a little harder, “Be there. With me always.”

The funniest thing happens as soon as the words slip through your teeth. His lips start to twitch. Curl into a smile— one where those pearly whites are on display— and then he’s laughing. Like someone just told a fucking joke.

It makes you recoil. Makes you squint and has your face twist in confusion, lips separating as a heavy breath passes through.

“Well,” he finally purrs, the laughter rumbling through his chest dying down, “Go ‘head, honey.”

When you hesitate, he pushes his chin forward, arch’s his head back to put his neck on full display, “Come on, baby. Don’t get my hopes up and not follow through.”

“You’re insane.” You hiss.

He leans up a little, another smile curling onto his lips, “In this business, you gotta be.”

The words stick in air like glue as he settles back into the pillow below his head, blue eyes twinkling underneath the soft neon lights pouring in through the windows.

He’s fucking with you. Just do it. The words echo, knocking around your brain as you stare down at him, blade still shoved into the crease of his neck. Another drop of blood plops onto the sheets below. Your lip snarls slightly, eyes narrowing as heat flashes across your skin again. He’s mocking you. After everything he’s done, all the pain— the fear.

You inhale deep, grip the handle so hard your nails dig into your palm and instinct takes over. The hatred, the built up aggression and vitriol guiding your hand, about to slash that pretty thick neck wide open. You are more than ready to see a deep red stain white sheets and blue eyes lose all of the life he’s built into them and fade away into nothingness. Just when you’re about to make your eight year long dream come true, it all flashes before your eyes.

Within a blink— half of a blink— you're off his lap, slammed up against the wall opposite the bed, warm flesh hand around your throat. You gasp hard, nearly choking on the air you can’t grab as you start to struggle, slapping at his face before swinging the knife wildly.

Bucky catches your arm with ease, squeezing your hand until you’re grunting and hissing in pain, grip relaxing around the metal. You blink again, and your knife is now pressed against your throat as you growl, struggling to no avail.

“You’re lucky baby,” he mutters, “Nobody survives that long while holding a knife to my throat.” He kisses you hard, digging his teeth into your bottom lip to drag it back with him when he pulls away, “You’re a cutie tho, so, you get a little reprieve.”

He leans back in real close, eyes roaming along your face as his head tilts, breathing easy. Staring back at him, lip curling again as you huff hard, angry breaths beating out of your nose. But your hands have come to rest on his arms. You can feel the blood coursing through the vein that’s popped out right down the center of his bicep. Your fingers flex around metal and muscle, goosebumps rising on your skin as the cool air conditioning tickles hot skin.

“Of course I remember you,” he whispers after a long time— too long, “I remember each and every face of the last seventy years,” his eyes bounce between yours, “I knew exactly who you were as soon as you popped up on that stupid dating app.”

Another sharp influx of air squeezes out of your throat when he drags the tip of your knife underneath your chin, down the length of your throat, down your chest. Slips it along your stomach before pushing it into the mesh that covers your chest. A flick of his wrist and you’re bare, the thin material giving way to the blade.

Your chest heaves, eyes wide, lips parting as the tip of that blade scrapes along your skin— right between your tits. Brown eyes drop to his red, wet lips quick, then shoot back to focus on his piercing blues.

“I wasn’t sure at first what you wanted,” he whispers, flattening the blade over a piqued nipple, clinking against the metal bar piercing your thick flesh, “If you recognized me after all this time— I mean, with the new hair and everything.”

A hum sounds at the back of your throat, trembling and airy and Bucky picks it up right away— another smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The fingers around your throat peel away slowly but he watches you all the while, fire behind his eyes as he tests you.

“You’re a good little actress,” words still soft but full— maybe amazed that you were able to get as close as you did, “But you knew that already, huh?”

You swallow hard, eyes tipping down to watch his fingers drift down your arm. Light little touches, “You have to be when born— ah,” the edge of the knife catches your thick nipple as he slides it across your tit.

He kisses you again, real sweet this time though. Tongue sweeping along your bottom lip as both his encase it, “I’m sorry baby. You were saying?”

Flesh fingers dance along your stomach, sweeping from hip to hip. Just the tips. Feather light drags so you don’t forget about them. His large palm grips your hip, pushes his thumb into the meat of your side and you have to close your eyes— clear your throat to center yourself. To remember why you’re there in the first place.

Sweet breath washes over your face as Bucky rolls your left nipple now into the edge of the blade— kissing you again when you shriek at the quick, sharp pain just to eat the sound. You lose the fingers around your hip, only to find them again suddenly, jumping in slight surprise as calloused pads cup a soft, wet cunt.

Bucky’s still blinking slow, fingers pushing along a swollen clit, massaging. He’s real close now, prickly cheek rubbing against yours, teeth nibbling at your jawline.

Your own fingers dig into his biceps as your eyes flutter with the tightening of your stomach. A warmth starts to spread through your veins. Hips find a little rhythm against his hand. A sharp prick here and there as he circles that knife— your own damn knife— around your tits and back up to your throat again.

That’s when he sinks two long, thick fingers into you, not stopping until his palm is flush with your sticky folds. His thumb pressed against the sensitive little nub at the center of you.

His eyes are slits, head tilted up slightly as his mouth hangs, dragging in the air you expel. Only then does his fingers start to move, delving in and out, thumb still pushing along your clit.

“God,” you pant, pushing your head upwards against the wall, “Mmm, I can’t—” his fingers push deeper and the words are gone, like they never even existed in the first place, “Fuck.”

Bucky pushes the smooth blade against your throat just a little harder— the sharp edge forcing your chin upward a little more. He flattens his thumb against your lower stomach, starts to pull his fingers, not push them. The heel of his palm starts to slap against your skin as you buck into the motion.

Your hands slip up to his shoulders, both arms wrapping lazily around either side of his neck. The soft hum from earlier is replaced with high pitched whimpers and breathy little squeaks. Bitten off words fall from your lips as you squirm against the wall, wanting him deeper, faster, harder— which he delivers without you having to say a word.

He grabs your cheeks, pinching hard as the blade flattens across your pouty lips. A weak, desperate whimper sounds, all your resolve gone. Whatever leverage you thought you had completely wiped away— and it makes a wicked grin spread on Bucky’s lips.

“You close, baby? Hmm?” he hums, licking at your mouth again, “Oh sweet girl, you wanna come, huh? You gonna come for me?”

He strokes your clit with the tip of his thumb, your walls clenching around his fingers. The gentle encouragement continues, real soft and between sweet little kisses all over your face. A dull ache settles in your belly, a thick heat starting to stir within. Your heart leaps into your throat as your hips pump with Bucky’s hand, the release so close you can taste it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you groan, “‘m gonna fuckin—”

“You want it? Huh? Want me to make you come honey?”

You squeak in response, nodding fast as you bite down into your lip, “Please. Please.”

Heat ripples through your body as you start to tremble, legs going shaky and weak. Muscles start to burn all over as you tense hard, coaxing the sweet agony swirling in your stomach. You cry out, his name hanging on your lips as the rush of it all pushes higher and higher.

Just as you start to unravel, just as the coil begins to snap, his fingers are gone. Pulled from your cunt and clit. You’re whipped around his body, forced back towards the bed. Your mind racing— maybe you’ll be getting some of that cock afterall.

Or not.

Metal slaps around your wrist, bites into the skin as it clamps down, the clink of teeth sliding into the lock housing ringing in your ears. You snap your head towards the sound when it all finally connects in your murky brain. The horror of realization floods into your veins— blood running cold as your stomach drops to your feet.

The handcuffs clink against the dark metal headboard as you fight against it, “You bastard! You fuckin’ piece of shit, let me go!” you shout, thrashing your arm back and forth, pulling as hard as you can, “Goddamn it— let me the fuck go! I’ll fuckin’ kill you, you bast—”

“Ooph,” Bucky jests, octave rising as he slips back into his jeans, “You got a filthy little mouth on you.”

“Fuck you!”

He scoffs, laughing gently as he pulls his black shirt back over his head. The bastard even starts to hum as he plops down on the edge of the bed, taking his time while he pushes his feet back into his boots and shrugs into his jacket.

You keep sharp eyes on him as he stands and turns to face you, dangling a pair of small silver keys next to his grinning face before he tosses them somewhere deep in the apartment. You swipe at him with your free hand as he approaches, just barely catching his chin as he kneals down, “I’m gonna kill you,” you smile, a blind rage engulfing every pore, every muscle, every ounce of your body.

Bucky shrugs, “Not tonight, sweets. Listen, tell Sam I’m sorry about the mess, hm?”

“Who the fuck is Sam?” you hiss.

He looks down at his watch, “Yeah, he should be home in about an hour. It’s not everyday you walk into your apartment to find a naked, wannabe assassin handcuffed to your bed, so, give him my apologies— wait, you know about Sam, right? The new Cap, they made it official a couple of weeks ago.”

Your jaw clenches as you stare back at his smiling face, more humiliation pouring through you as you realize he’s had you pegged the entire goddamn time.

“Oh baby,” he laughs again, “You didn’t honestly think I’d take you back to my place, did you? I don’t even know you— you kids today are so reckless.”

Blue eyes bounce between yours for a few seconds before he glances down at his hands, works them back into his black gloves. He pulls your butterfly knife from his back pocket and starts to play with it, flicking his wrist to close it, and then open it over and over again.

“I’m keeping this,” he offers as he locks it closed and slips it back into his pocket, “Maybe you’ll find the balls to try and take it from me.”

“Oh,” you laugh, shaking your head, “I’m taking it back.”

Bucky stands, the sound of his heavy boots sounding through the apartment as he moves towards the door, “I look forward to it kiddo.”

***

If there’s one thing you respect about Bucky Barnes, it’s his attention to detail.

Right on the dot, exactly one hour later, you snap your head towards the front door as keys start to jingle in the lock. With the bed sheet wrapped loosely around your torso, you straighten up against the wall, eyes wide as you watch an exhausted Samuel Thomas Wilson walk into his apartment.

“Oh, fuck!” he shouts, jumping slightly and dropping his bag to the floor when he locks eyes with you, “What in the fuck?”

“I can explain… sort of.” you start, holding up your hand.

You apparently don’t need to. Sam’s phone is to his ear within seconds as he starts to pace back and forth, “Bucky, this is not why I gave you a key to my mother fuckin’ apartment!”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #decadeundertheinfluencechallenge #5k...holy god

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bokuroskitten · 4 years ago

Text

ℌℭ ❦

〈Kuroo and Kenma having a partner into Pet Play.

◈ genre: NSFW 18+ (Minors DNI)

◈ warnings: Sub/Dom dynamics (Sir, Master & Daddy titles) use of toys.

𝔎𝔢𝔫𝔪𝔞:

has thought about it for a long time but refuses to bring it up until you do

Despite that he has encouraged you to be a cat almost every Halloween you’ve been together

And bought you those cute gamer girl headsets with the cat ears

Once you finally bring it up he happily complies

The first thing he did was go out to buy you a collar

It’s very simple, just a thin strand of black leather with his initials engraved in it

He loves that you wear it all the time, even when he doesn’t ask you too

In the bedroom he typically attaches a little bell to it cause he loves hearing it jingle when you squirm

LEASH— you’re on a leash for most of the scene.

Kenma likes being 100% in control, and you don’t mind giving that to him.

He buys you multiple sets of cat ears cause you look so cute trying on a new pair

Once the two of you get more into it, the first thing he purchases is a vibrating tail~

A smirk played on the blondes lips as he began to feel you nuzzling against his leg, a needy little whimper sounding from under his desk. His eyes flashed to his screen, comments flooding in about the game he was currently playing rather than the situation currently happening under his desk. “I think I’ll be calling it a night, but check back at 8am for my early stream.”

He waved a quick goodbye to the screen before easily turning off the stream. With a little sigh he pulled his headphones around his neck, pulling back in his gaming chair. “You made me end my stream early Kitty, any longer and my fans would have started to hear your sad little whimpers.”

When he locked eyes with you his smirk grew, seeing the tears that had started to make your gaze all glassy. Now without the noise of his game he could hear the steady vibrations of the tail. You on the other hand whimpered louder, clawing at his pant leg and scooting up closer to press kisses along his thigh. “P-Please Sir-“

“Please what, Kitten? Use your words.”

“P-Please can I come? Can you help me come please Sir?” The way your voice quivered so perfectly, the way your hips twitched desperately as the tail continued its contestant vibrations, it all made Kenma’s sweat pants feel a little bit tighter.

He pet his hand along your hair, stoping to admire the new pair of ears that at perfectly perched on your head. His palm stopped at the nap of your neck, where he grabbed a handful of hair. All the while his free hand was tugging down his waist band. “Soon my little Kitty, first you have to drink all my milk. So open up that pretty mouth.”

𝔎𝔲𝔯𝔬𝔬:

Brought it up as soon as he knew you were into kink

Was suuuuuper excited about it so it made you excited too

He bought you that cute two piece cat set (it has the kitty boob window, we’ve all seen it) and he insists you wear it while in play

He also likes the less sexual side of pet play, where you just curl up in his lap and let him pet you until you fall asleep

The collar he bought you is deep red, and a bit thicker. The buckle on it is gold and he put a matching gold heart charm with his initials engraved in it

He bought a matching collar for himself which he typically wears to the bar

Loves when you crawl to him, especially when you do it without him having to ask or not when he’s holding your leash

Also LIVES for when you nuzzle along his thighs, especially when he’s still in his work suit

One word— muzzle. And bite gags. So three words.

He loves seeing your back arch—

Kuroo let out a huff as he sat on the edge of the pull, tugging at the tie around his neck to loosen the constricting fabric. It had been a long day at work for him, his muscles still a bit tense from the workload. Lucky for him he had the most perfect kitten, waiting so patiently for him to come home and make him feel better after a long day.

“You don’t need to be stressed anymore Daddy...” The sound of your soft voice made a little smirk twitch on Kuroo’s lips as he finally brought his gaze to you. You wore that pretty red skirt he loved so much, the matching ears situated on your head so perfectly. You gave him a soft little purr, crawling closer to him until you were knelt between him thighs.

“I’m sorry you had such a long day Master, wanna help you feel good now” you mutter softly, eyes wide as you nuzzle your cheek into his inner thigh. You placed the end of your leather leash into his palm, giving a little squeeze before you placed your hands back in your lap until told otherwise.

How Kuroo had gotten so very lucky with you, he didn’t know. But seeing you, willing and wide eyed made his fancy work slacks feel just a bit too tight. Wrapping the end of the leash one around his palm he gave it a gentle tug, watched the way your eyes widened a bit before you sat up on your knees. Kuroo brought his face close to yours then, his smirk growing as he watched your lips part slightly, cheeks starting to glow pink.

“My perfect little kitty, always so ready to please...” he murmured, his thumb coming up to gently rub against your lower lip, giving it a couple of tugs. Without being told you took it between your lips, suckling it with a cute little mewl that made him laugh softly. He tugged his thumb away with a satisfying pop, before giving the leash yet another tug.

“Need your pretty little lips somewhere else. Gunna do that for Master? Of course you will, cause you’re Daddy’s Perfect Kitten.”

#haikyuu #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu smut #haikyuu!!#haikyuu headcanons #hq fanfic #hq headcanons #haikyuu hcs #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x you #kuroo tetsuro smut #kuroo headcanons #kuroo x y/n #kenma kozume #kenma x y/n #kenma smut #kenma headcanons #kenma x you

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shig-a-shig-ah · 4 years ago

Note

Gangbang by the lov

Anon I know I have ignored this for a week and I am sorry for that, but let me tell you: I got this request and I was like ‘fuck it, if I’m going to do it I’m going to do it right’ and was all set to do a full fic because how do you even fit something so involved into a few paragraphs?

Except here’s the thing: it’s fucking hard! Who knew? Not me, because I am a fool and I thought I could just pop out 3.5k words of gangbang in a week or something and be content with it, but lemme tell you, it took that way longer than I expected just choreograph some sequence of events. Like, just the set up and making it clear who’s doing what, let alone making it actually read well took so much time. So, hats off to anyone who’s ever accomplished that task, you’re more man than me.

Anyway, in the end I abandoned the set up and I wouldn’t quite consider this a full fic, but it got pretty long anyway.

» pairing: male!LoV Members x afab!reader

» cw: gangbanging, obviously. Also double penetration, eating ass, anal sex, masturbation, a sprinkle of voyeurism and a lil’ bit of dirty talk, and maybe degrading language if you squint. 18+, minors DNI.

» wc: 1.7k

They let Jin start you off—the League doesn't want to wreck you too badly after all, wants to get you nice and ready so they can keep doing this, again and again for as long as you're willing to be their good little slut. You never know when it's coming either, some of them will exchange a look and suddenly Jin is pulling you to him, nestling his broad chest against your back and letting his hands wander, groping at your chest and pinching your nipples, sliding beneath the waistband of your pants to toy with your folds, telling you that you're “such an obedient slut” for him in one breath and “such a useless whore!” the next, his face flushing at the outburst while he grinds his cock against the curve of your ass.

It's Compress who joins next—what kind of gentleman would he be, after all, if he didn't help get you warmed up for them? He and Twice will guide you somewhere comfortable like the couch in the corner, peeling off your clothes along the way, and the next thing you know Jin is tugging you into his lap, making you face him as he sinks you down on his cock, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he whimpers at the feel of your warm, wet pussy enveloping his length. Compress is already kneeling behind you too, hands spreading your cheeks wide so that he can tongue at your ass; it's important after all to get all those holes ready, because god knows they'll be using them.

When Jin gets close to finishing, he'll reach down to stroke your clit, getting you mewling. Those sweet little sounds pouring from your mouth are more than anyone could resist—can't let 'em go to waste, after all. This is when Muscular steps in, stroking that intimidatingly large cock, pressing it's fist-sized tip against your lips until you part them to give kitten licks around his head, all you can manage to start, when it's so thick.

Your hips buck when Compress slips one of those agile fingers into your puckered hole, chuckling softly at how the invasion makes you squirm and then adding another slick digit. The way you writhe has Twice gripping your hips harder too, thumb rubbing more furiously at your sensitive nub, and all those sensations are enough to have you cascading over the edge, crying out and shuddering as you cum. Muscular takes advantage of the way your mouth gapes when you cry out, forcing his way past your lips, stretching your mouth impossibly wide around his length, all while Jin is twitching beneath you, the feel of your cunt clenching around him more than enough to have him painting your walls white as he shouts his appreciation, "Thank you, thank yo—fuck—thank you."

And then Muscular and Compress are lifting you from Twice's lap, arranging you on all fours so that Muscular can fuck your mouth more properly and Compress can start the work of sinking himself into your tight ass. He whispers in your ear the whole time, praises and reassurances to help you take him.

"Deep breath now, that’s it," he'll croon. "Just relax, I assure you I'll take excellent care of you."

There's something about his voice that’s soothing. Hypnotic even, perhaps one more trick the mysterious man has mastered, and it never fails to work, your whole body going limp and accepting those invasions in the best possible way, leaving you tight yet compliant for Compress as he buries himself in your ass. It helps for Muscular too, your throat and your jaw relaxing enough for him to surge past the tight ring of your throat so he can fuck your face properly, growling lustily as you accept him without complaint. They rock you back and forth between them, a seemingly endless and exquisite fullness that has your sex dripping, slick running down your thighs as you clench around nothing, and you swallowing eagerly when Muscular finally releases his load down your throat.

When he withdraws you catch a glimpse of Moonfish, leaning against the wall on the other side of the bar. It's impossible to tell if he's watching with that leather hood covering his face, but you know he's enjoying himself one way or another, the same way he always does—thick threads of spit running down his chin and an obvious bulge at his crotch as he ruts against the air, writhing his way to his own hands-free release.

But that view is blocked when Shigaraki and Dabi settle in to take Muscular's place in front of you, stroking themselves gently and grinning widely. Dabi runs one hot thumb along your spit-slicked lower lip.

"Ain't that cute, you looking all fucked out already?" he murmurs, and then his hand is on the back of your head, guiding you to lick at his cock. You run your tongue along the underside of his shaft, tickle at the line of barbells placed there before sucking lightly at his tip, moaning against it as Compress's thrusts grow rougher, more erratic, sending you gasping every time he sinks himself deep into your rear entrance. Dabi draws a hissing breath and then guides your head towards Shigaraki instead.

"That's a good little fucktoy," Shigaraki whispers, dry lips twisting into a fond smile as he pinches your tongue with two fingers, tugging it out and ordering you to keep it that way as he brushes his tip back and forth over that hot, wet muscle, ruts gently against it, using you to tease himself.

You don't notice when Compress cums, not until he's pulling out and his hands at your waist are replaced by the feel of claws tracing gently over your sweaty back. You can hear Spinner panting, and feel the way he's trembling a little. No matter how many times you've done this he always get so nervous about filling you up with those hemipenes, his cheeks flushing pink and his movements uncertain. But you know he loves that there's someone who can finally take him, take both of them, and you love the feeling of them filling you up just as much. So you cant your hips, rub your wet eager holes against him until he's making a strangled, impatient noise and forcing both cocks into you with a single thrust, and then you're moaning against Shigaraki's stiff member.

He jams it down your throat in response, humping against your face a little more eagerly as you meet Spinner's movements the best you can. The curve of his cock in your cunt hits just right against that sensitive spot inside, the feel of being stretched so wide and full sending you hurtling towards your next climax.

And Shigaraki's eager for it, loves to see you writhe and then squirt, making such a mess. He pulls out of your mouth, Dabi quickly taking his place in that drooling cavern, and then two of Shigaraki's fingers are rubbing fast circles against your clit.

"Should I make them cum, Spinner?" he asks, a teasing edge in his voice. "Want to feel them clenching around you?"

"Y-yeah, boss," you hear Spinner pant. "Fuck, please, yes."

Tomura's fingers speed up, add just a little more pressure and that's all it takes to have you bucking, your cunt contracting, gushing all over Spinner's cocks. You hear him whine, swearing under his breath as his thrusts speed up, and you feel even more deliciously full when he's twitching inside you, flooding both your holes.

You're repositioned again almost immediately, cum dripping out of you as you're tugged upright onto your knees, Shigaraki slotting himself against your back and sinking without warning into your ass while Dabi pins you from the front, driving himself abruptly into your cunt.

They like to be last, you know, like you sloppy and overstimulated when they take you, and fuck, you'd be lying if you said you didn't love it too, Shigaraki stretching your ass wide and the ridges of Dabi's pierced shaft massaging your insides in the most delicious way. It's different than the fullness Spinner gives you; his cocks always move in concert, a rhythmic cycling of fullness and emptiness that is a drastic contrast to Dabi and Shigaraki's variegated, asynchronous thrusts. Shigaraki wastes no time pounding into your ass with constant rough strokes, while Dabi likes to tease, likes to go slow until you're a whining mess, whimpering every time he grinds against your overstimulated clit and still begging him for more, pleading with him to make you cum as tears of pleasure stream down your cheeks.

He doesn't of course, not until he and Shigaraki are ready—they want you to cum when they do, want to feel you convulsing and milking every drop of their seed out of them. They only start to match their movements once they’re close, Shigaraki's hands snaking between your and Dabi's bodies to tweak at your nipples, twisting those sensitive buds.

"Is the greedy little toy gonna cum for us?" Dabi murmurs, his breath hot in one ear.

"You've been such a good little cocksleeve, taking everyone," Shigaraki purrs in the other, "so go on and show us how much you like it."

And you do. You cum so hard there's white spots flashing behind your eyes, your toes curling and your moans strangled as they escape your abused throat, throbs of ecstasy radiating through your core until you're left limp, Dabi and Shigaraki's grips the only thing keeping you upright as they ride out their releases, their cum leaking out around their cocks as they fill you to overflowing.

They lay you back gently on the couch when they're finally finished. There's a warm washcloth wiping at your thighs already, a soothing hand brushing your hair back from your sweaty forehead, but you don't pay any mind to who's doing what. You simply lay there and let them go about the business of cleaning you up, entirely trusting of their attentions, because you already know there's no reason not to be.

They always take such good care of you.

#shigaraki x reader #dabi x reader #twice x reader #muscular x reader #compress x reader #lov x reader #bnha imagine #bnha drabble #bnha smut #shigaraki smut #dabi smut #lov smut #anon.txt #nsft

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ladyreapermc · 3 years ago

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Fic: Stress Relief (Donaka x fem!reader)

Summary: Donaka is stressed and it’s your job to help him relax.

Pairing: Donaka x Fem!Reader

Author’s notes: is this me posting filth again? Why, yes, it is! Enjoy because I have no idea how long this will last. LOL

Wordcount: 2688

Warnings: smut (oral m!receiving; fingering). Powerplay; degradation kink; edging, overstimulation; choking.

Most of your days you spent doing whatever you wanted because you had no worries, not financially or of any type. You were free to hang out with friends, travel, party, and do whatever you wanted.

There were only two rules: you needed to be available to him whenever he called, be it in person or through the camera. And you were exclusively his. No one was allowed to touch you unless he said so. Those two rules were easy enough to follow when it meant having everything you ever dreamt of and more.

That day, you had been in your apartment reading when the message came in, making the smartwatch around your wrist vibrate:

Zen space. Lilac. NOW.

You had no idea what had happened and you preferred to remain blissfully ignorant of Donaka’s business, but you recognize that tone, even through text. He was stressed and furious and it was your job to help him relax.

Wasting no time, you set your book aside and headed to your bedroom, considering for a second if you should take a quick shower first, make sure your skin was silky soft and scented just like he preferred, but decided against it. Making Donaka wait was never an option so you just changed into the requested lingerie.

It was a pale lavender babydoll, with a lace front that revealed almost every inch of your body and tiny panties that barely covered your sex. You also put on the diamond choker he had gifted you even though he hadn’t explicitly asked for it, before taking the private lift that took you straight to his loft on the floor above.

The elevator opened in his home office and you noticed the room was dimly lit, the wall of screens was on standby offering a soft blue glow. The black leather couch was empty as you expected so you turned your attention to the left corner of the room, his Zen space, where he went to meditate or cool off.

Donaka was sitting on the glass bench, back turned to the rest of the room and facing the wall of concentric circles, his bare feet resting on the platform that separated the smooth and polished dark floor from the finely grated white sand. His hands rested on his spread knees and there was a slight hunch on his shoulders, the weight of his stress.

By his feet, in front of him, laid a thin pillow to protect your skin from the unforgiving sand and you were glad for it. You would, of course, kneel on it and endure the grains digging into your skin if that was what Donaka wanted but he didn’t get off on pain. Not yours at least.

You moved towards him in silence, resisting the urge to brush your fingers over his broad shoulders and back, before kneeling in front of him, sitting on your heels and looking up at the man that gave you everything and owned your heart.

His eyes pinned you in place and made your breath hitch. Cold fury clouded the brown orbs and his lips were pressed together tightly, jaw clenched tight. The sight made your body shudder with want and you pressed your thighs together.

There was something so arousing about seeing Donaka this enraged. Seeing the violence in his eyes and knowing that it would take him barely any effort to snap you in half or choke the life out of you. The knowledge that he was the kind of man that killed without even blinking but for some reason, he chose never to harm you. Most of the time, Donaka chose tender caresses and measured touches designed to bring you the kind of ecstasy that you had never experienced before.

Today his fingers trailed against your cheek in a featherlike touch, his thumb brushing over your lips, and at the faintest pressure, you parted them, letting the thick digit enter your mouth. You swirled your tongue around it before sucking greedily just as you wanted to do to another part of his body.

You watched his eyes darkening as you hollowed your cheeks and pulled more of his thumb into your mouth and moaned under your breath at the knot building between your legs, making your core pulse and dampening your panties.

Donaka’s other hand reached for the button and zipper of his trousers, releasing his half-hard cock from its confinements. He pulled his thumb free from your mouth, palm cradling your nape before he nudged your forward.

You licked your lips and inched closer, mouth salivating at the treat in front of you. You want his long, thick cock in your mouth. You wanted to feel it fully hardening between your lips, under your talented tongue. You needed to taste his bitter precum, a flavor you were slowly becoming addicted to… but all that could only happen after Donaka’s permission.

Sometimes it would come almost immediately. He would push you down his hard shaft, making you gag on it, fucking your mouth with abandon and using you like you were worth little more than your holes. In those days, he would come all over your face, zip himself up, and leave you to take care of yourself.

However, on days like today, when he was tense and furious with whatever had bothered him at work, he preferred to drag it out. To make you work for it, sometimes even beg to have his cock in your mouth. When he finally allowed it, Donaka would fuck your mouth oh so slowly, pushing deeper and deeper, until tears started to spring in your eyes, spit ran down your chin and your juices soaked your panties in such a way that all you and he could smell was the scent of your desperate arousal.

“What do you want?” He asked and his low and throaty voice sent shivers down your spine.

“Your cock, sir.” You whispered, peering at him from under your lashes. “Will you fuck my mouth, please? Make me choke on it?”

There was a barely-there twist in the corners of his mouth and your heart leaped in your chest. How you loved to make him feel good. It was like a drug.

“Such a good girl,” Donaka said, his thumb caressing your jaw. “My little cockslut.”

“Yes, sir,” you all but whimpered, pressing your thighs together once again because your cunt throbbed and you had never in your life thought you would get this turned on by being used like this, but by God, his words made you shudder with desire, body hot and ready for anything that Donaka was willing to give you.

With his hand still on your nape, controlling your pace, he nudged you forward once more, holding his cock with his free hand and letting the tip rub against your wanting lips. Donaka wasn’t one for much noise, but there was a slight hitch on his breath that told you he was enjoying the soft, almost ghost-like touch on the sensitive and swollen head of his member.

Your lips parted a little, letting your tongue brush against the velvety head and Donaka sucked in a deep breath, especially when the tip of your tongue probed against his slit, bringing forth a pearly white drop of his precum and making him harden fully.

God, your cunt ached in need to be filled but you knew you couldn’t touch yourself. Not until he allowed and that wouldn’t happen anytime soon. Not until he had his release and part of you wanted to just suck him fully into your mouth, end this torturous teasing. Even if it meant a serious punishment later (or maybe especially because it would lead to a punishment).

However, the bittersweet pleasure of the edging and denial was like a drug too, making your orgasm be nearly blinding so you hanged on, gathering every little bit of patience you could find so you could continue to just lick the tip like a lollipop that you wanted to last forever.

After a few more moments of that painfully slow game, Donaka’s grip on your nape tightened, his blunt nails digging lightly against your skin, and you knew he was ready for more. You met his dark gaze, eyes hooded with pleasure lips parted in a soft pant as he watched you and he didn’t even need to tell you what to do.

“Sir, may I suck you now, please?” you pouted and kissed the head of cock for good measure, batting your lashes like a needy child and Donaka smirked.

“Yes, angel, you may.”

You didn’t need to be told twice and engulfed the thick and hard shaft into your mouth, whimpering at the burst of flavor on your tongue as he let out a small grunt of pleasure, his shoulders finally relaxing as he tilted his head back and just enjoyed your work.

You pushed him deeper into your mouth until your nose was almost pressing against the thick dark curls surrounding his member. The open fly of his dress pants scratching your chin as you hollowed your cheeks and hummed. Donaka cursed low and grunted, his hips raising lightly, driving even deeper, and you gagged, tears burning your eyes. Your clit was almost painfully swollen and each rub of the lace of your panties was torture. You needed just a little bit of…

“Take your hand off that cunt, angel.”

You had no idea how he knew. His head was still tilted back, eyes nearly closed but you didn’t dare to disobey a direct command. With a pitiful whimper and one last flick on your needy clit, you pulled your hand away, crossing them behind your back and Donaka’s smirked.

“That’s better.” He looked back at you, tugging you away until his cock slipped from your lips with a pop, and you gulped a breath. “No one ever taught you that you shouldn’t touch what doesn’t belong to you without permission?”

You said nothing because you didn’t have an answer to that.

“And to whom that little pussy belongs, angel?”

“You, sir.” Your voice was small and raspy from the abuse on your throat.

“Exactly.”

He petted your cheek once, before pushing you back toward his cock, and dutifully, you took him into your mouth again, letting your jaw slack so his shaft could slip in and out as he guided you to bob your head at a faster pace. His cock pulsed against your lips, and you could tell he was close. Soon enough, Donaka’s hot cum would be coating your tongue and you couldn’t wait. You were desperate for it.

Before him, you had never allowed a guy to cum in your mouth. Then again, before Donaka, the was plenty you didn’t let men do to you. He changed your life, and you knew you would never be able to go back.

His grip on you tightened again as he pulled you closer until your nose was buried against his pubes and you forced yourself to relax as best as you could as he let out a final grunt and pumped his cum down your throat.

The hot and sticky ribbons making you gag again and tears run down your cheeks as you blubbered and squeezed your wrists to hold them still. Only when he was completely spent, Donaka let you pull back, his cock slipping from your mouth, glistening with your spit and his cum as you coughed and gasped for much-needed air.

He only allowed you a moment, before he was forcing to sit on his thigh, your trembling legs spread as he pushed your panties aside and glided his long fingers over your soaked hairs and sensitive lips.

“My dirty little cockslut is this wet from sucking me,” he mocked with a biting tone, and you whimpered. “Do you want to cum, angel?”

“Yes, please, sir.”

His fingers rubbed over your clit, making you gasp and whine, the pleasure overwhelming to the point of hurting but you still thrust your hips up, seeking more.

“Please…” you were almost crying now, desperate for it. Exactly like Donaka like it. “Please, please, please. Oh God, please…”

Thick and fat tears ran down your cheeks and the same hand that had been around your nape, came to your throat, surrounding the choker and forcing you to tilt your face enough so he could lick away your tears and his two fingers finally entered you.

Your cries were high-pitched and needy as Donaka fingered you hard and fast, the heel of his large palm slapping your clit as he curled his digits and the hand on your throat tightened in just the right way.

Your climax hit you like a storm, lighting up every single one of your nerve-ends. Your vision darkened, your body tensed, your back arched and a wild moan tore from your throat as your cunt pulsed and throbbed and you squirted all over his hand and knee.

For a while you were nothing more than a conglomerate of nerves busting with pleasure that seemed to last forever as Donaka continued to thrust his fingers, pressing the rugged wall of your cunt and rubbing your clit, dragging out your bliss until another lightning struck and you came again in what it felt like was just seconds later, but you knew it had to be longer. Time seemed to shorten and stretch at once as you rode his hand, gasping, wheezing, and crying?

You couldn’t tell if that pitiful sound was really coming from your mouth, not when your body was electrified like that, your muscles spasming and feeling like jelly and you had to reach behind yourself for Donaka’s shoulders to hold yourself because surely you would slide to the ground if you didn’t.

And just as the blinding light of your pleasure was starting to dimmish and you thought you would be able to see and feel and talk and breath again, his hand restarted his motions and you cried because it was almost painful now. That sweet, incessant ache that made you seek it, and you could faintly hear sobs and pleas of stop and no more. You couldn’t take another.

“Safeword?” Donaka’s voice sounded clear in your ear, and it was on the tip of your tongue. You knew if it crossed your lips, he would stop, but your vocal cords refused to utter it. “Safeword, angel.”

You pressed your lips together tightly, like a kid with a secret, and shook your head. His lips drew into a pleased smile against your cheek.

“That’s my girl.”

His kiss on your jaw was almost soft and loving before his fingers restarted their dance inside you. Even faster than before and your hips were rocking against it, actively seeking out your third orgasm despite the aching of your abused clit.

Once again, as the climax overtook you, your body went rigid and seized, your vision whited-out and for several blissful moments, that intense pleasure made time fall away, leaving only the most perfect peace and comfort, like slipping into a hot bath after a long day, letting the scented water wash away any hint of tension in your body before you laid in your bed, the duvet and pillows soft like a lover’s caress, welcoming you to an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

When you finally opened your eyes again, after what it felt like just a couple of seconds, you were in your bed, cleaned and tucked tight, the only evidence of your previous activities was the sweet ache between your legs whenever you moved and a deep, sad sigh escaped your lips.

It was always like this: Donaka fucked your brains out, then he would take care of you, clean you up and tuck you in and no matter how much your blissed-out self, begged for it – and you knew you always did – he would never stay. But this was the deal you made. You took whatever he gave you. You didn’t complain and you didn’t demand more.

You couldn’t. Too afraid of losing what little you already had.

xxx

If you enjoyed this work, please consider reblogging and/or commenting please. Feedback gives life to us writers!

#donaka mark x reader #donaka mark x you #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #man of tai chi fanfic

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cyoc49 · 4 years ago

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HIMBO Magazine: The New Hire

23 year-old Barry Allen looked across the street at the office building of HIMBO, a lifestyle & fashion magazine targeted at gay men, and the site of his job interview. After graduating last May, Barry has tried for months to find a communications job with no luck, until he saw HIMBO’s advertisement for an entry-level social media position. The pay was unbelievably good, and they reached out to him about applying which made the whole situation seem very promising. He was a little uncomfortable about the idea of working at a gay magazine. I don’t have any issue with gay people, Barry thought, I just don’t understand a lot of the culture and I’m not really trying to. Still, the job was too good to pass up without at least interviewing.

Barry walked into the lobby of the building and was directed on how to reach the HIMBO’s offices. Stepping into the elevator, Barry thought about how sharply dressed everyone in the building was. It made him feel a little unprofessional, in his blazer, checkered shirt, and jeans. But the email had told him to dress “Appropriately for his position,” so he dressed the way he knew modern social media teams did.

As the elevator opened, Barry was greeted by the bright offices of HIMBO. The personnel working there (all male, he noticed) were dressed in a mixture of ridiculously eccentric business wear, speedos and harnesses, club outfits, other other bizarre fashions. “I’m guessing those are models?” Barry wondered, before walking over to a desk attended by a swishy receptionist.

The twinkish secretary looked up at Barry, and his eyes widened in excitement. “You must be the new applicant!” He exclaimed, jumping up out of his seat. “Oh, you’re perfect! He always knows the right people to pick. Well knock on wood, but I’m excited to work with you!” Then in a swift motion, the man darted around the desk and grabbed Barry by the hand. “Here, I can take you to him! He’s been waiting for you. I’m James, by the way! I work the desk!” And with that, Barry found himself being dragged along through the HIMBO offices.

“Uh, I have a question. Who is ‘he’?” Barry called along as he tried to keep pace with the fast-paced James.

“Christian Le Maître, the Editor in Chief! He’s brilliant. He does all the interviews and hiring himself. He’s the one who reached out to you.”

Wow, he picked me out himself, Barry thought, I must really be promising.

Barry spoke up “That’s pretty cool, to have a boss that cares that much.”

James nodded enthusiastically “Oh yes, he cares for us all so much! We’re all his boys here.”

Looking past the odd use of “boys”, Barry continued “I’m, uh, applying for a social media position.”

“Oh okay, interesting,” James said with less enthusiasm than usual, “He’ll sometimes try to figure out a different position for you during the interview. Just go along with what he says. I promise he has your best interests at heart.”

Before Barry could ask what that meant, James came to a sudden stop in front of a large heavy door. He knocked on it several times, before a deep muffled voice called out “Send him in” from behind the door.

James turned around, grinning ear to ear “Okay, best of luck! Remember: you’re gonna fit in here.” With that, he pranced back down the hallway, leaving Barry alone in front of the door.

He took a deep breath. “Well, here goes nothing,” he thought, and opened the door.

Walking into the office, Barry looked behind the desk and saw one of the most beautiful men he had ever seen.

His face was rugged and handsome, with insatiably curious eyes, perfect white teeth, and a beard that was just the right amount of stubble. His hair was parted with gel into a professional, clean, and gorgeous haircut. His toned muscles perfectly filled out his expensive looking business clothes: a light blue silk dress shirt, grey pinstripe pants, suspenders hung over his shoulders and pressed out by his chest, gorgeous-smelling black leather dress shoes, and a sterling silver watch. He was an absolute alpha male, so perfectly handsome and successful that Barry couldn’t help but feel awe, jealousy, and a hint of... lust?

The man looked at Barry and smiled a perfect smile. “Barry, is it? I’m Christian La Maître, but everyone around here just calls me Mr. M.” The man stood up, revealing his daunting 6’4 frame, and extended a muscular hand to Barry

Jesus, his voice is intoxicating, Barry swooned. It was so smoothly deep and inviting. With just the few words Barry already felt like he could listen to the man for hours. He reached out and took hold of Mr. M’s hand for an extremely firm handshake. As their hand touched, Barry felt a jolt, and found himself unable to take his eyes off the powerful man before him. And more importantly, he had no desire to move his eyes away.

Mr. M sat back down again. “So Barry, tell me about yourself. College graduate?”

“Uh, yes. Digital Communications maj-“

“Have you ever read HIMBO before?” Mr. M cut Barry off.

“No, sir” Barry said, neither objecting to being interrupted, nor noticing the “sir” he just said.

“Are you gay?” Mr. M examined Barry’s body up and down, never making eye contact.

“No, sir. I’m straight.” He paused “Is that okay?”

Mr. M let out a hearty laugh, and Barry found himself laughing along with the man too. It just felt right. This brilliant, perfect businessman that Barry was lucky enough to be in the presence of, anything he did had to be right.

“Ahhh, Barry. You’re a fun kid. Now unfortunately, that social media position was filled earlier this morning by another applicant. But I would be a fool not to bring you into the HIMBO team, Barry!” This filled Barry with joy. The approval of Mr. M felt so good.

“Now if I think about it...” Mr. M paused for a few moments, giving Barry another thorough looking over, “I think we have an opening in the accounting department.”

“Yes! I accept!” Barry shouted out. He didn’t even care that it was a totally different position than he had come here for, nor did he care that he had zero accounting experience. If Mr. M said he would be a good accountant, then Barry had to be the best accountant for his boss.

The man chuckled again. “There’s just a little on boarding we’d have to do to get you ready for the position. Beginning with dress code, for starters.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes, sir?” Barry asked eagerly. He would do anything for this man, who was offering him a coveted job at HIMBO magazine. Barry would change anything about himself.

“Well, you just dress so... cool. I mean look at that outfit! You are a hip young man who is ready for a good night out. And I love that for you, but I think a good accountant would dress a bit... sharper.”

The “sharper” bounced around in Barry’s head. Visions of men in suits and ties flooded his mind. He began to feel attracted to the idea of being a finely dressed man. In fact, he couldn’t imagine ever dressing down, not even in his free time. As Barry listened to Mr. M’s words, his plaid shirt rippled into a crisp white dress shirt. It tucked itself into his jeans.

“A good smart accountant would look his best at all times.”

Barry’s jeans turned into tight fitting grey dress pants, and a brown leather belt cinched itself firmly around his waist. His casual wool blazer morphed into a clean grey suit jacket matching his pants. Underneath, a gray sweater materialized and hugged itself to Barry’s slimming build.

“A good, clean-cut accountant.”

Barry felt his feet shift as his shoes changed into well-polished brown leather dress shoes, with wing tips. His socked changed to clean white socks, and inside his pants he felt briefs take form around his shrinking manhood.

“A good, nerdy accountant.”

A red bow tie wrapped itself around Barry’s neck and tied itself into a perfect knot. Large round glasses popped up on Barry’s face, which he knew he needed to wear every day. Barry’s hair ruffled as if wind was blowing through it, before settling in a clean side part, well-combed and maintained.

Barry stood before the incredibly powerful man before him looking totally different. Just 10 minutes ago Barry had dressed like any college graduate, but now looked as if he wore a suit every day of the week. But as for Barry himself, he had never felt better. As his clothes changed, Barry’s thoughts realized how right this felt. Barry now perfectly remembered his 2 hour morning dress routine. He knew exactly how much pomade to use to achieve the perfect side part, he remembered tying bow ties for six years now. His home wardrobe, all of it, had been replaced with suits, sweaters, shirts, dress shoes, and bow ties of every material, pattern, and color imagineable. This was the way he had dressed ever since he got to college and felt he could express himself truly. The truth was Barry loved the feel of a suit. The cleanness and dignity were an intoxicating feeling, and he couldn’t imagine himself in anything else.

Mr. M smiled a big smile. “There we go, an absolute perfect fit for our accountant opening. Welcome to the HIMBO team, Barry. Or should I say Bartholomew.”

That was right. Bartholomew Pippin, and he couldn’t be happier. He was a timid, nerdy kind of guy, sure, but he felt on top of the world. Bartholomew was an avid HIMBO reader for its good guides on men’s formalwear (and also so he could jerk off to the photos of shirtless guys), so to work at the magazine he loved, doing the job he loved (accounting) was a dream come true.

Mr. M stood up and walked over to Bartholomew, getting extremely close to him. “There’s just one last step in the hiring process...”

Barty shook a bit as he looked up at the domineering man before him. Mr. M was a tall man to begin with, but at his new height Bartholomew was 5’9, and the taller man encompassed him.

“I seal all my contracts... with a kiss.”

Barry’s knees quivered. He had realized he was gay at a young age, but aside from a few “almosts” in college, he had never gone farther than holding hands. Bartholomew had always reasoned that he would meet the right one eventually... and looking up at this man, Barty knew he had found it. Mr. M was all Barty would ever need. This man would control his work life and his sex life, dictating when Barty could pleasure himself, when he could come, and when he got the ultimate privilege of spending the night with Mr. M.

Bartholomew wrinkled his note and nodded eagerly “Of course, sir. I would be honored to kiss you.

As Barty stood on his tip toes to kiss his new boss - god, his lips were smooth and perfect - Barty felt all his changes lock into place. This is who he was. Bartholomew Pippin, mild-mannered accountant of HIMBO magazine, and one of Christian La Maître’s very good boys.

The two parted, and Mr. M gave Bartholomew another killer smile. “Bartholomew, I can already tell you’re gonna fit in here perfectly. And as a signing bonus, how about you stop by my place tonight. 7 PM sharp.”

“Oh thank you so much, Mr. M! I’ll be there at 6:45, I promise.”

“That’s a good boy, Barty. Now get settled in, your desk is at the end of the hall.” He gave Barty a spank on his bubble butt, and sent him on his way, to his new job and new life.

#gaytf #preppy #gay #preppy tf #preppytf #stepfordization #nerd #suittf #bowtie #the flash #barry allen #the flash tf #grant gustin

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thesightstoshowyou · 4 years ago

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Literally anything from that prompt list with Bo would send me over lol.... but specifically 26, 24 and 48 together 💀💀💀

-the-slasher-flies 🔪💕

I also got, "You look real pretty when you cry,” for Bo so I’m going to combine all these into one, filthy fic. I went off the rails with this one. Please thank my husband for all the beautiful ammunition for this story ;)

Territorial

Bo Sinclair x F Reader (NSFW)

Warnings: Dubcon, violence, blood, minor character death, heavy degradation, slapping, daddy kink, biting, marking, spanking, belt, hair pulling, choking, spitting, possessiveness, creampie

The second the laugh leaves your mouth, you know you’re fucked.

Bo had asked you to meet one of the travelers at the gas station, to keep them busy while he delt with the others. The guy who sauntered through the door had proven to be funny, charming, and handsome; a horrible combination when Bo’s ego was added to the equation. Shamelessly, he flirted, and you couldn’t help but smile at the attention.

Then…. Then he’d made a joke the second Bo had strolled into the shop and you couldn’t stop the surprised giggle that bubbled up your throat. The color drains from your face when you spot the blue mechanic’s suit out of the corner of your eye. Bo knows when you’re faking a laugh and this wasn’t one of those times.

He fixes you to the spot with that furious stare you’ve come to know so well, so intimately. You bite your lip, apologizing with your eyes, but he’s having none of it. The young man catches sight of your terrified face, turns to you, asks you if you’re okay. He reaches for your arm, maybe to give you a comforting squeeze. He doesn’t see Bo stalking up behind him.

Steel sinks into the man’s neck so easily you would think his skin is made of butter. Thick crimson wells up around the blade, pours down his chest, spills from his lips, parted with shock. His eyes go wide and he drops to his knees, clutching fruitlessly at the lethal wound. You slap your hands over your eyes, turning away, but Bo clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“Uh uh, baby girl, yer gonna watch,” he growls, wrenching your hands away from your face, spinning you around, holding you by the jaw, and forcing you to look as the life drains from the man’s sweet, hazel eyes. Cigarette scented breath wafts across your face as Bo whispers in your ear, “Yer gonna watch what ya’ done, yeah? This is all you, baby.”

The man chokes on his own blood, coughs, splutters, then lands face down with a soft thud that hangs heavy in the air. Crimson pools around him as he finally falls still. You can’t breathe, your chest heaving, but refusing to pull in oxygen. You’ve never seen anyone die before.

Bo shoves you up against the counter, forces your eyes to his, cruel smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. You try to apologize, stumbling over your words, anything to save you from what comes next.

“B-Bo—

“Shut up, slut. I don’t remember askin,’ huh? You were gonna let that little prick fuck ya’, looked like.”

“N-No! I wouldn’t—

“Oh, no? Ya’ wouldn’t? Does this stupid little whore actually remember who owns her?”

“Bo, please—

You gasp when he delivers a stinging slap to your cheek, hard enough to leave your skin angry and red in its wake. He growls, low and dangerous, “Maybe if I punish ya’, it’ll help ya’ remember who ya’ belong to next time.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, instead gripping you around the waist and tossing you over his shoulder. Bo heads toward those dreaded basement steps. You haven’t been down there again since your first days in Ambrose. You’d hoped to never see it again.

Bo kicks the door open, drops you unceremoniously on the filthy mattress. The sent of blood, fear, and Bo’s musk billows up around you as you shrink back against the wall, memories of how you’d met brought to the surface by the metallic reek clinging to the walls.

“Do not fuckin’ move,” he orders, pointing a finger at your face. Without a backward glance, he strides across the room. Your eyes dart to the open door, but you squash down the desire to flee. He will catch you. He always does.

A noisy clatter draws your gaze back to the other end of the room. Bo turns, another knife clutched in his palm. He chuckles, relishing in your dread when you visibly tremble. Crossing the room, he kneels at the edge of the bed and beckons you over with a wave of the blade. Obediently, you crawl to him, sitting back on your heels and awaiting further instruction.

“That’s a good girl fer not runnin’. Kinda dumb though, I mean, I gave you an openin’.” He laughs, drags the chilly point of the blade down your cheek, across your jaw, down your neck, pressing it lightly to the exact place he’d buried the other knife into the man upstairs. He hums quietly, strokes your other cheek with his bloody fingers.

“I can’t wait to put bruises all over that pretty skin.” You shiver at his whispered words, moisture pooling between your thighs despite the terror gripping your throat. Your heart beats frantically against your ribs, pleading at you to fight, to flee, something, but you remain seated on your knees as is expected of you.

Bo uses the knife to saw through your shirt. When you’re bared to him, he wraps an arm around your waist and leans down to sink his teeth into the soft flesh under your collarbone. You wince, suck in air through your teeth, whimper when he sucks a deep purple mark into your skin. He grunts, does it again under your jaw, drags his tongue across your tender flesh until you moan.

“Ohh,” he coos in response, viciously biting your shoulder and making you hiss, “Does that slutty little cunt get wet when I hurt ya’, baby girl?”

“Yes, daddy,” you whisper, choking on a gasp when Bo shoves your face into the disgusting mattress.

“Ass up, whore,” he orders, cutting into your shorts and underwear enough so he can rip them off your hips. “Jesus Christ, look at that,” he murmurs as he drags the flat of the cool blade along the lips of your dripping pussy. You clench your eyes shut, icy fear surging through your veins. Oh god, oh god, please don’t….

“Look, fuckin’ look,” he growls, fisting a hand in your hair so he can wrench your head off the bed and shove the glistening steel in front of your face, “Look at how fuckin’ wet y’are. Just achin’ for any cock to fill that whore cunt, huh?” As well as you can with how hard he grips your hair, you furiously shake your head.

“No? No, yer not a filthy slut?” You shake your head again, wondering if you dare speak.

You risk it, “Yours,” you whimper, gritting your teeth when he shoves the knife closer to your lips.

“Oh, so now ya’ remember, huh, now that ya’ have a knife in yer face?” You nod and Bo shoves you back into the mattress. The knife clatters to the ground and you hear the clink and slip of his belt as he jerks it off his hips. You clamp your eyes shut when he snaps the leather, knowing exactly what comes next.

The first slap of leather across your skin makes you jump and shriek. Sharp, stinging pain follows each noisy smack, the sound bouncing off the walls and ceiling until all you can hear are the blows, your yelps, and the blood rushing in your ears. You wriggle, flinching as much as you dare as leather connects agonizingly with your skin again and again. You wish the pain didn’t make you burn with need, but Bo’s conditioned you well after all this time.

“Fuck,” he groans under his breath, warm palm smoothing over the angry, throbbing skin of your ass and thighs. He drops the belt, leans over you, tips your head to the side, and brushes his thumb through the tears you just now realize are staining your cheeks.

“Oh, baby girl, ya’ look real pretty when ya’ cry. Roll over.” You do, flopping onto your back as quickly as possible. Bo spreads your slick thighs wide, settles between them, pops the button on his pants, and slides the zipper. He pulls his painfully hard, flushed cock from his pants, sighing in relief and lifting you hips to line up with your damp entrance. With a grunt and a groan, he slams home, plowing through tight, slippery muscles and tearing a scream from your throat.

Bloody, calloused hands wrap around your neck and silence your cry. He jackhammers you into the mattress, indifferent to your own pleasure, intent on permanently imprinting himself in your cunt for all time.

“That’s right, baby, that’s right.” You choke on nothing, twisting your hands in the sheets, face feeling like it’s going to burst with how hard he squeezes your throat, “Sure, yer a cock hungry slut, but yer my cock hungry slut, got that? This. Is. Mine.” You nod and he lets off so you can gulp in air and cough.

“Yer nothin’ but my stupid little fuck toy, yeah? Say, ‘Yes, daddy.’”

“Y-Yes, daddy!” you shout, moaning loudly when he tilts his hips and batters that perfect spot he knows will make you scream. Bo spits on your chest, smearing the saliva over your breasts and rolling a nipple between thumb and forefinger. He slides his wet hand up your neck, over your chin, and shoves three spit-covered fingers in your mouth.

“Suck on my fingers, get ‘em nice and wet fer me.” You suck as well as you can, laving your tongue along the pads of his digits until he groans. Bo rips his fingers from your mouth, spits on them, brings them to your clit. He mashes the sensitive bud until you’re keening and meeting each punishing thrust.

“Ya’ think you deserve to cum, slut?” You shake your head and Bo laughs, “No? That’s right, ya’ don’t. Only good girls get ta’ cum.”

“P-Please, daddy,” you whine, “Please, I’ll-I’ll be g-good.”

“Ya’ wanna be good now?” Frantically, you nod, heat building in your core, muscles fluttering around the cock assaulting your insides.

“Who-f-fuck-who do ya’ belong to?”

“You! Bo, daddy, please, you, I’m yours, I’m yours, please, fuck, I’m, I have—

“That’s right, bitch, yer mine. Mine. This filthy fuckin’ cunt is mine.”

“Yes! Yes! Yours! Please, daddy, PLEASE!” You’re going to implode, shaking from head to toe, poised right at the brink but terrified to fall.

“Cum for me, slut, cum on my cock, fuckin’ do it.” You scream, vision whiting out, back arching off the mattress, every nerve in your body alight with beautiful sensation.

“Fuck, god, fuck, ‘m gonna fill that dumb cunt up with cum.” Bo wraps his hands around your throat and buries his cock as far into you as he can get. With a broken cry he spills warmth into your belly, his face twisted with pleasure as your twitching muscles milk him dry.

Bo slumps, catching himself with hands planted on either side of your head. Breathing hard, you meet his gaze under your teary lashes. The anger burning in his baby blues has dampened to a smolder. There’s more lust there than anything else now.

“Say it again,” he rasps, dry throat cracking when he speaks.

“I’m yours, Bo.”

“That’s my girl.”

#bo sinclair #bo x reader #bo sinclair x reader #house of wax (2005)#house of wax #slashers #slasher fandom #slasher x reader #n sfw #my writing #thank you for the ask #bo sinclair x you #reader insert #mmmmm fuck this was fun to write #even more fun when it happens in real life #hehe

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