#and against this prudish dick

[gildui]

drabble , domestic simon who loves your tits & wicked 18+ gaslight king

"were you just singing?"

"negative."

"simon, we live alone."

the shower is scalding. his pale, freckled skin aflush under the stream and you yank your hand away, hissing, when you test the waters.

"so?" his stare is dissembling. leering. even more so as he watches you strip through the vinyl. he rubs soap over the dusty curls protecting his hefty softened cock. ruddy, bulbous head drooping under its own weight despite how he gripes it at the base.

gives himself a little tug when you pull back the curtain once more—hand tucked into your armpit, forearm braced over the fat of your tits; prudish, as if his teeth aren't branded into your cleavage—to test the now cooler water.

you cock an eyebrow at him, perplexed.

"it's just us that live here."

"a ghost then."

"our house was only built a few years ago," you snark—all bark, not nearly enough bite—just as his everlasting patience snaps. simon reaches over the threshold of the shower stall, curls a meaty hand around your bicep, and yanks you beneath the water. "how can it be haunted?"

"land, maybe," he supplies unhelpfully, pulling you flush against his front, the print of his dick pressed against the cleft of your ass.

simon hikes his chin over your shoulder—heavy grunts and groans against your ear—and uses his bar of soap as an excuse for his hands to roam over your chest and pinch your nipples between his index and thumb. then, pull.

"just admit you were singing wicked, simon."

his pause is so fleeting that you fail to notice—too caught up in the way he methodically massages your sudsy tits together by testing their weight and jiggle in his palms.

angles them directly into the heated stream, lip curling when you inevitably shudder in oversensitivity.

"was the bodies i buried in the garden."

now it's your turn to pause. jolt, in fact. you squint up at him. equal parts confused and suspicious. maybe it's another shit joke.

"what?"

"cornflowers needed fertilizer." he's dead serious. callouses scraping down your torso to cup over your cunt.

"fuckin' hell—bodies?" you're spitting and the corner of his mouth simply quirks up, his middle finger tracing across your seam, splitting your lips apart for him to notch a fingerpad against your slicked hole.

"only four."

"what?! why? who? the fuck is wrong with you?" your grip is a vice around his wrist, tugging his hand away from paradise. almost as fast as it appeared, simon's smile is wiped off his face.

too soon for him to mention the bodies of your shitty first dates, then.

time to backtrack.

"it was m'singing."

"no. no. why are there bodies buried in our garden?"

"defying gravity's my favourite."

[shellxrls]

— r. cameron / reader

warnings: DUBCON — rafe roofies and then rapes reader / unprotected PinV / misogyny / mention of drugs (cocaine & roofies) / mention of virginity / inspiration taken from maddy & nate (euphoria)

synopsis: rafe cameron x fem!reader… sometimes rafe needs to slip a girl a little something at a party to get some, and where’s the shame in that if he knows they want him anyway, they’re just too prudish to admit it.

After you’ve successfully been dosed, he makes you sit on his lap for lack of space on the couch so he can rock you on his knee until you’re tired, delirious, and horny enough to be lifted upstairs, legs dangling against his broad back while you hiccup and giggle next to your upside-down view of his chest.

His nose is numb from the coke and his brain heady, one could argue almost as inebriated as you. But the lines make him oversaturated, not cock-dumb like what he slipped you — eager hands already pawing at his zipper and coming to a fumbled close around the metal just before you’re tossed onto a bed, spread aloof like the crumpled sheets.

“You’re sooo nice to me Rafe.. when all the other guys were sayin’i shoulda gone home,” you end with a belligerent nod of your head, slurring throughout and biting your lip in sexless embarrassment, chewing the skin raw enough to reflect your torn consciousness instead.

Rafe simply smirks, chin protruding outwards while his eyes flit between your thighs peeking through your overridden dress and your tits falling out of the frilly décolletage.

“You a virgin?”

“Mhm” you lie, despite the reeling dizziness occupying your headspace. Besides, nobody likes a whore — especially not rafe, uninterested in ‘stretched out pussy’ as you vaguely recall from his earlier conversation crowded around friends.

He approaches closer now, knocking your trembling knees apart with one of his beefy thighs, bulge forward and creasing in his pants as your dialogue gets him hard already, imposing his physicality in all its glory: “What like— you’ve never even been fingered before?”

You shake your head, tousling curls before staring back up at him, “Only my own.”

To that he chuckles, the noise grating and stunted when he uses it as an excuse to adjust himself in his pants, drawing his chest down further until he’s now hovering above you.

“Uh y’know,” he tongues at his cheek, “I could take care of that for you, practically all spread open an’ready huh?”

Like it wasn’t his plan to get you dumb and stuffed by the end of the night, even if it meant bringing out his inner brute, he was taller, faster, stronger — he could do it if he really wanted, but he made it easy for you instead. Could feel the roofie worming its way into your consciousness, jamming rationality and flooding you with hedonistic desire that would trigger your sex endorphins and make it so that you would want this, that he could brag about it without you opening your bitch mouth the next day and claiming ‘rape’; an ugly word anyways, coming out harsh in a spit, nothing like what rafe was doing to you, especially not with the way you were looking at him.

Your mouth opens, then closes, seemingly flailing on confirmation when really your jaw is getting slack and numb, and so you feel encouraged to nod instead, the movement making your thoughts go all bubbly, refracting Rafe’s glinting eyes at your ‘consent’.

He wastes no time with prep, shoving your dress up so it’s tucked over your tits, basal temperature remaining warm and stuffy despite the exposure to cool air. A good indicator though, means rafe can tell it’s working, and just how long he has before you might start struggling.

When he pulls himself out of his shorts it’s surprising, of course, everything about him is pretty, one would expect a tangible reflection of the cruelty on his features but instead, his dick looks cutesy, if not for the intimidating size.

Spit trickles harshly down his palm when he wraps a hand around himself, tugging quickly and using both his legs to split you around his midriff, leaking and achy despite the inattention you’ve received.

“You want this dick so fuckin’ bad huh,” he laughs at the puddle of arousal leaking out underneath you, considers swiping a finger into it to stick into your mouth but he doubts you’d be able to breathe right now if he interfered with the half catatonic features on your face, and it’s not like he’s out for that type of violence anyways (or at least not right now).

When he pushes himself inside you’re silent, pupils retreating in favour of a squeal — ironically a very Rafe-esque trait — while Rafe bites down into his cheek and rolls his palm over your chest to ease the pressure of the fit.

“Thought the roofie woulda loosened you up a bit..” mumbled out while his stomach clenches, now bracing his entire heavy arm across your abdomen and pinching skin when you involuntarily quiver at the weight, “You can take it c’mon.”

He thrusts hard and uncoordinated, fucking like he knows he’s hot, or at least how many more pills he has left in his stash. Knocking against your insides and entirely focused on the way his dick feels, knowing how easily he could move onto another victim, and just how much he wants to enjoy you in particular before it’s over.

Sweat clings to both your bodies, the slick getting louder when each thrust manages to pound a squelch out of you, spattering against the sheets or catching on Rafe’s balls to stick the both of you together with messy tendrils.

You’re pliant, let him move your legs so your ankles entwine behind his back, heavy hand locking them together and giving you both little breathing room; just enough for him to spill obscenities straight into your emotionless face with hot, sticky breath — he laughs, manically and seemingly at his own joke, before deciding to share it with you, “just don’t go running ‘bout me ‘assaulting’ you right. You wanted this, not my fault my cock’s so good the slut has to go dumb hmm?” mocking you with a teasing lilt and a raised brow.

You pat at his swollen chest, it’s all you can manage to do, urgent to get him off you, give you a little space atleast. He only shoves himself in further, lips puckering to sloppily catch yours, saliva straying down your chin and jaw instead.

Your outright discomfort seems to get him going even more, thrusts increasing in increment despite becoming more careless, tip catching your clit when he slips out and hurries to stuff it back in.

When his face pinches up, brows tensed and nose furrowed, you can tell he’s going to cum, the friction between your bodies almost unbearable with the heat that suddenly envelops him.

A slew of curses are hissed out, casual vulgarity being one of Rafe’s favourite expressions of self, and then he’s pulling out and wrapping a fist around himself to paint your tummy white. Ropes shooting watery on your tummy and painting him a proud picture.

He shakes himself off on you a final time before tucking his wet dick back into his briefs, cleaning himself up entirely unbothered by the dissected mess of you laying drugged and fucked out on the bed.

“My head feels funny.”

“Yeah, that’s cause I fucked it out of whack.” He says it serious but you can imagine his upturned lips at his own sick sense of humour.

“Where are you going?” you sit up groggy, chest tight.

“Uhh, back downstairs, got some more yayo I needa lay off— you can stay here or.. wherever, doesn’t matter.”

He has the decency to shut the door fully when he leaves, yet you’re still alone and forced to lay in the waste of one of Rafe Cameron’s nights out.

[rusalka52]

Tell me I'm pretty

↝completed

part 1 || part 2 || part 3 || part 4 || part 5

Sirius Black x Fem!Slytherin!Reader

summary: You have to deal with the aftermath of last night's concert and Sirius is being a dick about it. The universe also seems to hate you.

cw: bully (???) Sirius

3.4k words

A/N: This was meant to be 2 parter initially but I think it will end up being at least 4 parts! I tried to stick as close to their canon personalities as I could so that is why the Marauders are being assholes here lmfao. I hope everyone is enjoying this so far and don't forget to like, reblog, shout the update in the town's square etc. etc. !!!

Once Dorcas shoves you through the bathroom you’re met with the mess you left all over the marble top counters the night before. Black eyeshadow smudged in the sink, Barty’s black nail polish smeared on the mirror, the hair straightener inside the shower, your mascara, foundation and three of your brushes scattered on the floor and counters. Your eyes shift to the mirror to check your reflection and instead of seeing your own face staring back at you there is a post-it note stuck on the surface.

“You better clean all of this up!

-Dora & Cas :p”

You rip the note off the mirror, crumple it and toss it in the trash. You’ll clean it up later. As your eyes focus on your reflection you notice your smeared lipstick and smudged eyeshadow, you should’ve bothered to remove your makeup last night instead of just flopping on your bed and passing out. After washing your face and doing your skincare routine, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. You start inspecting your neck for any marks. The left side of your neck is clear and as you turn your head on the right, pulling down your pyjama shirt slightly you gasp. No… surely not you have you to be imagining it. You attempt to rub the hickey off your neck hoping that it’s somehow makeup but no such luck. Thankfully the mark will be covered up by the collar of your school uniform but that doesn’t matter, you’ll know that it’s there. And, of course, he will know as well, which makes it a hundred times worse.

After you do your makeup, remove your pyjamas and put on the Slytherin girl’s uniform you look at yourself in the mirror once more. Maybe he’s right. The uniform does look a bit too prudish. No! You can’t let him get in your head this much, he’s just a stupid, horny boy who doesn't know what he’s saying.

As you open the bathroom door to the empty dorm room you walk down the stairs towards the common room where you meet Dorcas and Pandora, chatting on the couch. Their eyes focus on you, looking you up and down as if they’re scanning you for any clues as to why you were acting so weird.

“Did you roll up your skirt?” Pandora asks, holding back a laugh. You blush and briskly walk away towards the door.

“No, my legs just got longer.” You mumble with a huff as the two girls follow you out of the dungeon and head towards the Great Hall, laughing loudly behind you.

Once you reach the Great Hall for breakfast you walk immediately towards the Slytherin table not even bothering to glance over to the Gryffindors.

The moment you sit down you start shoveling scrambled eggs on your plate. You almost don’t notice Regulus plopping down next to you until he speaks.

“Why is Potter telling everyone that will listen that you snogged my brother last night?” You snap your head towards him and your fork falls out of your hand and clatters against the plate.

“What?! Where did you hear that?” You hoped that you sounded nonchalant but your widened eyes and skittish movements betray your true feelings. Regulus raises his eyebrow quizzically.

“Umm, Potter was telling some of the Gryffindor students while we were practicing this morning and I overheard. Had to share the field with these barbarians. Again.” He complains. “Anyway, I’m sure he was just imagining things… right?” He has now turned his attention fully on you.

“Reggie… Please don’t hate me…” You reply quietly looking back at your plate once again.

“No… I can’t believe that you, of all people here, woul-” What was surely about to be a strict chastisement was interrupted by a smack on the back of your head.

“Oi, dickhead, you ditched me last night!” Barty yells in your ear, sitting down in the seat next to you. By now nearly everyone at the Slytherin table was staring at you.

“What are you on about, Barty? We returned back to the castle together, you liar! Or were you so drunk that you can’t even remember who carried you to your common room!” You turn to look at him exasperated, shifting your annoyance at the situation to your brunette friend.

“Oh yeah? Well what about the 30 minutes you spent in the bathroom with Black?” He fires back.

“It wasn’t even 30 minutes and shouldn’t you be at the Ravenclaw table? This isn’t even your house!” You shove him away, attempting to deflect from the matter at hand and he blows a raspberry as he heads to his table.

“SO YOU DID SNOG HIM?” Regulus whisper-yells at you with a disgusted look on his face and you bury your head in your hands.

~

“No way you actually lost your wand, mate, you really need to focus more.” Remus shakes his head, lightly chastising his friend for his forgetfulness.

“Well, Rem, I didn’t exactly lose it per se.” Sirius tells the group of boys, pride evident in his voice. James just grins, he didn’t get a chance to blab to the other Marauders about what happened the night before since he had to run to Quidditch practice early that morning and he was on the edge of his seat ready to tell everyone.

“Let’s just say that I know very well where it is. Or, dare I say, with whom it is.” He says looking directly at you from across the Great Hall. Peter and Remus follow his gaze turning 180° in their seats, making it painfully obvious that they’re staring.

“You’re joking…” Peter turns back to look at him, mouth agape in shock.

“Oh Pete, you know I am always… serious!” James can’t help but burst out laughing at his friend’s lame and overused joke.

The group of boys didn’t really know you that well. They did notice you hanging out with Regulus and with the girl Marlene told them she was going out with, but that’s all they knew about you concretely, the rest were all just assumptions. That you were a blood purist, a pompous and pretentious Slytherin that didn’t care about anyone but herself etc. etc. so when Sirius told them that he managed to find you of all people at a concert and get you to kiss him they were justifiably shocked. Remus, however, had gotten the chance to work with you on a potions project and got to know you a bit during your 4th year. Admittedly, it has been nearly three years since the last time you two interacted properly but he recalls you being really well-mannered, polite and helpful throughout the duration of the project. You both talked about shared hobbies you had, such as reading and listening to music, your plans for the winter holidays, what you had asked Santa to bring you for Christmas and so on. He really didn’t get the “mean blood-purist” vibes from you, but you could never be sure in a time like this, so he didn't dare speak up against his friends. The only time he remembers you being slightly mean and upset was when Sirius and James came up to your table in the library while you were in the midst of completing the assignment, closed the book you were reading in your face, hissed at you, mocking your house, and whisked Remus away to go partake in whatever shenanigan they had come up with that time. Your eye roll and huff was definitely warranted in that situation, he thought.

~

You made sure to keep Sirius’ wand securely and secretly stored in your bag. You planned on giving it to him after breakfast in the school corridors, there was no way you would approach him in front of everyone! You glance over at the Gryffindor table towards the “Marauders”, a dimwitted and ridiculous name for a dimwitted and ridiculous bunch, you thought. As luck would have it, Sirius was already looking your way, making sure to throw in a quick wink before continuing his conversation with Potter. You look back down at your miserable scrambled eggs, you lost your appetite now.

After a bit you notice the Gryffindor boys exit the Great Hall and you wait a few minutes before following behind them, making up some excuse to your friends that you wanted to finish an assignment. Someone as perceptive as Regulus of course connected the dots that you were following his brother immediately and he just shook his head, going back to drinking his tea. He doesn’t have the time or the energy to deal with this.

Once you spotted the boys heading towards the exit of the castle, most likely going to the Black Lake to study or chat, you made your way to them more briskly. Once you were within ear shot you cleared your throat.

“Excuse me, Black.” You said keeping your voice firm. They all turn to face you and James and Sirius step forward, leaving the other boys behind them, no doubt a silly intimidation tactic.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the little snake, what can I help you with, love?” He says, smirking down at you, not that he is much taller than you. This boy was truly absurd, not even twenty-four hours ago he was whimpering and begging you to kiss him and call him pretty and now he was trying to intimidate you. You could have laughed in his face if it weren't for all the other nosy students who had paused their conversations and turned their attention to the exchange happening in the middle of the corridor.

“Can we talk, privately please?” You whisper trying to keep your conversation away from prying eyes and ears.

“Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of my mates.”

“Merlin Sirius, don’t make a scene! You already know what this is about.” You roll your eyes.

“Look, love, I’m not really interested in you, alright?” He says loud enough for the students in your vicinity to hear. You widen your eyes and your mouth hangs open as Potter laughs next to him. You can’t believe the gall of him. What an unbelievable twat! You ought to break his wand in half but that would get you into trouble so instead you take a deep breath trying to stay calm. You don’t need to stoop down on his level.

You step closer to him, so close you’re almost chest to chest, you reach into your bag and discreetly pull out his wand. You shove it in his chest and mumble so only he can hear “Don’t do this shit again, it’s not funny.”

Instead of grabbing his wand and letting you be, he reaches up and firmly grips your hand that’s holding the wand against his chest, pulling you even closer than before.

“Oh sweetheart! Thank you so much for bringing me back my wand after last night, I really appreciate it!” He exclaims in a loud voice so everyone in the corridor can hear. He successfully managed to humiliate you. You attempt to pull away as you hear the other students starting to whisper and James sniggering behind him, but his grip on your wrist is too strong. His other arm reaches up to your collar pulling it aside slightly so that only he could see the bruise that had formed on your neck. His eyes flicker from your hickey and they meet your eyes as his smirk deepens. He finally releases your arm, pushing you back lightly and he walks away.

“You’re a dickhead, Black!” You call out as you stomp away in the opposite direction, ignoring the heat rising to your neck and face.

~

The next day, a Sunday, you decided to ignore everything that had happened in the past two days. You had homework and classes and exams to focus on, not some boy that doesn’t know how to behave.

After rising from bed at noon, ignoring the questions shot your way from your dorm mates and their probing to clean up the mess in the bathroom, you get dressed and make your way towards the library. Now that is a place where the “Marauders”, save for Remus of course, wouldn't be caught dead in. You find an empty table in the back of the library near the windows, lay out your things and begin studying. It could not have been more than ten minutes of revision when you hear someone call out your name. You look up from your Charms assignment to see Sirius Black approach you while shoving a bit of tattered parchment paper in his bag. How did he even find you back here…

You watch him with a neutral expression plastered on your face as he sits directly in front you.

“What do you want?”

“Godric, I just want to study!” He says, obviously mocking you. “Can’t a boy focus on his schoolwork?”

“Well, go sit somewhere else.”

“No. Last time I checked you don't own any seat in the library.” He teases, opening his Transfiguration textbook. You roll your eyes and sigh. Had you not already started working you would have packed up and changed seats, not like that would have any effect, as he would have surely followed behind you. You decide to ignore him for the time being, seeing as he was quiet and genuinely working on his assignment, save for the occasional holes being burned at the top of your head whenever he’d stare at you, attempting to catch a glimpse of your face.

After a couple minutes of working silently you feel a kick under the table. You won’t give him the satisfaction of eliciting a reaction from you. Three seconds go by when he kicks you again. Harder. You drop your quill.

“What?!” you whisper-yell, not wanting to alert Madam Pince.

“Next Saturday, Hogsmeade, you and me. It’s a date”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling.”

“Then no.” You ignore the hurt that flashes in his eyes, you must be imagining things.

“Okay, then I’m asking.” He is starting to sound desperate again. A complete juxtaposition from how he behaved yesterday in the corridors.

“The answer is still no, you’re a twat.” You return to your essay.

“Please, I swear I am being genuine with the date” He lowers his head, keeping his eyes firm on you, trying to get you to look at him. “And I’m sorry for how I acted yesterday. I panicked.” He whispers the last part reaching out to gently hold your hands, obviously not wanting anyone to hear him apologising lest his punk-rock persona be spoiled.

You rip your hands away from his, quite harshly, and start packing your things. You’ll study in your dorm. It’s obvious that he’s not being… well, serious with this “date”. If you do end up going and he spots any of his dumb friends out you’re certain that he will go back to his regular antics and making you the butt of all their jokes. Or, Merlin forbid, ditch you to go get drinks at the Three Broomsticks. There was absolutely no way you were going on this date!

~

“Mate,” Sirius says as he opens the door to his own dorm, “she said no!” He flops face first on Peter’s bed since it was the only clean one in the entire room.

“Well, what did you expect, Sirius? After the way you talked to her yesterday…” Remus replies not even bothering to lift his head from his homework.

“Give the boy a break he’s had his heart broken by a cruel and unjust girl! Who’s side are you on Moony?” James questions him.

“Yeah, Moony!” Sirius echoes, muffled from the pillows he’s buried his face in. “I even apologised!” He whines.

“I’m sure you’d know all about heartbreak, wouldn’t you, James?” Remus muses with a giggle.

“Oi shut up!” James exclaims tossing a crumpled paper ball on Remus' head.

“Why don’t you try asking her again tomorrow?” Peter asks the boy that’s still laying on his bed.

“If I just keep asking her, she’ll keep saying no, and I’ll end up like Prongs! No, I need to try a different approach…”

~

Your Monday begins like any other. You wake up at 7 and head to breakfast at 8. Then your first period of the day starts; Transfiguration with professor McGonagall and the Gryffindors. And you haven’t done your essay. Again. Last week you didn’t have time to finish it due to all the projects and exams assigned by other professors but this week you truly forgot about it. You did all the other assignments, just not the essay. You were surely going to get house points deducted and maybe even detention if the universe hates you.

The moment the bell rings professor McGonagall transforms back into her human form.

“Come on students, get out your assignments and textbooks, there is no time to be wasted, we are already behind schedule by one whole unit!” She exclaims as she starts walking down each row collecting the students' assignments.

“Miss, weren’t you supposed to hand in last week's overdue essay as well?” She stops right in front of your desk looking down at you with her piercing green eyes. You hesitate to look up at her, already growing anxious. Once your eyes meet hers you gulp.

“Professor, I am truly so sorry, I genuinely forgot to complete it. Please forgive me and I promise to bring it in next week.” You plead with her, fidgeting with your nails and biting the skin on your lips, nearly making it bleed.

“Miss, this is the second week in a row you haven’t turned in your essay. I have been far too lenient with all of you!” She states looking at all the students.

“5 points from Slytherin, and I’ll see you on Saturday, miss.”

“But it’s a Hogsmeade we-” She silences your protest immediately with a sharp look and heat rises to your cheeks and ears in embarrassment.

“Now, if anyone else has not done his or her assignment they will join her in detention next Saturday. No ‘ifs’ or ‘buts’ there is no time for that!” She states, scanning the room. Suddenly, from the upper left corner of the classroom a student raises his hand.

“Minnie, I haven’t done the homework either!” Of course it was Sirius. You could’ve sworn, however, that you saw him doing his Transfiguration homework yesterday at the library.

“Mr. Black!” McGonagall exclaims. “5 points from Gryffindor for that wretched nickname you keep using, and, of course, detention for you as well on Saturday. You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves. The rest of you hand in your assignments at the end of the lesson, I have already lost enough class time dealing with these two babbling idiots, I will not waste anymore!” She returns back to her desk and you sink lower into your seat in humiliation, making eye contact with Sirius behind you, who just smirks in pride.

“Padfoot, why did you do that? You have your essay right here.” James mumbles in his friend's ear hoping that McGonagall doesn’t hear him and removes even more points.

“James! Shhh! You’ll spoil my plan.” Sirius shushes his friend. James furrows his eyebrows not understanding and Sirius shakes his head.

“If we get detention together on Saturday, that’s basically a date, since we’ll spend time together and she will have to talk to me!” Sirius reiterates. “Merlin, no wonder you’ve barely made progress with Lily after six years, you really don’t think things through, mate!” He says, teasing his friend.

A deep thoughtful look crosses James’ face. “Huh…”

~

The lesson went by painfully slowly and you thank Salazar when the bell rings, signifying the end of class. You gather your things and walk out the classroom already forgetting the stunt Black pulled an hour or so ago.

“See you on Saturday, love, it’s a date.” Sirius whispers in your ear. Speak of the devil. You snap your head towards him and he makes sure to wink at you from over his shoulder as he heads towards the Charms classroom. You groan. You were dreading Saturday.

tags: @gastroentred @beekeepingageissome @is-it-better-to-speak-or-todie

Likes and reblogs help a lot! If anyone wants to be added to tag list for the third part just let me know!!

Requests: open :D

[arminsumi]

. . . 彡 🗑️ trash draft: goodboy façade.

NOTE: i present to u... nerd armin crumbs. i've sat on this thing for months, it was part of a longer fic that i had planned out but it was too much to write for me so i gave up on it lol

🔞 minors don't read or interact / n.sfw / smut / 18+ content

WARNINGS — stereotypes, m*sturbation, sending nxdes for a paid dare, mentions of alcohol but not being drunk, mean reader, min's fantasies include creampies, lmk if i have missed a warning thank u

🍒 — J ⋅ reblogs and comments help a lot ! enjoy reading :)

He was sick of it. Sick of seeing that red tint on your lips. Sick of the way his pants tightened up at your flirting. Sick of only having your lips around his dick in his fantasies.

And good god, he had an endless stream of fantasies. As far as his imagination's concerned, you've had sex with him every day.

His fist isn't enough. His daydreams of you aren't enough. He needs to really feel you, or he might actually explode.

But despite his overwhelming lust, his hands are tied behind his back, and his shirt collar is as pristine as his goodboy façade.

You know how you turn him on, in fact you're sorely aware. It's almost amusing to see him suffer.

He blushes up to his ears when you compliment him. His pants tighten when you murmur dirty jokes into his ear. He nearly chokes on air when you 'accidentally' press your thigh against his during Levi's lectures.

Your scent lingers on his T-shirt and he can't help but inhale them and start rubbing his hardening cock through his sweatpants.

He's focusing hard on the image of you pawing at his bulge, teasing him for being too wimpy to make a move himself. His fantasy grows bigger with each stroke of his hand, his pretty pink tip is flushed and throbbing underneath the grey fabric. The outline of his cock looks like something right out of a hentai, and the same goes for his moans.

He muffles his whimpers on his hand, imagining that it's your lips muffling the sound instead. He gives his aching cock a few squeezes through his sweatpants. He heard a rumor that you tend to tease like that.

Just as he gets into it, his phone erupts with dinging notifications. Right then, it's the most annoying sound on earth. He's torn right out of his fantasy of you.

The repetitive sound gets on his nerves, that is, until he checks who its from, and sees that it's you messaging him.

His jaw fucking drops at the message. His brain short circuits. Is his vision deceiving him? Is this real life right now? He's just about losing it.

Meanwhile, you're giggling over your phone screen with your girl friends. The time glares at you in the corner; 2:45 am.

Everyone at this party thinks that you're wasted, but that's one of the many talents you possess; acting drunk when actually you're as sober as a priest.

Your girl friends can't stop with their stupid, drunk giggles.

"Alright, I did it. Pay up." You smile evilly over at your favorite blond, Tori.

She groaned and pulled out her phone. Within a couple of minutes, you received a notification that your wish list was 'anonymously' purchased.

"Thanks, Tori, 'love you!" You coo and smile, pulling her in for a hug.

"I didn't think you'd actually do it..." She giggles to herself, "Armin is probably too prudish to stare at it too long, you know."

Your smile morphs into a cruel smirk. In this friend group, there is no debate about Armin's 'prudishness'. What's the problem with being a virgin at twenty-two years old? Nothing at all, there's nothing wrong with that; but your opinions have molded to fit the shape of your friends, haven't they? So you just agree that Armin is the biggest prude at your college.

And that poor boy, that poor boy, he's laying in bed freaking out over the fact you sent him a nude of yourself, meanwhile you're getting back to partying.

You did not just accidentally send him your best nude, there's no way.

What's worse than the lack of context is the fact you went offline right after he read the message. There's no way, he thought.

Armin can't even form a thought. His eyes are just glued to his screen. He subconsciously brought his face closer, and his hand dove under his pants.

There's no way it was an accident, he knows that, he's not an idiot. He's the valedictorian of your college.

Whimpers fill Armin's dorm room. His mind is racing. Heart palpitating. Your name falls off his lips while he approaches one of the best orgasms he's had in a while.

Before he knows it he's spurting hot ropes of his cum all over his shirt, the shirt that smells like your scent. Your name echoes off his walls, and in his mind he's just deliciously filled you up to the brim with his milky white release.

[hedgehogsaretheultimatelifeform]

Kinktober 2024 Day Ten

Cloning

09!John "Soap" MacTavish/09!Simon "Ghost" Riley/22!John "Soap MacTavish/22!Simon "Ghost" Riley

Through vague and unspecified means, both versions of Ghost and Soap end up in one room together. They fuck, because what else is there to do?

For clarity:

09 Soap -- Captain MacTavish

09 Ghost -- Ghost

22 Soap -- Johnny

22 Ghost -- Simon

“Have some decency. Wipe your hand on a damn towel, not my shirt.” Captain MacTavish passed Johnny a towel from behind the sofa, clearly the quicker of the two to recover from naked, orgasmic bliss.

“You just have to be conventional, don’t you?” Johnny accepted it, cleaning his hand of the other man’s cum as he shifted out of his lap, kicking his abandoned clothes to the floor so he could sink into the lumpy sofa cushions instead. “You reckon this is what they wanted us to be doing?”

“No. Probably thought we’d share war wounds. Or we would, if you had any.” The captain shook his head. “Can’t imagine that there’s a standard practice for when you come face to face with an alternate version of yourself, so we’re the lucky sons of bitches that have to figure it out.”

“Doubt this’ll catch on, though.” Johnny nodded. “Most people would be too prudish to wank off with each other.”

“That wasn’t wanking. It was fucking.”

“You can’t call a hand job, fucking.”

“I had another man’s hand—”

“You know, I would say that, really, fucking counts as the action, not the principle of it—” Johnny spoke over him, trying to underscore his superior point by quickly folding the towel back again.

“I had another man’s hand on my dick.” The captain raised his voice and knocked the towel out of Johnny’s hands. “That is, by definition, not masturbating.”

“But if I’m you—” Johnny protested, poking the captain’s face.

“A young, green me.” Captain MacTavish grabbed his hand and yanked it out behind him, dragging Johnny back closer to him and grasping his chin with his other hand. He squinted, highlighting the long scar over his eye, as he ran his fingers over Johnny’s stubble. “You call this scruff a beard?”

“Least I cut my hair better than you.” Johnny yanked himself free and flopped back away from him to lean on the arm of the sofa, crossing his arms as he scowled. “You look like Captain Price with all that.”

“That’s a compliment, lad. My fellow captain has good taste, and I only learn from the best.” The captain followed him, trying to gain the upper hand by leaning over him. Johnny shoved him back by his shoulder, springing up to grab the captain’s face. He sank his fingers into his beard, keeping his grip tight as he made sure that he was the one to initiate the first kiss between them.

Before, when they’d first sat down, kissing your older or younger, as applicable, doppelganger had been just a bit too weird, but now that they’d made each other come, Johnny at least, was past it.

It took the captain a moment to reciprocate, and Johnny used the opportunity to gather his legs underneath himself to keep pushing the captain back. He wanted it clearly understood that, despite the fact that the captain was older, and had a higher tank than he did, it was Johnny who was going to be doing the fucking around here. Once the Ghosts were done on the bed, of course.  Apparently, Captain MacTavish was too delicate to get fucked on a sofa.

The captain grunted, pushing Johnny back again. He shook his head, the slight haze in his eyes fading quickly as he gained the upper hand when Johnny threw a hand back to steady himself. The captain grasped Johnny by his shoulder, his eyes catching on the scar left from the time Graves had shot him, rubbing his thumb over it as a look of melancholy took over his face.

“You’ve got a lot to go through.” He muttered, before Johnny kissed him again, pressing his thumbs against the corners of his mouth.

“Dinnae we agree to not talk about that?”

“True.” The captain shrugged the mood off, instead brushing his hand down Johnny’s spine and grabbing his ass. “I got a better ass than you.”

“That’s no secret. Asses are meant to age well.” Johnny leant into the touch, slowly feeling his cock starting get hard again.

Captain MacTavish chuckled as he felt it too, nudging against his thigh. “At that rate, we’re going to have to tell them to hurry up.”

He nodded towards the bed, where the two Ghosts were still rolling around together.

Not in an innuendo way. Literally. They both still had their boxers on, the only clothing left besides their masks, as the two lieutenants struggled to sort out which of them was going to top the other.

“Might not even get around to fucking, the way they keep humping like that.” Johnny slumped back down onto the cushions again, resting his shoulder against the captain’s as they watched the bed.

“True.” The captain reached out to rest his hand on Johnny’s neck, gently rubbing his thumb up and down.

“Shut it, both of you,” Simon, Johnny’s Ghost, grunted, evidently still listening to at least some of their conversation. Probably a bad idea, in hindsight, as letting himself get distracted had ended up with him pinned to the bed, caged under the body of the captain’s Ghost. He must have been well pinned, too, as even though Simon was still making a bit of a struggle, Johnny could see the familiar, relenting fatigue settling into him from the times he’d topped Simon.

Ghost let Simon keep the pretence up for a couple of minutes, before deciding he’d had enough, and pushed his hand into Simon’s boxers. Simon collapsed when Ghost grabbed his dick, barely responding when Ghost started letting out soothing toned mockeries as he tugged both their boxers off. It didn’t take much more before Ghost was shoving his dick into Simon, and fucking him hard and fast. Simon took it well, moaning ever so sweetly underneath his counterpart, even as Ghost pushed the bottom of his mask up, his tongue hanging out of his mouth like he was mocking him.

“Oi, Ghost. Behave yourself.” The captain called out from Johnny’s side.

Ghost slowed and looked over at them, pouting. “Am I not?”

“Treat him nice and fuck him properly, you hear?” Ghost rolled his eyes at the captain’s words, but slowed down and took hold of Simon’s hips, gently tugging them up into each of his thrusts. Simon’s head lolled back with the slower, softer pace, his soft whines filling the room, punctuated by the slap of his cock bouncing against his stomach, each movement leaving strings of sticky cum between the head of his cock and his skin.

“Keep him on a tight leash, then?” Johnny murmured.

“Course I do.” The captain grinned. “Someone has to make sure he isn’t running wild.”

Johnny chuckled, glad to be on the other end of that attitude for once, as he moved his hand to his own dick. He rubbed it slowly, biting his lip as he watched Simon arch his back and cum, tensing up and whining as Ghost sped up to the same brutal pace as before, hanging his head as he grunted, then promptly collapsed on top of Simon.

The captain made to stand up, but Johnny reached out, putting his hand on his arm to stop him. Instead, the pair of them watched as Simon sat up, gently patting Ghost’s ass, keeping him close as he propped them up on the pillows, tilting his head down as he murmured praises to him. Ghost settled there, content as he tugged his mask off and stared directly as his captain, like he was he dared him to interfere while Simon was rewarding him.

The captain responded by turning and kissing Johnny. Now that he had the attention of his lieutenant, the captain was suddenly very happy to acquiesce to Johnny’s wants, letting himself be pulled into Johnny’s lap, rather than the other way around. The fact that this conveniently hide the best of the show of their spit swapping kisses, as Johnny sucked the captain’s tongue into his mouth, behind the captain’s broad shoulders, probably also had something to do with it. A teasing display to show that, even though he wasn’t going to interfere directly, the captain could still make sure Ghost was being deprived of something.

Simon chuckled. Johnny probably didn’t even realise that this wasn’t a victory of his dominance, but rather the captain driving from the bottom. He was submitting to Johnny, going to let him fuck him, but for the captain, the point was that he was getting fucked by someone who wasn’t the man currently curled up on Simon’s chest. Simon pushed his own mask off, before reaching down to brush the matted hair of the shorter man’s face.

“You ready to admit you’re losing this bet yet?”

“What bet?” Ghost feigned innocence.

“The one you set, claiming that my Johnny wouldn’t be capable of splitting your prim captain’s ass open like a beer can.”

“Dunno what you’re talking about.” Ghost trailed his fingers over Simon’s stomach. “My wallet’s somewhere over there.”

“Sure.” Simon kissed the top of Ghost’s head, the pair of them watching as Johnny started pushing the captain around more, manoeuvring him lie on his back over on the sofa. “You think we should move?”

“Hell no.” Ghost rumbled with a victorious laugh at the foreshadowed show in front of them. “It will do him some good to get fucked on a sofa. Remind him of where he came from, you know?”

Simon chuckled too, pride swelling in his chest as he watched Johnny quickly subdue the captain’s protests, batting away the hand trying to point towards the bed. “Sounds like a plan.”

[jess-moloney-malarkey]

Funny how the other blog compares female nip slip with male “dick slip” - because they know too well there’s nothing wrong with male nip slip, so they deliberately compared a whole different body parts together. Because if anything, shouldn’t a male dick slip be an equivalent to a female vagina slip instead?

And they said “nobody consented to seeing it” when referring to her nip slip, like she went around and shoved her nips in people’s face against their will, when in reality it’s just her dresses and people can barely see her nips unless they look.

They also claimed they didn’t sexualize her, but then in another ask that was sent to them, they also compared female nip slip as a trend to women leaking their own s3x tapes to get famous as a trend. Like???????

Then they said how inappropriate her nip slip was because apparently the majority of her boyfriend’s fans are minors. And they can’t see how they make no sense at all. Because she’s not responsible for her boyfriend’s fans in any way. Her boyfriend isn’t responsible for his own fans either. It’s not her or her boyfriend’s job to take care of strangers or to be responsible for them. And mind you, her “crime” in question was a barely visible nip slip.

(By their logic, they should criticize her boyfriend for smoking and selling lighters as merch too. Because the majority of his fans are minors. Oh wait, they did. But they blamed HER for “manipulating and influencing” him. Of course, because every single thing is about her being manipulative.)

I’m not her stan, and there are some other things that blog said about her that did make some sense, but it’s wrong and ridiculous to blindly attack her for anything and everything.

She has the rights to live her life ffs.

They also recently made a compilation post of her face and attacked her for how her eyes looked “cold” then claimed that it was the reason she always wore sunglasses.

At this point, she literally cannot breathe without being “manipulative” or “a red flag” in their eyes.

I mean I admit I used to find their blog somewhat reliable, but they ruined their own credibility by making it look like everything she did is wrong. So now they just look like an outright hate blog instead of a legit and creditable criticism blog.

I’ve never consented to see male nipples, yet they’re everywhere. The only difference between male nipples and female nipples is that one feeds babies. It’s so prudish to be up in arms over seeing nipples through a shirt. Let people live, goddamn. Stop sexualizing women’s bodies in the year of our lord 2024.

[castlebyersafterdark]

is Europe really this mecca for gay sex in mainstream television? I honestly don't have any viewpoint, I'm just curious since I'm not from the region. I'm certainly not defending the backwards conservatism of America because I'm here and it's bleak as fuck at times, though... gratuitous straight sex still has plenty of moments - it's more shame of queer love in general, while...

the difference is a way of viewing the nude body and the act of love. america is either super prudish and conservative, or really overt and sexual but usually in a class-less way (like euphoria). whereas europeans are in between, more comfortable with seeing skin, with sex, the beauty and natural-ness of it. every country is different as well, don't forget europe is a massive melting pot of cultures. but talking european cinema, mainly french spanish italian, the romance, the climate meaning people are often showing skin, the way passion is a part of culture, classical art and nudity, sensuality in the culture, food, etc. europeans are in touch with their bodies and sex in a way that is less shocking than in america i would say. esp italy and greece. when you walk around seeing nude statues that often its kinda hard to freak out about a dick lol.

meanwhile ive spoken to people here who say theyre american and have all these opinions about what should or shouldnt be shown in schools, on tv, in stranger things, and theyve never even been to an art museum or seen nude sculptures or studied art like that or anything. its like dude... where do you get the nerve to tell other people how to enjoy media when you've not experienced the world yourself

Definitely agree that nudity is a different view in that region of the world than over here, as is a more commonly regarded relationship to art - that much I don't think I can argue against. It's difficult, because I'll admit my knowledge of foreign (to me) cinema is fairly limited. I'm building my film knowledge and repertoire, but I'm not there enough for a meaningful conversation so I'm not going to talk out my ass and pretend like I know what I'm talking about.

So maybe it's my views on television that inform my viewpoint rather than film. What is television like in other parts of the world - I feel like the silver screen is more relevant in conversations about Stranger Things even if it is being filmed like a bunch of movies. Because I think of the golden age of TV, of prestige television and cable channels, of streaming, of anything outside of prime-time, network TV. And how accessible things are from all over the world, along with our own programming. And how varied the content really is - so, give and take on this topic, I think.

Listen, with all the love and self-awareness I possess, I know it's my ingrained and irritating American defense mechanisms and fears of inadequacy rising up despite me knowing exactly where the flaws are, especially as a queer person in particular, and I think that's a good thing to admit because NO we're not referring to me personally, we're talking about society and media analysis and content and mindsets, but it's hard to be faced with the criticisms and being unable to not be buried under the viewpoint of a culture here seen as nonintellectual and not as enlightened and in tune with art. I don't think anything detailed in the ask is untrue, maybe the sad realities make me squirm a little in a hard truth sort of way. One I already know so it's like, well yeahhhhh but.... and I have no rebuttal.

Fuck conservatism and the political landscape that stifles art, is all I'll land on. How about that? 😉

[not-bcring]

"Such a sweet whore," Seto breathed out as he relentlessly pounded into Shuichi from behind. "Everything about you is so sweet. How you sound, how smell,... how you taste." The vampire then emphasized his statement by plunging his fangs into his boyfriend's neck and sucking down the delicious nectar. ( Just giving your boy what he wanted. ) - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @ncughty-uwu 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Despite being forced trained from childhood to subdue the very creature who mounted him, Shuichi is clearly the one being destroyed... If his Uncle saw him now, there would no doubt be disgust at the debaucherous display. Once the prudish yet predatory man got past the initial disbelief that his precious prodigy could be capable of such a thing. Frankly, even Shuichi had been shocked by the direction his relationship with Seto took. Emotionally let alone physically. But somehow— against all common sense on both their parts —the pair became so intimately intertwined, Shuichi can't envision going back to the way things were before.

White-knuckled hold upon blankets stings from the force, Shuichi only faintly aware of the discomfort. Cheek pressed into the bed and ass raised for his boyfriend, body shakes with each ruthless slam of Seto's hips. Throat raw from screaming singing praises, the crude melody remains surprisingly-strong considering how soft-spoken the hunter normally is. Yet amongst the pleasure still lies pleading... Demands for more that he's not certain how Seto could give. Or that Shuichi even expects. But in the fervor of the moment, he can't help but beg.

❝ Pl-Please... Seto, PLEASE— M-More... Please, I want— I wa-aaAAH~ ❞ Broken by moans, body continues on his behalf even when the hunter is taken by gasps and mewls. Tight around Seto as if terrified of the vampire ceasing his onslaught, warmth urging his boyfriend deeper into his depths. ❝ S-Seto... SETO~... ❞ He whines, eyes squeezed shut as he pants for breath. Dizzyingly close to the edge, sweat-dappled form BURNS in a way that makes Seto's nearly chilling to the touch in comparison. A striking contrast that sends an appreciative shiver down Shuichi's spine.

And then... Seto gives him more.

Crying out when fangs sink past porcelain skin into his delicate neck, body tenses around Seto's cock as he topples over the edge of ecstasy with such sudden force it feels as though he was SHOVED. As delicious nectar is sucked from his neck— Shuichi feeling the rush as it rises to sustain his boyfriend —one of a different sort shoots from his throbbing dick, dirtying the blankets as hips spasm. Fighting for air as the waves subside, flushed face ( cheeks red as the ones Seto slams into ) is buried into the mattress. Shuichi whimpering, ❝ D-Don't stop... Don't— I don't want you to stop... ❞

Depleted dick twitches in agreement, Shuichi still eager in his exhaustion. Desperate for Seto to have his fill— and fill HIM —in every way. To enjoy his body... The sound of him, the feel of him, the taste of him. Tears bead in the overstimulated hunter's eyes, glossing golden hues as they blearily blink open. Shuichi weakly panting through soft lips, ❝ Keep... going until you're satisfied... ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[londonfallen]

" am i disrespectful then? " oh, he does this on purpose! what a little brat. it's a moment it'd think of scolding him, raise its hand and flick his nose as it often does, but instead its nose scrunches, and it smiles, tilting its head where it regards him. it still takes it a moment, but it thinks its started to catch on where he pokes fun at it : not that he didn't make it easy, all pomp where he lie wilting beneath it, in a tone it doesn't think its heard from him since the day they met—however short-lived, before he bursts alight with laughter. it thinks it snorts a little, too, quiet as it is. he's ... still so very cute, and alluring besides, where it thinks he does not intend, or know.

the tenderness doesn't necessarily fade, when it brings its hand 'gainst his chest downward, lifts its hips so all satisfaction he'd find would be underneath its fingertips. " i want to hear you just like this, " it starts with a drawl, and just as slowly, it drags its hand down—from his collar, over his pulse, before pausing to tease light pressure against his abdomen. " shameless, " slightly lower still, over his stomach, feeling where he arches into its touch and trying desperately not to let its own amusement show. " wanton, " the emphasis is intentional, for it goes from teasing its hand slow over his body to suddenly drawing lower, abruptly moving its hand down between his legs, curling 'round his erection the best its able where it grins down at him, teases its fingers over his dick for all but a moment before pulling away. " ...and improper. " perhaps it has a sense of humor after all, albeit a particularly mean one. the nearly devilish look it wears doesn't last, though, not as long as the softness still in its eyes, the tenderness in how it shifts back over him, presses down on him again does. " i want to hear how you cry out for me. what you like, what you want, i want to hear you beg— " it would not be out of line to say bark, it considers, though that may be just a touch too pointed to be romantic or erotic.

" ...and to know in every moment just how much you want me. " he cups its jaw, and it complies in earnest—its words murmured and dying 'gainst his lips, its own already parted and open for him, wanting. it doesn't believe its ever craved for anything quite like him, and oh does he leave it ravenous. there's blood on his lip still, it smells it before it tastes it, where its hands raise to cup his face in turn, deepen their kiss, allowing its tongue to taste him more completely. and he is as rich as it remembers, not bitter—it thinks if it were able to stand drinking it, his blood is like the wines it bottles. it leaves it wanting more : a craving never satisfied, even where it moans against his lips, feels him nip and bite against its own in plea, it wants more. dizzy, and drunk, and yearning. he is not the only one who has been left waiting, it is simply that it could no longer restrain itself. it reaches up to capture his hand, and instead of interweaving its fingers with his own, it pulls it against its chest, urging him onward.

it's hardly the sensation that's unfamiliar, but the feelings attached, the intensity—the overwhelming heat between them that rises, coils, and falls; love, it thinks, when there is a break in the fog muddling its thoughts, when it can think at all. overwhelming is not enough to describe it either, not the heat, not its love, nor his own, nor anything beyond it : its hardly inexperienced, even if it isn't necessarily renown for its sexual prowess—it was at least fair enough assumption to make that it has had partners past, not painted prudish like the prevaricator pages, but even it finds what it feels nearly incomprehensible. an ache, or subtle pain, deep within it that thrills underneath his every touch. so focused was it on his own reactions, it fails to catch itself when his hands trail over its body. from jaw to waist, its expression then is something unintentionally lascivious : every trembling false-breath, bitten back gasps where its fangs sink into its lip and it bows its head, brought down to its chest, and beyond that, eyes half-lidded when it finally has the will to open them and look back at him, stolen blood leaving it flushed red to the tips of its ears.

" that's—ah-! " futile is its every effort to speak, like this. it takes too much effort, too much thought it cannot hope to find, every word it grasps at falling breathless against his ministrations, unexpected had they been. but still, it tries regardless, between all its bitten back moans, it tries to praise him. " good— good boy... " however unintentional its features read before, it seems more focused now, its strangled words caught up in purr. its hand presses harder against his chest, nails digging slightly into his skin, and with every roll of its hips he matches, it meets in kind.

what else is it suppose to do, but relent? to its own desires, and his too—when it rocks its hips against him, it feels him—how hard he'd become, and as if it had the slightest hint of humor, it teases him; every moment it gets, squeezing its thighs against his hips, his sides, pressing down harder against his cock and making itself grow louder in turn. it's being cruel, but so is he. though difficult is it to call it cruelty, rather than calling it what it is : love, a chance to explore each other further, express themselves and their longing in whatever way they saw fit. his pulse is racing, it notes, but then again, so is its own, for all his heart may well be its own too.

how unexpected it was when its little spark took some control—it'd asked a lack of decorum, but it is still surprised, however buried that shock may be 'neath lust and hunger alike. he's always been very good at surprises where it mattered most. in contrast, its own confidence at times came off awkward, though never uncertain; and endearingly so is it where its left swallowing back moan and whimper alike, temporarily lifting its hips where the hand 'gainst his chest moves up, over, pins him loosely where it bows over him. a simple readjustment in truth, but it still groans where it feels him pull it back against him, against his hips before it fully adjusts, and the sudden friction makes the bites it starts to trail just a touch sharper than intended, where it forgets itself for all but a moment. if there is any mercy, it is the fact it can muffle itself against his chest and still keep true to its promise.

it groans against his skin, against the subtle red marks it leaves in a path trailing down from his neck, his collar; it's trying to restrain itself, if only a little—it wants to bury its teeth 'gainst his pulse nearly as much as it wishes to truly ravage him : to tear its claws down his sides and push its hips against him and hear him cry out for it in nothing short of ecstasy, but it wants this too. the slow building desperation, where it notices even he still wilts beneath it as it starts to trail its tongue, listens to every whimper and moan where it takes his nipple into its mouth again to nip and tug and tease, feels where he thrusts harder against it, the pressure of his cock against its own and its own increasing wet. it wants to squirm, it settles instead for pushing harder back against him, rocking its hips at a much rougher pace where it teases his chest with its tongue, and where its free hand moves to his side, trails, fingers slipping underneath the elastic. all they have left, and it still wants for—needs—more.

" elysium ... " out of everything in their present, it believes with no uncertainty that the way it says his name then is the most unexpected—half-moan, half-sigh. it's noisier than it intends to be, but it can't help it. certainly no more than he can help himself, and all the equally tantalizing sounds it's drawn free similarly. his movements grow more desperate with it, but there is only so much friction it can bear; its countenance has more than just a couple cracks, and it becomes all the more clear in the way it exhales as it lifts its hips once more away, as if it'd been holding its breath for some time, but the way it shakes, the hard swallow that follows as it tries to ground itself again, is something nearly obscene. at the very least, its sure they'd be censored. it doesn't want to stop their movements, but it isn't enough. its hand 'neath what little clothes remain tightens its grip against his hip, and with its tighter hold does it pull itself lower, using its other hand to push against and urge his thighs to part. " please. " how murmured its words makes it difficult to say whether it is asking him permission or wanting him to encourage it further, earnest and eager. both answers, at least, are true, no matter what interpretation he took—that's to say he heard it at all.

it isn't embarrassed. even if it could be, it doubts it would—its position 'tween his thighs is clearly provocative, but it doesn't see it worth blushing over. and yet blush it does, but not for shame ; its the heat, stolen and smothering, that keeps it warm, something almost alive. it's restless, and though its patience is thin, the way it waits is half as cruel as if it hadn't waited at all; moving to wrap one arm 'neath his leg, around it, hold him steady where it presses heated kisses up the inside of his thigh, and higher still—over the bulge straining 'gainst his garments, and again, does it tease with its tongue. hardly subtle, too, the way it has to squeeze its own thighs together not to suffer, though even this makes it groan against him, and this might be the lewdest its ever intentionally tried to come off ; looking up at him with half-lidded eyes, buried between his legs where it puts aside itself, waiting for him to beg.

he's not sure what expectations he'd had, if any at all : a master of the bazaar, societally considered the coldest, gasping for its breath over top him had not quite been it, though. there is no reality in which his own heart is not moved by this, where he is not a ragged, emotional mess at the hands of the very soulmate he'd imprinted 'pon. the passion that overwhelms him is somehow not something he had anticipated sharing between the both of them, and though lust leaves his body aching, it is something far softer that leaves his heart with similar yearning. he had realized it, a great deal before they had ever reached this point ... but there is no denying it now, the way it fights for its composure, or perhaps anticipates losing it. irons loved him — spoken and shown in every way but the words themselves. as much had been inevitable, the moment they had seen each other, and it had showed up on his door. to know that, to hope for it, and to have it displayed so plainly that he has no choice but to believe it are two vastly different things. were it a more sentimental encounter, he thinks he'd get a bit teary eyed : it doesn't stop the raw emotion that he regards it with, though.

"i am a gentleman," he argues back, voice cracking in a way that makes it hard to tell whether it is a result of his ailing composure, or due to said sentimentality. "i, unlike you, come from a rather respectable—" he can barely make it through that much before he starts laughing, a strangely sultry sound when paired with its tightening hold of him. he is teasing it! though there's truth in the words themselves, and genuine inexperience littered through his reactions, he doesn't actually mind at all. by time he settles, he's staring up at it, starry-eyed and smiling, even against the shivers that run 'long his body from its touch. its smirk, sadistic, is met almost wholly by his adoration. "hear me? how so? you're being vague now."

he knows very well. it isn't the only one that can be mean, though he doesn't look the part. even his own happiness is muddled with eroticism, when he doesn't lose his smile, but instead lets it falter ever so slight in favor of groans caught in his throat. its clothes start slipping and he is keenly aware of it, though true to his respectability, he only glances before getting flustered and turning his head again. he's almost thankful it's own composure slips up, just enough for him to notice. it settles him, makes him feel less self conscious when he has to muffle his own moans against his shoulder. however subtle it is that he catches on, eventually he does : his writhing becomes less accidental, more pointed. he isn't the only one who's turned on. he can feel it, too, as it presses into his thigh, its own hardening length grinding similarly into him as a consequence of his own movement. it he hadn't been noticeably flushed before, he is now.

his hand 'gainst his lips is a boon then, and one he has no illusion it'll let him keep even after it'd freed his wrists. he closes his eyes, presses his fangs down into one of his fingers, and ignores the metallic taste of blood that seeps from his fingers 'pon doing so. it is almost a relief to feel the sensation of pain against how deeply pleasure aches through the rest of his body. it leaves blood on his lips against, but he doesn't particularly care. not for the first time, a rather humiliating want crosses his mind ... he wishes it would ravage him, whilst in the same breath knowing that, this time, it is likely for the best their time is taken. but he is whiny, all the same. however it clearly craves him, for all he'd called it out on as much, he is no less wanting.

"that's—" he stops biting down on his finger, turning his attention back to it, even though it makes his heart skip to do so. its hands tease his waist, but even in all his impatience, he does not hurry it, instead watching with equal parts desire and devotion at how it moves over him. he regards it with such tenderness one would think him the pious one : not a fallen god, but the worshipper on his own knees before one. "that's not fair," he murmurs, but they both are like to know it is empty complaining to fill space, each lascivious kiss pressed to his skin and chest making him shudder under it until his own words are just extensions of the moans it draws from him. "you aren't the bashful sort like i am." he'd have laughed if he weren't so clouded in ecstasy, he's sure, but as it stands, he finds himself unconsciously following its own demands. his hands fall 'way from his face, find their place once more tangled in its hair as it moves down his body. its hold on his hips makes him squeeze his thighs around it, whimpering, but that is no comparison to how egregiously he forgets how to breathe as it switches attention to his nipples.

"i—irons—!" he gasps its name like its startled him, entire body rigid as he arches against it, pulling at its hair and digging his knees into its sides where it has traveled far down enough to do so. he's shaking, a veritable wreck against the tease of its tongue and teeth — and it speaks to his own self control, how desperately he has to hold himself back from covering his mouth against the rush of erotic groans and pants as he remembers to breathe that it elicits from him. the heat that settles along his body intensifies, until his dick aches from how hard it is : clothes, quickly, are becoming a burden. its own ministrations do not help, his lips pressed together in pathetic attempt to stop his whimpering the lower its mouth travels. so proper is he, now, to suddenly forgo cursing, but it is difficult to, when he catches glimpse of its head between his thighs and its mouth teasing at his erection. he does cry out for it then, in every way it has asked him too, a mix of quiet pleas and broken moans. his fingers still tangle in its handle, pull harshly at the mussed strands as he just barely manages not to wrap his thighs around its head outright. had he not still been wearing slacks, he thinks he may have.

all that rivals him then, are the whines of want that get caught when it stops. he knows it has to, regardless of how they proceed ... but it doesn't matter, not when he's a flustered, breathless, horny mess under it. what can he do, but relent. "f—fine, yes, i," he concedes, voice hoarse. "i won't hide. i..." he can't manage to speak so much as gasp out occasional words, and all for the best, it gives him time to get lost in his haze as it at last tugs at both their clothes. not quite all of them, but enough to satisfy for the moment, to leave him compliant and obedient in how he lift his hips for it to pull his pants from his waist. he almost wishes he could wax poetic about how beautiful he thinks they two of them probably looked together in that moment, but his mind swims, and his chest is fluttering. if he is embarrassed with how it pulls itself on top of him, then, he shockingly does not show it, all breathless giggles and lighthearted touches.

perhaps unexpected, his hands trail along rather gently from its jaw, along its chest, down to its waist, where he rests his palms 'long its hips in a soft hold. unfitting for the moment, seemingly, but he looks up at it expectantly, with narrowed eyes, expression outright amorous. though seemingly composed as it takes its position, he still lets out a shaky breath when it finds its place straddling him proper. its weight, as well as its length, press down on his own hard cock, and before it has even started to rock its hips against him, he is choking back moans for it. the slow friction of its movement is enough for him to understand what it's wanting from him : it does not have to give him direction, not this time, where his grip on its waist tighten enough that his nails begin to dig into its skin. holding it steady on top of him, he thrusts his hips up against its own time with its grinding, shifting only enough that he is able to keep himself steady whilst doing so — in the process, unintentionally pushing it harder down against his dick.

his moaning quickly ends up uninhibited — true to his words, once he can't hold it down anymore, he doesn't try. it is a miracle he is able to catch its voice at all through his own dizzying haze. "i can ... but i'm still going to feel shy." its lips feel soft on his own, where he still sounds so sweet even against the lust that settles over them. there's such a lighthearted romance, hidden 'neath the groans that break up his words. "—i promise." where it is slow, either for sake of being kind or for cruelty, he is not. he keeps up the unexpected dominance of his own actions whilst wilting 'neath it, forcing its movements to quicken in time with his own as he grinds harder into it : and it does not go without notice, then, the wetness he is almost certain he can feel too through what very little layering still separates them. his heart must be fluttering against the palm of its hand on his chest. he really is embarrassed. and yet, still, he gives it what it wants. obedient in parts, hopeless in others : only one hand leaves its waist in favor of cupping its jaw, pulling it into a kiss proper as he rocks his hips into it again.

[alcalavicci]

tl;dr in case you don’t like reading long court transcripts: Cop with iffy eyesight claims dancers were nude in a few scenes, lawyers question him and make him seem like a total idiot. Magistrate rules show is immoral, taking this to trial. I also added further research at the end to explain what happened in the end.

7/12/30:

GAUZE CURTAIN DIDN'T STOP COY COP VIEWING CARROLL 'NUDITIES'

"The extended monologue of Police Capt. James Coy, the leading man, yesterday prevented the conclusion of the drama 'Are We Immoral or Are We Merely Beautiful?' presented by Earl Carroll's 'Vanities' in Jefferson Market court. Next week: Essex Market court.

"That, in the language of the theatre program, is what happened on the second day of the courtroom run of 'Vanities' special command performance.

"Coy-by-name-and-nature, Capt. Coy stole the show, from the time he said mincing Faith Bacon was 'stark naked from the nape of her neck down to her heels,' until Magistrate Maurice Gottlieb suddenly adjourned the hearing on Wales law indecency charges with the explanation that he had important business to transact.

"If Earl Carroll, Jimmy Savo, the low comedian, and the eight beauties the police are attempting to jail for their antics in the current revue at the New Amsterdam theatre are jealous of Coy's performance yesterday, they must take advantage of their day on the court stage in Essex Market on Tuesday next.

"Coy, kittenish ex-star of 'Pleasure Man's' courtroom run, gave a monologue that for stark realism matched the supposed stark nakedness which caused Wednesday's matinee raid at the New Amsterdam and the arrest of the eight coryphees--Naomi Ray, Irene Ahlberg, Eileen Wenzel, Faith Bacon, Kay Carroll, Constance Trevor, Betty Veronica and Frances Joyce.

"Blushing furiously, Capt. Coy began by identifying Miss Bacon, who not only wore clothes, but even furs in court-a gray fox fur choker, a gray-and-blue sports ensemble and a purple cloche hat.

"Q: 'Now, Capt. Coy, your version, please?' said Assistant District Attorney Louis Wasser. A. 'I bought two tickets for the "Vanities" performance at a ticket agency near the theatre and went to my seat which was marked "M," the tenth row.' " 'Tell us everything you saw in the theatre?' interrupted the magistrate.

" 'But your honor,' said Wasser. 'that will take all day.'

"'Well, then will you continue with the alleged objectionable scenes?' Gotlieb replied. A. 'The first scene I considered objectionable showed a number of females lying on their backs on the stage. The defendant, Faith Bacon, came down the center of the stage, swinging two large fans, and danced. When she turned during her dance I could see her naked body from the nape of her neck down to the heels, from a side and rear view.'

" 'Could you see the front of her body?' asked the magistrate. A. 'No, she swung her fans in such a manner that only her face was showing.'

"Capt. Coy, who objected later to being styled an expert, described the entrance of Miss Bacon onto the stage, clad similar to Lady Godiva, in long blonde tresses and with two fans instead of a white charger.

" 'Was she naked?' Magistrate Gotlieb asked. 'Absolutely and positively,' the captain replied.

" 'Do you wear glasses?' asked Attorney Vorhaus. A. 'Only for reading.'

"Q. Did you notice a gauze curtain between the dancers and the audience? A. Yes, a curtain of thin gauze.

"Q. But still you insist that with eyes that need glasses to read with and a distance of thirty-five to forty feet away you were still able to see whether or not Miss Bacon wore absolutely no clothing? A. Absolutely, she was stark naked.

"At this point the star in question smeared on some lipstick and turned her eyes heavenward in utter boredom.

" 'If I had a couple of fans here I would show how it was done,' said Coy waving his hands in circular motion. The crowd roared but newspapermen recalled the splendid imitations Coy had given when prosecuting Mae West and her cast in 'Pleasure Man.'

"For a time Magistrate Gotlieb considered clearing the courtroom, but officers circulating through the 300 men and women restored order and quieted the laughter that followed Coy's offer to mimic the dainty Faith Bacon.

"Q.- 'Will you admit the stage was darkened?' asked Vorhaus. A. - 'Sure, partly darkened,' said Coy.

"Q. - "Were you shocked, captain?' said the magistrate. A.- 'I certainly was shocked, your honor.'

"Several times during Coy's testimony smill Jimmy Savo would grit his teeth and make utterances under his breath at the captain. Carroll and others in the defense group would laugh and pat him on the shoulder to quiet him.

"Attorney Benjamin J. Rubin, who defended the show girls, was next to cross-examine Coy. He said:

" 'Your honor, it is my intention to show that all stage dances are meant to bring out an illusion.' Turning to Coy, he said:

"Q. 'Do you know what the illusion of a dance is?' A. 'No.'

"Q. 'Have you ever seen Isadora Duncan dance?' A. 'No.'

"Q. 'Have you ever seen Pavlowa dance?' A. 'Yes, at the Metropolitan Opera House, but she wore clothes.'

"Coy then described the scene, 'A Window at Merl's.'

" 'The girls were in a window effect, posing as models when they stepped out of their statue parts and started to talk. Naomi Ray and Savo came on the stage and she said to him: "Now, I'll tell you how to dress a window." She sent him over to Miss Frances Joyce and he started removing her stockings, under her direction.'

"Q. 'Was she sitting?' asked Vorhaus. A. 'No, standing.'

"Q. 'While she was standing did he (Savo) kneel down to remove the stockings?' asked the magistrate. A. 'Yes.'

" 'Then,' when on Coy, 'Miss Ray said, "Do you follow me?" and Savo said, "I'm way ahead of you." Then he went to Miss Kay Carroll and took off her gown--'

"Q. 'Was she--was she standing there then in her--er-er-er-what shall we call it--lingerie?' asked the magistrate. A. 'Yes,' said Coy.

" 'Go on, go on.'

" 'Then, while she was putting on a gown with a fuller and wider skirt her bloomers dropped off and Savo put his head under the gown to adjust the apparel. I could put on the bloomers without putting my head under the dress.'

" 'I didn't,' Savo muttered. 'I did not.' Carroll and the others quieted him.

"Coy was the target of a barrage of questions from Attorney Vorhaus concerning a visit he made to the New Amsterdam theatre on Wednesday a few hours after the raid.

"Q. 'What did you go there for?' asked Vorhaus. A. 'I went to see whether any of the crimes were still being committed and intended to make summary arrests, for the persons were out on bail.'

"With Coy's testimony finished, the magistrate said:

" 'I have important business to attend to, and we'll adjourn until next Tuesday and resume this trial in Essex Market court.'

"Objections by Wasser brought no answer from Gotlieb.

"As though the pale Carroll, who hints that rivals instigated the raid on his 'Vanities,' hasn't enough court troubles already, the Shuberts crashed down on him with an injunction suit yesterday.

"Seeking to force Carroll to discontinue the sensational under-sea ballet-a big feature of the current 'Vanities'- the Shuberts charge he stole the idea for which they paid good, hard cash.

"The Shuberts say they bought the American rights to the idea after they saw the under-sea balley in the famous 'Folies Bergere' of Paris."

7/16/30

Coy, Ex-Elephant Washer, Proves 'Vanities' Lewdness

"This ex-Maharajah of Baluchistan--otherwise Capt. James Coy, official police censor--convinced Magistrate Maurice Gotlieb in Essex Market court yesterday that Earl Carroll's latest 'Vanities' is, or was, an indecent performance.

"Cross-examination of Coy revealed his identity as the ex-maharajah. Before becoming a police officer-and later the moral watchdog of Broadway shows-the captain confessed he had worked for a circus washing elephants for 50 cents a day.

"His laundry work was done in the morning; so Coy was able to pose as the maharajah on the elephant line, when the crowds trooped into the circus grounds for the afternoon performance.

"The captain, who caused the arrest of Carroll, Jimmy Savo, the pantomiming comedian, Faith Bacon and seven other beauties of the 'Vanities' cast, freely admitted that rajahing and washing elephants was the limit to histrionic experience.

"But he so graphically reiterated previous testimony and stuck to his description of scenes 5 and 12 in the 'Vanities' so tenaciously that Magistrate Gotlieb said he was convinced that the 'Vanities' had been a lewd performance.

"He gave Louis Vorhaus and Julius Kindler, Carroll's council, until Thursday afternoon to file briefs, but he said:

" 'I believe that nudity existed in this show, and whether indecency takes place on the stage or any other public place in the jurisdiction of the courts of New York, the defendant must respond.'

"The 'defendant' means Miss Bacon, principal in the fan dance, Carroll and Savo with Irene Ahlberg, Constance Trevor, Eileen Wenzel, Frances Joyce, Kay Carroll, Naomi Ray and Betty Veronica, the latter seven participants in the window dressing scene, considered objectionable by Coy.

"All arguments by defense consel could not change Gotlieb's position and he brought the hearing to a close by saying:

" 'There is much at stake for the defendants, and it will do no good to file a defense here, for it has gone out of my jurisdiction.'

"This remark seemed to indicate that the magistrate had determined to hold the defendants for trial in a court of record.

"Just as he did at the first session of the Vanities courtroom scenes, Coy stole the show from the time he was called to the stand for questioning until he was excused.

"The first question was by Kindler, conducting the cross-examination.

"Q.-Captain, now in your previous testimony you testified that the defendant Savo put his hand under the dresss of the defendant Joyce and his head under the gown of defendant (Kay) Carroll. Is that your recollection? A.-He put his head under the Carroll dress and his hand under the dress of the defendant Joyce. That is true.

"Q.-Can you tell me what hand he put under the dress? A.-Yes, it was the right hand because it was the right stocking he took off.

"Q.-You're absolutely sure of that and even from where you were sitting you can tell us how he did this? A.-Absolutely, if you bring the defendant Joyce here and the court permits it-

"(The Court) 'We'll have no such demonstration as that here. Let that be settled once and for all.'

"After several minutes of wrangling over technicalities in which the court, prosecuting and defense attorneys figuered, Kindler asked Coy:

"Q. Now, in that window dress scene 'A Window at Merl's,' Miss Ray was posing as the owner of shop and was instructing Mr. Savo how to dress a model. A.-That's correct.

"Q. You could see from where you were sitting all right? A. Perfectly.

"Q. But you didn't notice any panels in the dress which you say Mr. Savo stuck his head beneath did you? A. Not to my recollection.

"Q. But you know that Miss Ray took the first dress off the defendant Carroll and put on another dress, don't you? A. Yes, I saw that distinctly and the defendant Carroll was standing on the stage in her underwear.

"Q. And you didn't see any panels in the dress into which Savo might insert his head without placing it under the skirt? A. No, it looked like an ordinary evening gown to me.

"Kindler: Do the panties fall off this defendant Carroll? A. (coyly) Yes, the little panties fall down.

"Q. Does Savo put the panties on? A. Yes, he puts his head under the dress and is concealed from the audience--

"(Court) Do they fit up to the waistlines? Panties do don't they? I don't know much about panties.

"Coy: I saw the defendant Savo deliberately (an objection against this word caused him to leave it out of his answer) take the edge of the dress, and pull it over his head, which disappeared under the dress, and to my mind he put the bloomers back on the woman Carroll.

"At this point, Savo's mouth twitched and his hands were rubbing nervously while Carroll, who sat in a high backed chair, nibbled at his well manicured fingers and a half a dozen wrinkles secured fixtures on his brow.

"Kindler: The dress going over Savo's head might have been an accident, captain? Coy: (half-smiling) Absolutely not accidental.

"At this point, Kindler waved a page from a New York paper in the air and shouted at Coy: 'Did you not give this interview?'

"(Court) Please don't screech or yell.

"Kindler: Did you see 'Lysistrata'? Yes.

"Q. Did you say that, in your opinion, 'Lysistrata' was not obscene because it was an artistic production? A. I don't recall saying that.

"Q. When you saw the Vanities performance was the audience laughing? A. I don't know. I wasn't laughing. I was shocked.

"Here Attorney Vorhaus resumed the cross-examination.

"Q. How old are you captain? A. (after some hesitation) Going on 49 and I've been 20 years on the force.

"Q. You have been referred to here several times as captain. What is meant by that? A. (sarcastically) It means a grade above lieutenant.

"Q. (Vorhaus) Well, does it mean that you're a captain because of your own histrionic ability or talent? A. Because I do my duty.

"Q. But you have been an actor, haven't you, Capt. Coy? A.-Well, I used to be with the circus. (Coy appeared not to like it and his face became flushed.)

"Q. (by Vorhaus) What did you do in the circus? A. Well, I'll tell you. They used to say that I had a big job with the circus. I used to wash elephants. And O, yes, I was the Maharajah of Baluchistan, the High Potentate, but in reality I was merely a supernumerary getting 50 cents a day.

"The answer seemed to stop Attorney Vorhaus for he asked no more than a couple of other questions and Assistant District Attorney Wasser asked:

"Q.-Captain, how many nights did you see the pants drop? A.-On Monday and Tuesday nights.

"Q.-Then it couldn't have been accidental? A.-No.

" 'The people rest,' said Wasser.

"As other defense counsel sought to question Capt. Coy, the magistrate said:

" 'That's all, that'll be all. You can go now captain.'

"Vorhaus moved to have the case thrown out.

"Magistrate Gotlieb responded by telling Vorhaus that a defense in Magistrate's court would be wasted endeavor and in his opinion the dance by Miss Bacon was sufficient to convince him the show was immoral.

"More than 500 persons who gathered at 2nd Ave and 2nd St. were dispersed by a squad of patrolmen who allowed none but those having business in the court building to enter."

I also searched to see what the turnout of this case was. Apparently, Coy went ahead and demonstrated the fan dance during the trial, using his straw hat to represent the fans, but the jury wasn’t amused. The jury would not indict, but Carroll agreed to drop the scenes with almost-nudity from his show. Also, of the women who were arrested, only the ones who were directly involved were held. So that means Betty was soon let go, along with three of the other dancers. 

Also, Earl Carroll was used to flirting with trouble. He’d previously served jail time for exhibiting a naked/half-naked (depending on who you ask) girl at a party in a tub full of (then) illegal alcohol during the 1920s, even though he tried to claim the liquid was ginger ale.

[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

His girl.

Pairing; Austin!Elvis x reader

Warning: STEP-INCEST! Yandere Austin!Elvis, Creampie, Forbidden love, Asshole boyfriend, Love confessions, Slut-Shaming, Forced filming, Mentions of murder, Gagging, Fingering, Forced cleaning, Innocent kink, Squirting, Humiliation kink, Meanie Elvis/loving Elvis, Innocent and naive reader, Dacryphilia.

Summary: You were Elvis Presley's little sister, his step-sister but it still counts! When your parents left to have their honeymoon vacation they left your big brother Elvis in charge and he swore that it was his job to protect you, even if it meant from yourself..

You tried to hide your excited smile as your parents told you about going on their honeymoon your brother leaning against the entrance of the dining room, his eyes bore into your happy buzzing self but you just ignored him. You were so happy, you can finally show your boyfriend that you were a woman and not a prudish little girl! You could finally show him that you were serious about him! "And Elvis is in charge while we're gone." Your mother broke you out of your daze 'What?' "But Mama I can take care of—" you started to protest but the feeling of your big brother's warm big hand on your shoulder stopped you "Don't worry Ma'am, I'll keep er safe." Elvis smiled, his charming smile that could make the toughest woman swoon and your mother did just that.

'Okay it's a minor setback but I'll think of something' you thought with determination, you promised to show Johnny that you loved him, and you couldn't go back now.

God, you were just cute, with that little pout, Elvis would do everything to make you happy, you were so precious and innocent unlike most of the women of your age, he wanted to protect you but some twisted part of him wanted to corrupt you, having you under him, mewling and moaning, make you his wife, his woman but he couldn't you were his little step-sister and he couldn't betray his father like that. You and Elvis waved goodbye to your giddy mother and father, once they were out of sight you headed up to your bedroom, saying you wanted to talk to your best friend barely staying to hear what your brother had to say in the matter. You called your boyfriend to tell him the great news and as expected he was just as excited about it as you were, he said he'd be there in 15 mins, which give you enough time to get ready.

Elvis knew something was up but he wanted to trust you, really just a nagging feeling kept bugging him. It got too much he decided to see what his good little mama was doing but nothing could prepare him for the anger he felt as moans and groans left your closed door which by the way broke a rule he placed in his house. Elvis took a breath and pushed the door open to peek in and if he thought he was angry before then what he was feeling was undeniable rage. Your limp-pencil-dick boyfriend was thrusting into you in a sloppy frenzy, close to cumming and you were obviously disappointed, unsatisfied, and miserable. He slammed the door open, you screamed out in shock and horror at seeing your handsome brother "What the fuck man?!" your boyfriend turned to curse elvis but stopped at the cold-deadly stare he wears "Camera." He asked cool, calm, and collected, the Calm before the storm "Closet." you answered with a shaky tone "You, go get it, yar goin' film how A man pleases a woman." Elvis order your boyfriend, and he didn't take it so well "Like hell!" Johnny shouted and that was it, Elvis walked over grabbed your boyfriend by the back of his shirt, and yanked him off you, his other hand gripped around johnny's throat "You wouldn't want everyone to know what ya did to that girl? that's right I know." Elvis whispered so you couldn't hear "So be a good lil' boy and get it."Elvis shoved Johnny towards the closet with much force that your boyfriend's face smacked into the door before he stumbles back to get the camera while Elvis took his clothes off slowly as if to tease you like he knew..

As if he knows your feeling about him, the dreams you daydream, the dream of being his cute housewife and stay-at-home mother, going on dates, that he knew you didn't want this to stop, you wanted him. Elvis loomed over your naked body, his clothes laid on the floor and his hardened cock lay against your pelvis bone, Johnny held the camera in his shaky hands. Elvis jerked himself just a bit before pushing into your wet pussy, how that fuck got you wet he didn't know, all he knew is each little inch was driving him mad, once he was balls in, he let everything out, "You're a fuckin' slut, ya know lettin' any man fuck ya? You're mine" He growled, his blues are now black and his skilled hips began to work. You moaned loudly as tears glossed over your eyes from the pleasure of each pump of his hips, his pace was fast and hard, but calculated and his cock hit all the places you didn't know you had, was this what sex was supposed to feel like "More!" you cried, gripping the bed sheets, suddenly Elvis's fingers were pushed down your throat, enough to make you gag around them "You don't give orders lil' girl." he hissed, pounding downwards into you. Johnny gulped, feeling sick that he was getting turned on, seeing his toy being fucked by Elvis Presley, her step-brother, he zoned onto where you and elvis was connected.

You sucked on his fingers, like that of a lollipop, eyes hooded, looking at him with those innocent eyes, Elvis's chest rumbled with a groan, he pulled his digits out, replacing them with his burning hot tongue, his pointing finger rubbed your clit in short, fast circles. You whined in the kiss, the knot in your stomach snapped, your back arched and your hips jerked, walls fluttering, sucking for everything he could offer. Elvis throws back his head, a deep, gaspy groan left his throat, and his hips stuttered. A heat poured into your already warm walls.

You let a small protest when Elvis slipped out of you, the feeling of him inside was addicting and you didn't want that to go so soon, your protest didn't last as Elvis sat beside your slight sweat-coated body, and parted your cum leaking folds, showing the camera his cum dripping out, letting go of your outer lips and sliding his two fingers down your clit and into your cunt, nothing could have prepared you for that was to come next. His digits fucked into you, like a hard-working machine, repeatedly hitting your g-spot, your eyes widened when Elvis bend over and bit-nippled your sensitive clitoris. A deeper pit took over you, screaming, tears flowing, you squinted all over the recorder and Elvis's face, still, even with your slick dripping his face held a smug smirk at your boyfriend.

Elvis got up and, licked away one of your tears "Such a pretty crybaby." He praised you, kissing your temple. His eyes turned to your boyfriend "Clean her." he spoke sternly, "S-sure just let me get a rug." johnny put the video record on a dresser and went to get a rug "With your tongue." johnny stopped mid-step "What?" he turned to look at Elvis in pure disbelief "Clean. Her. With your tongue. Now." your boyfriend gulped and nodded, rushing to get in between your legs. His tongue dragged up your clenching opening, catching your and Elvis's mixed cum on his tastebuds, johnny squeezed his eyes shut as he sucked and licked your cunt clean of cum.

Johnny winced moving from your legs, his cheeks got with embarrassment and humiliation "Can I go now?" he asked looking at the floor, "Sure go ahead," Elvis smiled, wiping his face with a wet rug from the bathroom, "Tell anybody about and I'll kill ya" Elvis whispered, grabbed his arm on his way out, johnny's face paled and he nodded fearfully as Elvis jerked his arm away, once he was free, he ran straight home. Elvis walked over and smiled at your passed-out form, cleaning your pussy with the other side of the rag, and laid beside you "I love ya lil' mama." he kissed your forehead, he was of course, gonna call his Memphis Mafia to deal with your sad excuse of a 'boyfriend' but for right now it was just him and you.

Just how he liked it.

@kiankiwi @18lkpeters @louisejoy86 @chasingwildflowers @crash-and-cure @plasticfantasticl0ver @galaxygirl453 @edgeofrealitys-blog, @flwersgarden.

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

Fangs cut into her tongue to prevent the reflexive ‘It doesn't have to be just one’ thought slipping out. Blood mixed with peach, creating an entirely unique flavor, the alcohol's sting making her hiss slightly. Paused in mid motion at the audacity to just slam back the finest drink she could offer like it was some common diluted rum.

“When. When will you learn that underestimating me will never end well for you.”

“Only that's not a sailor's drink, but the finest liquor of my county; act accordingly.” long, elegant fingers wrapped loosely around her own bottle so gracefully; even if she would've wanted to, couldn't deny her royal blood.

The annoyed glare softening into a confused gaze at the sudden compliment, unexpected but not as much as the gentle action following it. A muscle in her thigh jumped in ingrained response but stilled the second Rozália turned her head enough for the edge of her cheek to brush against his fingers.

The grand painting of a living legend shattered like glass, leaving something...raw, vulnerable and most contradictorily: innocent. Words failed her, jumbled together, unable to vocalize whenever he's drunk already or aware of his actions.

Her prized hand, a hand that was responsible for countless deaths, rested feather light on his, gently pressing her cheek into his palm as nonverbal encouragement. She...wanted this. Wanted James. He wasn't like the ones who made her like this.

The tiniest smile on her lips as her eye color was assessed; one thing about her appearance she also deemed attractive, the vivid, pure emerald shade with the faintest hints of hidden golden. She was slowly but eventually relaxing, soaking in the foreign warmth of the unfamiliar action and admiring the man in return.

"Terribly sorry, I do forget every thing about you packs quite the wallop " he mused out. He's getting a bit more bold around her, taking time to savor what remained of his drink. Like her, it was sweet yet fiery and harsh. So fitting for her.

He felt her hand rest atop his own, the warmth of this intimate moment. His normal shy demenor around women non existent and his propriety quickly following it out the door as the liquor lulled the prudish man silent, and coaxed the red-blooded male below to show itself. Marveling at the feel of her skin. She was a hardened pirate yet, her skin was still far more beautiful than any of the blaggards he'd met.

He felt her lean in to his touch, and he stared with his own equally vibrant emerald hues into hers.

Suddenly, James had no more words for her, or conversation. Suddenly, with the storm and the lighting, and liquid courage in him… he leaned in and for the first time dared to take her lips in a long overdue kiss.

He might regret this later, she might sever his tongue .. or his dick for this-- and if he was in the right mind he would be screaming this at himself, but instead he was lost in the plump swell of her lips.

@ashortdropandasuddenstop

James Norrington cannot have enough heart attacks

Rozália slipped away while her crew was busy angrily assessing the level of her insanity. To their credit...they were absolutely right and even she had to agree that her planned surprise visit was a suicide mission at best. As this time she had no flashy cover, excuses for her presence or members of her family ready to aid if needed. But! She was armed. And that in itself was something formidable.

She simply couldn't resist, not after jokingly bringing up this type of visit and witnessing the color the Admiral's face had become. The other reason being, she really didn't like- absolutely loathed sailing during storms. Thick black clouds already formed by afternoon, the Vihar was safe in the small bay they had been using as hideout in the last two weeks since this plan had started.

Rozália had to correct an enormous stain on her honor, she successfully managed to mend the Admiral's bones thanks to Pest and a little pálinka (two tiny bottles hidden in her coat for this night). He was healing just like she predicted and according to her plan, she would take her leave today after the walk in the town. But the approaching storm -yes, only the storm, so she tried to tell herself- delayed her voyage.

Without any dress, tactical or not restricting her, the climb to the Admiral's presumed bedroom? study? was easy after she figured out the patterns of the patrolling guards. So the Devil took a quiet comfortable seat on the windowsill, heavy droplets already falling in quick rhythm.

Well, she should definitely say something, preferably not the satanic cackle that threatened to burst through her lips at the situation; climbing into an officer's home like a true pirate from the tales.

Candlelights extinguished one by one with meticulous precision, a slight, silent shift into a more comfortable position. As the Admiral reached the last source of light was when she spoke at last, only hoping he wasn't carrying a gun on himself this time of the day.

“I don't like sailing in storms.”

And as fate have it, right after her rough accented alto rang out, the first conveniently enormous bolt of lighting illuminated her silhouette, the bright flash of silver stark contrast against the darkness.

[nastynellis]

Humanized Monty/Freddy smut —

(rough oral)

ϟ ϟ ϟ ϟ ϟ ϟ ϟ ϟ ϟ ϟ ϟ ϟ

Freddy was never really a sexual person. Sure, he dabbled here and there throughout his life, but no where near as much as the average person would. It just wasn’t something that he was all that interested in. Some would say it was a little ironic given the fact that he’s such a big rockstar and whatnot, but he barely partook in the typical rockstar lifestyle. He did always enjoy alcohol, but the drugs and the sex and the parties just weren’t really his thing. His friends would tease him, calling him too innocent, too prudish, but it didn’t bother him. He would always laugh with them because it was true.

So when him and Monty started to regularly sleep together, it was definitely strange, especially since for the longest time they didn’t get along too well. They couldn’t really tell you how exactly it happened, just that one day they were a little too drunk and things just sorta.. happened. It’s still a little foggy for both of them, honestly.

Now whenever Monty gets drunk, usually Freddy gets a knock on his door. Some would say that the whole situation is unhealthy, but shockingly.. Freddy didn’t care. He couldn’t explain it, but being with Monty just made him feel all sorts of things. It made him feel sexy and naughty, something that he never would of felt comfortable with, but the way Monty talked, the way he acted, the way he treated him—

Their eyes were seductively locked to each other’s. Monty softly placed his hand over Freddy’s cheek, then ran it down to his chin, where his gentle touch turned rough. He gripped Freddy’s jaw and tilted his head side to side slightly, admiring the man’s face.

“You really are handsome,” Monty spoke slowly, clearly intoxicated. He continued to study the other’s face, his lips curled in a crooked smirk. Freddy could feel that his cheeks were a noticeable shade of pink, as they always were when it came to being with Monty.

“Sooo.. sweet..” His voice trailed off as he ran his hand back up to his cheek, feeling the warmth of the blush. He lovingly rubbed his thumb over the skin, still staring into Freddy’s eyes. They were so mesmerizing, especially with how they were slightly lidded and how they paired with the pink flush of his cheeks.

Freddy didn’t say a word. Even though on the outside he was stolid, he always felt so flustered. His face always red and hot, heart beating fast, and his breathing just a bit hitched. Monty could see right through him, though. He could tell he was fighting so hard not to let it be known. He knew Freddy was such a soft being, and that’s why he had such an interest in him. It was so easy to control him.

With Freddy’s cheeks still in Monty’s hands, he felt him start to pull down. He knew what that meant. He slowly dropped down to his knees, his face now inches away from Monty’s bulge. Through his underwear he could see just how eager he was. He peeked up at the other man, who was staring down at him with his usual intimidating smirk. Monty grabbed the hem of his underwear and pulled them down, revealing his dick. It practically bounced out, the tip hitting against Freddy’s lip. He gripped the shaft and hit it against Freddy’s cheek a couple times before positioning the tip back to his lips. He ran his fingers through his soft brown hair before gripping a handful, then guided his dick into his mouth. As he pushed it back into his throat, he immediately let out a low groan. Every time it shocked him how he was able to get his entire dick, down to the base, into Freddy’s mouth. He held it there for a moment, feeling Freddy choke just slightly, before pulling it back out. They both let out a breath at the same time.

Once it was back in, it was Freddy’s turn to take over. He placed his hands on the sides of Monty’s thighs as he began to bob his head. He kept a nice rhythm as he sucked quite passionately, in which Monty couldn’t help but eventually start thrusting his hips. Still gripping his hair, he fucked his mouth steadily, letting out groans here and there. He didn’t show any mercy towards the other man. He didn’t let him take a break, he didn’t slow down— he continued to fuck his mouth for almost a couple minutes straight. Near the end he gave a few hard thrusts, the tip hitting the back of his throat, causing him to gag.

“Nah— You keep that shit in—“ Monty groaned as he held Freddy’s head, pushing it into him.

Before pulling back out, he kept his dick as far back as he could until Freddy physically couldn’t handle it anymore. He watched in bliss as Freddy coughed and tried to catch his breath. He knew he looked like a mess, with his face red, saliva covering his mouth, and his heavy breathing, but to Monty it was a beautiful, hot ass mess. It didn’t take long for him to get back to business, Freddy not even fully recuperated yet.

“I won’t be too mean to ya,” He said as he slapped his dick against his face, “Just sit there and be pretty—“ He grinned as he tilted Freddy’s head back a bit, then began to pump his dick with his other hand. Freddy watched him pleasure himself, but Monty pulled at his hair.

“You look at me—“ He snapped, his teeth now gritted. Freddy shifted his eyes up at him.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ look at me—“ He groaned as he continued to pump at his dick. He was an animal in pure bliss at this point. Looking down at Freddy in such a sweet, yet vulnerable state, it drove him crazy. With the saliva that was once on his dick now dried, he jerked Freddy’s attention back to his dick.

“Fuckin’ spit on it,” He demanded, and Freddy immediately obliged. With his dick now covered in spit, he went back to jacking himself off in front of his face. Freddy could tell he was getting close now, with how furrowed his brows were, how he was baring his teeth, and how heavy his breathing was. Monty truly was an animal.

“Are you going to cum for me?” Freddy finally spoke as he put his hands back on Monty’s thighs. He gripped them tight, causing a loud groan to escape the other man. Freddy was usually so quiet, so when he actually engaged in words during moments like these it definitely fueled Monty’s libido.

Before he could even give a warning, his body stiffened as cum shot out of his dick and all over Freddy’s face. He let out a loud groan, his knees basically buckling and causing him to fall to them. He rested his head against his collar bone as he tried to catch his breath, and he could feel a hand rubbing up and down his back. Because his whole body was already so sensitive from orgasming, it sent a shiver down his spine.

After a moment of gathering himself, he finally sat up. Cum was dripping down Freddy’s face like a pornstar. Monty grinned at the sight, and then leaned in and licked some off of his lip. Freddy couldn’t help but grin as well. Their lips met and they shared a nasty kiss, tongues crashing together and all. This continued for a bit, with Monty pulling back a couple times and licking the cum off his cheek, before things were interrupted by a knock at the door.

[doctorgerth]

Me again to bother you :3 Hope this will work : is it possible to ask for n°2 (clothed sex/dry humping) from the NSFW list, with fem/reader and Smoker, Doflamingo or Paulie ? Reader is recieving if possible but either way is perfect UwU Happy Anniversary again <3

a/n: I don’t think I’ve written for Paulie before?? So I had to take the opportunity! Plus I think he is absolutely perfect for this prompt. 😌 I got to briefly explore the idea of waiting to have penetrative sex until marriage which I don’t think is talked about enough in ff? Hope ya like it and thank u for the support!

prompt: BOX A - ⑵ Dry humping

pairing: Paulie x F!Reader

warnings: nsfw | 18+ content | dry humping | dirty talk | ropes | waiting until marriage

word count: ~470

Paulie wanted to wait to have sex until he married you simply because he respected you and he believed himself to be a virtuous man. Yet, prudish as he was, that didn’t stop him from finding creative ways to relieve the sexual tension; most of which were equally as sinful.

You were on all fours. Ass high up in the air as you positioned yourself at the end of the bed. Paulie approached behind you and tapped at your wrists in a silent request. You easily obliged, offering your hands as your chin dug into the mattress. He kissed your opened palms tenderly before securing a rope around them.

He then pulled your thin underwear tight, burying the fabric between your labia, offering him a delectable outline of your precious cunt and the small wet spot that was beginning to form. He ran his fingers through his hair with a deep groan, the erotic position he had you in already making his cock strain in his underwear, and so he wasted no time in rubbing against you.

The idea of clothed sex hadn’t appealed much to you, until Paulie. He had an inexplicable way of making it intimate, sexy, and it felt oh so good. You couldn’t help but cry out as he continued grinding against you, the feel of his dick, despite the layers, sliding between your folds was dizzying. One of his hands tugged at the ropes around your wrist, while the other gripped at your waist like a vice.

He began a steady rhythm of humping into you. His grips tightened, pulling you in an addictively painful stretch as he rammed into you over and over.

“Fuck, angel, I can’t wait to be inside you.” He grunted in time with his thrusts, “I know you’ll feel amazing.”  

Perhaps it was the thought of Paulie’s thick cock at last stretching you wide open that brought you closer to your release. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d imagined it as he humped you. Either way, he could tell you were close and he reached around to rub at your clit as he encouraged you on, revealing his own impending release through sporadic thrusts.

He stilled as he released inside his boxers and you could feel the warmth of it against you. The prospect of his hot seed trickling out of your fucked out cunt someday paired with his fingers working at your sensitive bundle made you return the favor. Paulie grabbed a pair of clean underwear for the both of you and untied your wrists as you came down from your high.

“Good thing I get to marry you in a month.” He smacked at your ass with a lazy grin, “I don’t think I can hold myself back any longer.”

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[zeeroweenies]

Pastor’s son Megumi🥵?

the way my pussy just throbbed 🦋

cw: sacrilege, god complex, corruption, fucking in the church

Cute little pastor’s son Megumi, he’s just so.. perfect. Straight ‘A’ student, captain of the football team, and overall seemed to be a good guy. You’d often hear the murmurs of the churchgoing women talking about how he’ll make a fine husband one day, and they weren’t wrong. He was always so humble.

His charming personality and dazzling smile never failed to woo any of the other young girls at your church. They were all practically swooning over Megumi, chattering about the vile things they would let him do to their bodies during the pastor’s sermon.

All you could do was turn your nose up at them in disgust, wondering how they could think of such repulsive things in the House of the Lord. It was sinful, that’s the only thing that came to mind. Lusting after a man especially when you weren’t married was wrong, it was a sin. You weren’t like them, you were a good Christian girl.

As you helped pass out communion bread and wine to the congregation, you felt a hole being burned into the side of your face. Looking up, the pair of eyes on you belonged to Megumi. He flashed that bright smile of his at you, to which you returned.

“Can I help you, brother Megumi?” you ask him with widened eyes, curious if he needed something.

So when he asked you to join him for a private Saturday Bible study session, you didn’t expect that you’d be on your knees with Megumi plunging his thick cock down your throat.

“Look at you, dirty fucking bitch” Megumi ruthlessly slams his cock in and out of your throat, gripping the sides of your head so roughly you swore he was ripping your strands from the root.

You looked up at him; the angelic face you were used to was now replaced with a sinister one. Tears streamlined from your eyes down your cheeks and drool leaked onto the pearly floors of the church as he pumped his sticky seed into your throat, spitting into your mouth when he was finished.

“Swallow, bitch” you obeyed, gulping down his saliva along with his hot cum that he graced you with earlier, letting the mixture slide down your throat all the way into your tummy.

Before you knew it you were bent over on one of the pews with Megumi splitting open your little virgin cunt on his fat cock as he relentlessly snapped his hips into your dripping pussy, your pained screams resounding in the Holy place.

It hurt, but the pain was soon replaced with inconceivable pleasure with Megumi’s fat dick bumping against a foreign spot inside you that you never knew felt so good, a weird feeling forming in your core.

“Not such a good girl now are you, church slut?” Megumi preened in your ear, slamming in and out of you so deliciously as you shook your head no.

Your sweet moans were like music to his ears. Megumi truly got off on turning out girls like you, prissy little bitches who were too prudish for their own good.

He loved how easily he could corrupt you, make you a slut for his cock. He felt like he was on top of the world right now; no one could stop him in this moment.

“I must be your God now, huh? I wanna fucking hear you say it you worthless bitch.”

His words now contrasted his usual sweet demeanor, the sentences spewing out of his mouth like venom while he fucked you like a whore.

You felt your morals slipping away from you, all you could think about was Megumi, the way he was making you feel was out of this world. Before you could even think you felt the words spilling from your defiled lips, coming out in broken sobs.

“Yes— You’re my God! You’re my God, Megumi!”

Megumi sneers, not missing the way you tighten around his cock as he arches your back even more by he pulling your head taut by your hair, pounding directly into your sweet spot.

“Fuck yeah, cum for your God.”

[thursdaygrl]

It shouldn't have come as a surprise that Marie Moreau treated riding dick the same way she seemed to treat dancing as of late — a prolonged opportunity to torture Jordan. They worked their jaw as she flat out refused to make it easy on them, taking the breath from them momentarily. If they had time, if the studio wasn't only booked for as long as it was, if the words she said didn't leave them so fucking weak... well, they'd be fucking this stubbornness right out of her. Many if's, though and maybe they didn't mind, considering how good it felt as she picked up her pace, words teasing them the way they'd teased her. If Marie was a hornet's nest, what a fucking pleasure to be stung. Their teeth worried their bottom lip, pressing hard enough that drawing blood couldn't be far off, trying to stifle the frustrated, needy moans that left them, not hidden in her mouth or her neck any longer. They ached, but they also longed to appreciate it, her in all of her glory, the lights of the studio above lighting her from behind as they stared up at her, pinching her nipples and then just touching all of her, getting their fill of her soft skin, of the muscle that corded on her arms and legs, the kind that wasn't obvious in a ballerina's figure all the time. Right now she was working them, flexing all of that strength and stamina as she took them at a fucking gallop. "Fucking.. brat..." They muttered, mostly under their breath, brows furrowing, their self control quite literally teetering on the edge as she painted the picture for them, the reality of what this was. She was right, what a thing it would be to witness, seeing Jordan underneath the girl they claimed to hate as she showed no signs of letting up on her brutal pace.

When she finally did come back to them, mouth finding theirs, it was hot and somehow tender, too, the kind of kiss you could write poetry about but way too intimate to do on a stage. The kind of kiss someone prudish would be scandalised by. And they had to picture it, someone like Shetty, seeing them like this. What would they think of their precious freshman then? Snapping out of deep thought as she spoke against their lips, a pained groan leaving their lips as she offered to maybe beg for them. They were beginning to feel unhinged, like they could never hold her hard enough, hands at her waist again in a useless exercise in holding her every way they weren't supposed to. Their hand found her cheek, listening as she got all her smug words out, a strange chuckle leaving them that tightened their chest, brows furrowing. God, how could she just say shit like that? The kind of thing that made them feel like they should be the only one to get to touch her like this. As if they were the only one deserving. And then — fuck, they barely held it together when she mentioned no one else having come in her before.

It occurred to them now to glace at the mirrors, so preoccupied with the sight of her that they hadn't thought to and they made brief eye contact with a pitiful looking version of themselves. The sight of Marie perched on top of them, chest heaving, hips bouncing up and down looked like the most insanely erotic thing they'd ever witnessed. They nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, baby, I'll fucking..." Another grunt left them, as it all seemed to bubble over way too fast. "You gonna come again at that, at me coming in you? I'm makin' you fucking walk around like that after, knowing it's dripping down your thighs." It was inevitable at this point, that their orgasm was swiftly approaching, but the tightness they felt was more intense than the usual brief and effective encounters they were used to. They offset the overwhelming feelings with a dirty mouth and their hands reaching for the back of her neck, arms bracketing her to tug her closer so that they could fuck up into her. "God, fuck... mine. All fucking mine." They were a little deranged with it now, practically growling their words with that possessive nature shining through as finally they felt it hit, their balls tightening as they came inside her, relishing in the feeling of it hitting so intensely.

Those obscene and curse word heavy mutterings continued as they rode through it, fingers covering hers, working her clit fast to get her off a second time, though the idea of her clenching and coming again around them was almost too much, but it was right. Not just satisfying, but euphoric. It was a moment of pure ecstasy, a joining of two people who seemed so at odds not that much earlier. Jordan wasn't sure how long they ended up like that, with Marie over top of them and their arms tightly wrapped around her in the aftermath, heavy breaths the only sound in the room as their fucking ears rang and their whole body tingled. They would have to get up eventually, to redress and make their way away from the studio with no real dancing done, but Jordan wasn't sure anything could ruin their high. Except, maybe, brief thoughts about what this could mean, in future. For now, that was bullshit for another time. They itched to shift, to go back to their apartment and probably touch themselves again to the thought of this encounter, forgoing the refractory bullshit like they always longed to, but they waited until they were ready to ease Marie up and off of them. Ironically, it was probably the most in sync they'd been as partners since they met.

Marie grinned at the patronizing roll of Jordan’s brown eyes and at the way they bit softly at her thumb. Right then, she knew she’d won. The implication was clear: she was getting spoiled, receiving exactly what she asked for again and again without stopping to consider if she had earned it. It was easy to doubt whether they wanted to indulge her or if they just found themselves unable to say no to her. Perhaps both alternatives happened to be real at the same time. Shit, she didn’t even have to put in the work of coaxing them to change their place; Jordan just took over, shifting their positions and guiding her on top of them as if it were the kind of movement they’d practiced a million times before in order to perfect it. “Like this?” Marie questioned, her faux modesty shining through as they dared her to work for what she wanted. She sighed prettily, hands pressed against their bare chest as she gave the first experimental rock of her hips in the new position, raising herself slowly and exquisitely, only to sink back down on their thick length. The view was nothing short of unholy, her cunt taking them inch by inch, the inside of her thighs already messy with her slick, Jordan’s palms covering her tits and teasing her nipples. Stubborn to a fault, she shook her head, lashes fluttering as she refused to do what they asked. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” She rode them a little harder, a little faster, with a playful glint in her orbs that they should already recognize as trouble.

“I mean—it might make it quicker, but I’ve got all the time in the world. Well, at least until someone walks into the studio, right?” Hips never faltered, looking down at them needily, even if her words were about to become wicked. Hadn’t they dared her to be more specific, more explicit? Hadn't they been all condescending about her not being able to finish her sentences in the midst of being so thoroughly fucked out? “We got it booked for... what? One hour, two? You said it yourself; anyone could come in.” Goosebumps kissed her skin, and she had to choke back a moan, but she managed. “I can almost picture it. The shock, the admiration.” A whine escaped her then, a sweet thing that betrayed how the image meant to rile them up was affecting her too. “They don’t expect anything from me; people are just discovering who I am,” she confessed. “But you? The promising, hardworking Jordan Li using their practice hours to fuck their partner against the hardwood floor? The academy’s symbol of self-control and dedication, not being able to wait to get inside a girl they hate?” Her eyebrows arched as if waiting for them to fight back, to question why she sounded like there was an inside joke in the final accusation. “That would be something—to watch their faces as they saw how good I am at taking your cock.” Focusing got harder then, a heated, familiar knot building in the pit of her stomach as she bounced, the rock of her hips becoming desperate, messier.

There was a beat, a moment she took to lean down and kiss them, demanding and sweet, just like she was starting to suspect they liked the most. It was the least she could do, considering she was about to surrender. “But I guess that if you really wanna hear me begging, I could do it for you.” As if she were doing them a favor, as if there wasn’t a fluttery feeling of need that consumed her entire being. “You’ve been so good to me after all, fucking me hard and deep... d’you know I can’t even remember the last time someone touched me like this?” There was no effort to tame her moans now; dirty sounds interrupted her as if they were a part of it all. Too gone to remember that maybe she wasn’t supposed to be that honest, she added: “No, that’s a lie; no one has ever touched me like this. Not really.” She sat up then, fingertips pressed on their abdomen, thights shaky as her eagerness became almost unbearable. “No one has ever come inside of me either. Wouldn’t it be nice—to mark me like that? Would you please, please do it, Jordan?” Marie finally begged, gasping and quickening her pace, one of her hands moving to draw obscene circles over her clit. “For me?”