#angell smut

[sinful-lanterns]

Hey it’s the resident angell love her i want to know if i can get period comfort with angell i feel awful and I’m out of advil so i really need some

Also can I be🌂 anon

AHHHHH I’m so sorry for answering this so late. Your period is most likely over by now, but i still wanted to write this for you 😭

Yes, you can be 🌂 anon! And while this Drabble is very late, I hope you’ll be able to enjoy it on your next period <3

SFW AND NSFW UNDER THE CUT

SFW PERIOD COMFORT HEADCANONS:

- When you’re on your period, Angell temporarily takes over as the “housewife.” Although she’s not very good, she’d rather force herself to learn new life skills than bother her poor, aching wife…

- She forces herself to learn how to cook for you, but the smell of burnt red bean soup doesn’t do any favors for your nausea. Instead, you opt for Angell to pickup your favorite takeout instead. She’ll buy whatever greasy junk food you want without hesitation, even if they’re in the farthest parts of DisCity. She’ll make the hour-long drive just for you <3

- Angell gets extra clingy when you’re on your period, which is funny because usually it’s the other way around. It’s mostly because she’s quite awkward when it comes to comforting someone, so she just spoons you and rubs your belly with her hands, hoping that by just sharing her body heat, the cramps go away.

- Angell has a huge stash of painkillers in her bathroom cabinet because of her job as a hitwoman. You’ll never run out of Advil in your house.

- Due to being a hitwoman, Angell is very unfazed by blood. Even if you accidentally bleed on her bedsheets, she just shrugs and cleans it off for you, not understanding why you’re so embarrassed because it’s just…blood? Besides, you’re her wife. She’ll happily clean up any bloody accidents that occur, because she has the best methods on how to remove bloodstains 🥺

NSFW PERIOD COMFORT HEADCANONS:

- Considering that Angell is completely unfazed by blood, she’d happily strap you if you asked her to. Sometime periods can make you horny and according to a quick google search, orgasms can help alleviate period cramps. So it only makes sense for Angell to get out the strap to make her wife feel better! Let her peg you!

- If you’re the type to be worried about a bloody mess, Angell just shrugs and grabs a towel. She’s dead set on helping you feel better, and if an orgasm is what you need, an orgasm is what you’re getting.

- Angell is honestly quite mesmerized by how sensitive you are during this time. She’s slower than usual, taking her sweet, gentle time to make sure her wife is feeling satisfied. The way your thighs twitch with each push of her hips against your clit…good lord, Angell is practically drooling. Especially since she can go so much deeper thanks to how wet you are.

- Fingering usually feels better than the strap though, especially during your period. So, Angell just slides her strap right out and moves her hand down to finger you. She doesn’t care, she’s so curious and desperate to please her wife. She’ll plunge her fingers in knuckle deep, thrusting at a leisurely pace before distracting you with a sloppy tongue kiss. You can’t complain about how embarrassed you are if she has her tongue in your mouth. Just stay quiet and let Angell continue to pleasure you…

- When your first orgasm ripples through you, it’s mind shattering. Your cramps, your aches, your nausea seems to fade for a moment as blissful pleasure overwhelms you. Angell lets you cling onto her muscular body for comfort, helping you ride out your orgasm as she slides her slick fingers out. Knowing Angell though, she isn’t done yet. Your period lasts an entire week, so she’ll make sure you’re nice and thoroughly taken care of until your period is over. So until then, she’s keeping you nice and snug on her fingers for a long, long time…

[a-certain-romance]

Annoyed

Synopsis: Making their in-game ‘Annoyed’ voicelines all about you (smut no angst)

Characters/Ships: fem!reader x Rahu, Zoya, Chameleon, Bai Yi, Du Ruo, Angell, Eirene, and Shalom (Separate)

Warnings: dom/sub dynamics, oral (Shalom & Rahu), Rahu has a cock, spanking (Zoya), fingering (Chameleon, Bai Yi, Angell), slight mommy kink (Du Ruo), strap on (Du Ruo), face sitting (Eirene), inexperience (Shalom & Angell), loss of virginity (Shalom & Angell), reader sometimes referred to as Chief

A/N: Format is a bit different bc so many characters. It seems the smut gods possessed me I finished this in just a few hrs. Will probably make a pt 2 using ‘special attention’ voicelines as well for other charas.

“You’re the chief of the MBCC, yet you’re doing such things…have you no shame?” She grunts out, trying to maintain her composure despite the way your hand is currently pumping her leaking cock. “Do you want me to stop, Rahu?” You ask from between her legs. She eyes you warily. “Someone will walk in and see us.” “The door is locked.” “Seems like you have an answer for everything,” she scoffs. Rahu’s hands grasp the chair’s arms in an attempt to stay clear headed. It doesn’t it work. She huffs, ripping the mask off her face and grips it tightly in her hand. “Make it quick…” she growls, head tilting back in pleasure. “Will do~” you smirk triumphantly before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her tip.

You and Zoya were in the middle of a meeting with other higher ups in the Leigon. She always radiates power and confidence wherever she goes. You thought you were used to it by now. But seeing her give out orders in such an authoritative tone made you weak in the knees. When she sat back down in her chair, your hand made a journey from her knee, to her thigh, and now rests dangerously close to an area that will surly get you in trouble later. “Are you…provoking me?” She grits out at a volume only you could hear. You smile, “I’m being discreet.” “Discreet my ass.” Zoya grips your hand from underneath the table to stop it from moving further. “You want me that bad? You’re such a needy fucking brat. Just wait until this meeting is over.” When the meeting comes to a close, Zoya locks the conference room doors. “I thought I trained you better than this,” she sighs in disappointment. She pulls out a chair and manhandles your body over her lap. “You’re going to count every slap I give you and if you lose count, we’re starting over.” She lands a harsh swat to your exposed rear. “One…”

Chameleon is an alluring woman, and her seductive tactics only render you to be more compelled by her every word. She leans forward from where she was seated and traps you in your chair, her hands planted on either side of the seat you’re in. “I know what you're thinking about... no subconscious impulses go unnoticed before my eyes.” She brushes a few strands of your hair behind your ear. “So tell me Chief,” she murmurs, “do you want me to take control?” Her question hangs in the air for only a second before you allow it with a breathy “yes”. She smiles dangerously, a glint in her eyes that every sinner gets when they know they’ve won. “Perfect,” she whispers, trailing kisses down and around your neck, leaving bright red marks before moving on to the next. Her hand slides underneath your pants, glides under your panties, and only stops when her fingers meet those slick waiting lips she’s been vying for. “Just let it happen.”

Bai Yi tends to be the ‘top’ in your relationship. She can’t help but want to overstimulate you with orgasm after orgasm, drinking in the sound of your moans and your sweetness on her tongue. “Oh? How unusual. Are you taking the lead today? In that case, let’s have some fun…” Bai Yi grins as you lean over her. “But are you sure? You just look so damn good in this outfit, I really want to ravage you.” She whines playfully. It doesn’t take long for you to turn her into a crying, moaning mess. “O-okay no more edging, please let me cum!” She begs. “I’ve been so good for you, haven’t I? Why won’t you let me—” “Where are your manners?” You scold, stilling your curled fingers right before they hit her g-spot. “Ask me nicely and maybe, maybe, I’ll give you the release you so desperately crave.” Bai Yi curses, biting her lip as she sobs in pure ecstasy. “I’ve been such a good girl, chief. I deserve to cum after all that edging and torment.” She pouts, awaiting your decision. “You make a good case,” you sigh, leaning near her ear, “but I think you can take a little more.”

Du Ruo was reading through one of her many mythological books as she laid in bed. She was deeply enthralled by the information she was learning, but her focus broke when a pair of arms wrapped around her waist. “Stop messing around…” she giggled melodically over your wandering hands. Your arms moved up to wrap around her neck, your head resting on her plush chest. “Aw, is my baby needy for attention?” She coos, “Want me to take care of you?” You nod, and she closes the book with care before setting in on the nightstand. From the drawer below, she pulls out the contents needed for her to wear a rather large strap on. “Are you comfortable?” She asks sweetly. Du Ruo places her hands on your bare hips, letting the tip gather your wetness before she dares to push in. “Good, now hold still for mommy~”

“You seem anxious. Do you want me to do something?” Intimacy was almost foreign to Angell. It took a while for the two of you to form a relationship, but it was worth all the effort and more. Angell wanted to try her best—the best is what you deserve really. But there was one thing she wasn’t so keen at. “Something as in…?” “Let me pleasure you.” She asserts, and the rare sight of a blush dusts her cheeks a light pink. She crawls onto the bed towards you and her body towers over your frame. “I want to learn how you make you feel good. Teach me.” And so you show her. Angell takes off your clothes with great anticipation. Her eyes rake over your body and you swear you’ve never seen her desire you more in any other moment. “I’ll talk you through it,” you say softly before guiding her hand down to your core. “Once your fingers go in, do whatever feels right to you. Stroke, scissor or curl your fingers or—oh my god—“ you moan abruptly at her ministrations. “Yes, like that, Angell that feels so good.” She continues to pleasure you, her eyes zeroed in on how her fingers disappear into your wet heat. When you climax, she tentatively brings her slick fingers to her lips and sucks. Angell’s eyes widen and in a flash her fingers enter you once more, her mouth moving lower to get a better taste of you. It seems like it’s going to be a long night.

“If there is something you desire, just tell me honestly. You and I, we don't need to play this game.” She cocks an eyebrow, waiting for your next move. Eirene is analytical. Eirene is patient. Except when it comes to you, and how good your tongue feels inside her after a long stressful day. Eirene weakly grinds her cunt against your mouth as she sits on your face. Your tongue laps at her greedily and she can’t help the sinful moans that escape. Her hand moves to cover her mouth in an attempt to conceal them, but a harsh slap to her thigh convinces her to grip the headboard and be louder instead. “Chief!” She cries out, spreading her legs wider so you have more to work with. “I’ll never get enough of you. Please, don’t hold back.” Eirene lets out a gasp when she reaches her climax. When you try to move her off, she holds up your head to meet her eyes. “Again.”

“Okay, okay, okay... This is a "virgin" territory for you, huh? Now, give me your hand. I'll teach you how to do it properly.” You didn’t expect today of all days to be the one where Shalom takes your virginity, but you weren’t complaining. “I’m going to put your legs over my shoulders now, just let them rest there while I pleasure you.” You nod and try to calm yourself, but you can’t help the nerves that rise to the surface. “Chief,” she nips the inside of your thigh playfully, “I won’t hurt you. We can stop whenever you’d like.” You put your trust in her hands and give her the green light. She delves in, and although this is all new, it feels so damn good. You let her awaken every new sound you never knew you could make. It’s almost too much. You grasp for the bedsheets, or maybe that was a blanket? Your hand settles on her head and you can’t help but push her in further. Your legs shake involuntarily and the pressure in your lower region starts to build up. You call out Shalom’s name as you experience your first orgasm. “Relax, I’ve got you.” She says, moving any hair away from your sweaty forehead. In your afterglow, you shift around to curl up against her. “So, how do you feel now that you’ve experienced your first?” She asks. “…Can we do that again?”

[shalomniscient]

tierlist on twt got me acting unwise……. [nsft utc]

raven full on sobbing when she’s overstimulated, clawing at the sheets behind her head and arching that gorgeous back so perfectly as her thighs tremble around your head. hiccuping sobs and moans that choke on your name with each harsh lash of your tongue against her clit, and each sinfully good curl of your fingers in her drooling cunt that might as well be sobbing too. she’s so loud, weeping out thin, keening praises while her hips jump and stutter to the time of your thrusts. just the sound of you working her cunt has her so dizzy, her eyes so far back into her skull only the whites are visible. she can taste the salt of her own tears on her lips but god, she fucking loves it. she’ll keep you there between her legs until she’s incoherent or passed out—usually both. teaching is stressful, after all, and she needs a good destressing session with her partner every now and then.

folding shalom in half would have her vocalising like never before, just pure, uncontrolled moans as you push her knees to her ears and put her through the mattress. her fingers dig into your back like claws as almost animalistic noises rip their way out of her throat, nothing coherent at all, just the prettiest whines and half-legible pleas. she’s breathy, needy, demanding—she’d hiss, or attempt to, if you even think about slowing down the pace at which you’re fucking into her. she’s dripping onto the damn sheets, leaking around your cock, why the hell would you even stop? when she cums it’s messy, squirt spraying over your abdomen, and she makes a noise barely even human anymore, all hoarse moans and hitched mewls.

matilda, poor thing… her composure turns non-existent the second your hand wrap around her dick. she’s whimpering like some wounded creature, hands fisting into the couch cushions beneath her. her brain feels like mush as she looks up at you straddling her, her aching cock in your gentle grip. her lips part with a breathy groan as you pump her length, thumb swiping over the slit. god, she’s leaking like some kind of broken faucet into your hand but by the sounds spilling from her throat she certainly doesn’t have the capacity to care at the moment. not when it’s been so long and the loose circle of your fingers around her feels like heaven on earth. she tries to fuck into your hand but the way you straddle her limits her movement, and she whines again, pleading and desperate and oh-so polite in her begging. she always remembers her pleases and thank-yous—and so you can’t even be that upset when you sink down onto her cock, taking her into your cunt in one smooth go and she cums immediately with a long, drawn out whimper of your name.

angell is a mess of grunts and groans as you take her cock into your throat, all the way down to the hilt, your nose brushing the trail of grey-silver hair on her pelvis. her elbows are braced on the kitchen counter behind her and really they’re the only thing keeping her up as you suck on her dick, seemingly unbothered at the press of the cold wood floor against your knees. watching your head bob has her throat so fucking dry, her moans of your name knotting in her chest. she tries, she really does, to be quiet but you’re so good at this it should be illegal. angell goes higher in pitch as she gets closer, one hand tangling in your hair to hold you in place as she ruts into your eager mouth, her grunts coming more unbidden now. she still has some sense to draw back and ask if you’re okay with her cumming in your mouth and fully moans your name—almost a whimper—when you take her back all the way, fingers digging into the muscled meat of her thighs. when she cums it’s with gasping, heaving groans as she holds your head in place, her cock twitching in your throat. she makes another weak noise when you pull off, a string of saliva connecting the tip of her cock to your lips. she yelps only a little when you stand and ask her to join you in the bedroom for round two.

[bloom-into-blue]

𝕄𝕠𝕟𝕠𝕔𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕞𝕖

summary: angell and bianca share you. that's it, that's the tweet.

contents: transfem!angell x reader x bianca, cunnil.ingus (bianca receiving), handj.ob, an.al se.x (reader receiving), fing.ering, pure, soft smut with a hint of aftercare.

word count: 1.8k

author's note: chat. i have been so very stressed. i'm sorry this was shorter than the last two fics, i just want a woman to hold me tenderly. here, have pure smut.

art source: i adore you, my teacher

bianca's quiet sighs echo throughout the room, her hands tightly gripping onto the bedsheets. yours are muffled against her, too busy parting her lips with your thumbs to lap at the sensitive flesh before you like a starved woman.

“you tightened up. c'mon, relax f’me,” you hear angell rasp behind you, two fingers already knuckle-deep into your ass while she ignores everything else entirely, something that's both unbearable yet exciting mixed together. you know what's ahead.

as if to help you relax a bit, bianca breaths out before carding her fingers through your hair gently, murmuring a quiet, “you feel so, so damn good. ugh, your tongue,” and she can't finish the sentence before a quiet gasp falls from her lips and she jolts against you, prompted by the way your teeth brush gently against her folds. she's dripping onto the bedsheets now, but no one pays any mind to such a small detail, not when angell is focusing on the way your tight hole takes her fingers, not when you're lost between the sensation of angell filling you while preparing you for her cock, and certainly not when bianca's too busy grinding against your mouth slowly, as if afraid of taking more than necessary from you. you're desperate to taste her more though, so you push your tongue against her entrance and delight in the breathy whine that follows.

angell lets out a sound between a whimper and a growl, needy for your attention as well, before she moves to your side and takes your hand gently, all while her free hand stays with two fingers inside your hole. “please,” she whispers, “touch me too.”

you'd coo at the sweet way she pleads, but you'd rather die than pull your tongue away from bianca's folds, so instead you hum against the blonde’s dripping cunt and wrap your fingers around angell's cock. her breath hitches as you stroke her at a languid pace, already noticing the way her precum drips slowly from her tip and onto your hand.

between bianca's little gasps above you, angell's quiet whimpers as you stroke her, and the latter's fingers scissoring inside your tight walls?

you feel dizzy, intoxicated, and you need to feel them both against you.

you start pumping your hand around angell faster, making her grunt at the feeling, and at the same time wrap your lips around bianca's hardened bud, which prompts her to gasp sharply and rock her hips against your mouth.

“fuck, t-that feels so good, please,” bianca mewls frantically, her grip on your hair growing tighter. her essence is all you can taste, and you know she's getting close from the way her inner thighs grow tense before relaxing and tensing up once more.

angell isn't faring any better beside you. she's all quiet pants and whines, bucking her hips against your hand as she tries to fuck it and imagining it's your pussy. that doesn't mean angell ignores your pleasure though, because her fingers are now going in and out of you at the same pace as her hips move, and all you can do is suck bianca's clit while you moan around it, just as needy as the two girls that whimper your name between needy moans and growls.

the first one to come between all of you is bianca, who throws her head back with a wanton scream and arches against you, shivering while riding her high against your tongue. you press it flat against her, letting the blonde ride you to her heart's content, happy to taste her release against you.

angell isn't too far behind from bianca though, for she lets out a choked up cry of her own and thrusts desperately into your hand, then releases her seed into your palm while her hips jerk and quiver.

her fingers still inside you though, making you whine in frustration as you pull away from bianca's pussy. “please, i-it's not fair,” you whine and wiggle your hips. bianca giggles at the sight, breathless as she is, and her hand is back to caressing your hair gently.

“don't worry, cutie. we'll spoil you for taking us so well, won't we?” bianca coos softly, her blue eyes rising to meet angell’s golden gaze.

“she's right. it's only fair we return the favor,” angell rasps. before you can process their words, both women shift theirs and your positions around, now angell is sitting on the bed with her cock against your ass, with bianca smiling in front of you like a cat that's about to get the cream.

after a last whisper against your ear of “relax,” angell starts pushing in as gently as possible, slowly sheathing herself into your ass with quiet grunts that threaten to turn into whines. you don't fare any better for the record, clinging tightly onto bianca and resting your head between her tits while letting out ragged breaths. “that's it, just like that,” you hear the blonde whisper while she gently strokes your back. with the way angell stretches you out, any discomfort you could've felt is minimal at worst, and at the same time you can feel bianca's hand traveling downward to stroke your soaked slit without actually dipping her fingers inside, the tease that she is.

finally, when angell is buried inside you all the way, both of you are already breathless and desperate for her to start moving, though for some god forsaken reason she manages to hold back. “keep my cock warm for a bit, alright?” she murmurs into your ear, then presses all of her front against your back, letting you feel her soft chest and the way her pebbled nipples brush against your skin.

“don't worry, i can keep you busy,” bianca purrs, and finally parts your lower lips in order to push two fingers in, her body flush against yours and her soft nipples pressing against yours while absolutely tempting you to just lean down and suck onto them. the only thing stopping you from actually doing that is the way her fingers move at a tantalizing and slow pace, coupled with angell's cock filling you and making your mind empty itself in record time.

all you can do now is try to grind back, falling into angell's embrace and feeling her cock twitch inside your ass, or try to roll your hips forward, with bianca thrusting her fingers into your drenched pussy as a reward. you need both, yet all you can do is whimper and whine instead of actually begging for them to ravish you like you want to.

after a few brief moments, angell’s resolve finally cracks, and soon she's pulling out until nothing but her tip remains inside, then slowly pushes herself back in. “fucking hell,” she grunts before she starts thrusting in earnest against you, licking and nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck while bringing out rhythmic little moans out of you.

bianca's breath hitches at the display, and her smile widens as she decides now it's a good idea to start pumping in and out of you, resting her forehead against yours in an effort to keep you grounded. “just let yourself go. we'll both take care of you.”

so she says, but between the squelching of her palm against your labia and angell snapping her hips against yours faster every second, it's hard to say anything beyond a shaky, “please…”

you can feel the way angell smiles against your skin, still dizzy with her own pleasure yet proud of how much of a mess she's already making out of you. without any warning, her hands shoot up to your breasts and begin kneading them gently, right before she starts rolling one bud between her fingers while pinching the other, effectively drawing even louder cries out of you. “hey, no fair!” bianca calls out with a pout while thrusting her fingers into you at an even faster pace, and if her arm burns, she doesn't show it. in an attempt to upstage angell, bianca grits her teeth before a sly grin rises to her face, and suddenly her lips are pressed against yours and her tongue is already pushing into your mouth when you let out even more needy mewls.

for her part, angell doesn't seem jealous, and if anything her smile widens at the sight while her hands continue to toy with your nipples. all the while, her cock keeps going in and out of you; it only manages to feel even thicker when it's inside your asshole, you can barely breathe from the pleasure alone. bianca's now distracted herself rather well by kissing you and making an even bigger mess between your legs, while her free hand grips onto your hips and, surprisingly enough, guides you so you're grinding back and forth.

you barely know where angell begins and bianca ends now, all you know is both of these women are consuming your entire being right now.

cracks start to appear in angell’s composed appearance, and what started out as confident grunts are slowly dissolving into needy cries against the back of your neck; suddenly her pace becomes less measured, far more sloppy, and each thrust goes deep enough inside you that your eyes roll back every time.

bianca notices the change thanks to the desperate moans you're letting out and pulls away from ravaging your mouth to grin. “oh, we can't have you come before our princess here, she chastises angell, right before a third finger enters your pussy and suddenly her pace is incomprehensibly fast. skills of a sinner, you'd rationalize when your brain wasn't melting out of your cunt. even worse (or better) is when the blonde starts playing with your clit using her free hand, something that makes you scream out and quiver around her fingers mere seconds later, which has bianca smiling impossibly wide. she simply keeps rubbing it in tight little circles while you clench around her fingers, all the while cooing in your ear.

angell’s eyes widen behind you. “w-wait, fuck, she got tighter-” she manages to blurt out before a whole whimper falls from her lips, and her pace turns borderline animalistic now, easily prolonging your release and threatening to make you entirely dumb on her cock. “gonna come,” she warns between desperate cries, then moments later makes her promise come true as her warm seed fills up your tight walls. only then does she allow her hips to slow down before going still entirely.

“good girl… you took all that so well,” angell praises before gently turning your head to the side so she can kiss your lips now, the contact sweet and chaste.

“can't say i disagree. you looked beautiful there, sweetheart,” bianca whispers as her smile turns genuine and her hand goes back to caressing your hip softly.

with the two of them holding you gently like this, making sure you're okay after all that, it feels like heaven itself is wrapped against you, naked and sweaty as they may be.

moments later though, you're finally coherent enough to realize angell hasn't pulled out. neither has bianca retracted her fingers for that matter.

“round two?” angell rasps.

“pretty please…!” bianca adds.

with a sigh, you realize this night is far from over.

[brickeater712]

duckcoins to spare

cw: angell x eleven, camgirl!eleven, mastu/rbation, squi/rting, toys, actually not much to say here

A/N: ange11. twitter mutuals are the ones in chat...

angell’s eyes burn at the screen, looking through all the jobs that are listed in front of her. 

‘commission: take out the gang fights at the bar by district 14’

‘commission: need someone to kill a billionaire!! urgent!!’

‘commission: can someone deliver my groceries to my door???’

angell groans as she scrolls through the list of commissions on dismyth. eyes flicking away the moment she sees any with a low payment offer. which is basically all of them. ever since she dropped off the chief of the MBCC back onto it’s doorstep, no one has been around to help her with taking the best jobs for her. 

or cook red bean soup, but that’s not her number one priority. 

angell turns around to look at her record player, sitting broken on her desk. she had tried to clean around after chief had been dropped off, but had haphazardly knocked her record player off the table- rendering it useless. 

angell doesn’t actually need the money from her commissions to continue living- chief’s been sending her money every week, making sure her needs are met. but she needs more money to fix up her record player, and for now, has simply been listening to her favourite song on some sketchy video playing site on dismyth. 

angell switches to the tab that’s playing her music, deciding to pause it. she stops the music, wanting to switch off the computer, but not before something catches her eye. 

a live stream- with a pretty girl in the thumbnail, that reads, ‘Call at 3AM’. angell’s eyes flit down to the title of the livestream, which is ‘Call at 3AM: Late night ‘chat’ stream’. she once more considers closing the computer, but the stream has already piqued her interest- and besides, it’s not like she has any commissions to do right now, she can take a break, right? 

angell shrugs and decides to click on the stream, not thinking much about what she would find. immediately, the video opens, and she’s greeted by the sight of that woman- eleven, if the name of the channel tells her anything- in the thumbnail. her face is red, she’s panting, and as angell’s eyes move downward, she watches her breasts move up and down as her chest heaves. before she knows it, she sees one of eleven’s hands propping her up on the bed and the other down between her thighs, thrusting a big, bright pink dildo into her-

angell hits the power button of the computer, sending it into sleep mode. she stares, dumbfounded, at her now black screen. her face rises to a bright blush, cheeks heating up as she tries to process what she just saw. 

ah… that- that was…

angell can feel her head spinning. she doesn’t know what else she expected- why else would someone be up at night, streaming on the dark web? 

“i- i probably shouldn’t…” angell mumbles to herself, shifting in her seat. she thinks it over for less than a minute, and with shaky hands, hits the power button on her computer again. 

it’s okay to be curious, right?

angell enters her password into the computer, and it boots up again- back to the tab, where eleven was on the screen once more. she was still fucking herself, while looking at what is assumedly her own monitor. angell watches, flustered, as she watches the thick, apparently vibrating toy move in and out of eleven’s cunt. so big… doesn’t it hurt? angell thinks, watching intently as slick drips down the toy onto the bed.

eleven’s voice rings out through the silent room. “as you can, see-  ah!”  she moans, “that this toy is reaaaaally powerful at it’s third setting- haaaah…” she trails off, grinding down on the vibrating toy beneath her. “i haven’t felt this good in a while.” she whimpers out. 

angell looks at the livestream’s chat, wondering what people comment on content like this. 

‘mari: oh my god Eleven please one chance I wanna put my head between your boobs so bad and bounce on your strap please’

‘CherieLuna: oh my! Eleven!! …. Alright brb guys gonna withdraw more money’

‘MBCCChief: ELEVEN??? This is NOT what the AV Room equipment is for!!!’

‘ty: i wanna suck on the toy when youre done…’

‘korichi: Eleven please just one taste, please 😭 ’

‘Rahu: ???’

‘Hopeless Romantic: Hey babe… I think you’re suffering from a lack of vitamin me ;)’

‘eiri: I NEED TO DO SCISSOR WITH HER SO BAD UNTIL MY LIPS FALLS OFF UNTIL THE BED BREAKS UNTIL THERE'S A NEW CHASM CREATED’

‘GanceGance: ma'am you're voice is so good I came twice already 🥵🥵🥵 ’

‘Rahu: eleven… can i visit later?’

‘CherieLuna: Rahu???’

angell stifles a laugh at the particularly lewd messages, wondering if these people think about their digital footprint. 

eleven looks over at the chat, reading the comments that fly by in a flash. “oh… amber… three comments in a row already? someone must be awfully desperate tonight.”

‘amber: let me lick it up 👅👅 ’

‘amber: eleven please strap me down’

‘amber: Let me bounce on it’

“if you subscribe maybe, i’ll let you- mmm-  do more than bounce on it.” eleven chuckles. 

and without thinking it over too much, angell decides to send a message in the chat. 

‘angell_1231: you’re really pretty’

eleven pauses grinding down on her toy, noticing angell’s message immediately. “a new viewer? haven’t seen you around before.” she says, before continuing. 

angell wonders what she should type next, while watching eleven squirm on her mattress. “ah- everyone, looks like i’m already gonna cum for the first time tonight.” eleven giggles, adjusting her body slightly so that now- angell has a view of the thick toy vibrating in her soaking cunt, buzzing away in joy as her hips jolt every few seconds. 

angell can’t take her eyes off the display- a world that she has personally never dipped her toes into before- so alluring and beautiful, and she can feel her throat go dry and her own core heat up at the erotic display in front of her. 

“fuck- fuckfuckfuck- i-i’m cumming…” eleven moans, hilting the toy inside her as deep as possible, her slick dripping onto her thighs and on the mattress. she heaves for a while, panting while the chat goes wild at the sight. 

“now, what about i let you all control the next toy?”

-----------

it’s been one week since angell first watched eleven’s stream. she’s taken up more commissions since then, no matter how ridiculous they may seem- she wants to earn more money, after all. 

it’s three in the morning once more, and angell is seated at her computer, cursor hovering over eleven’s livestream. she’s been thinking about it all week- and now that eleven is finally live, she supposes she can take some time to relax for a while. she clicks it, and once again, eleven appears on the screen, this time with her fingers pinching at her nipples. 

as per usual, the chat is as crazy as ever- people interacting with her and with each other.

‘Hopeless Romantic: You and I should have a private stream… ’

‘e-dommommy: please, she’s not gonna dm someone as cringe as you’

‘Hopeless Romantic: Really? What makes you think she’ll go for someone who didn’t even say anything up till now?’

‘e-dommommy: wanna bet? hey eleven, is that your name because you’re an 11 out of 10?’

angell tears her eyes away from the little conflict happening, drifting her view to eleven’s tits instead. she can see how stiff eleven’s nipples are, every tug making her whimper a little louder. 

“ oh, how i wish i had someone to play with my tits while they fuck me- look, i’ve been sitting on this this whole time-” eleven lets go of her tits to pan the camera downwards, to show her swollen cunt, stretched around another thick, but this time, glass dildo. angell squints at the screen, watching the way she can see eleven’s clit throb, and the way her pussy clenches around the toy. 

it makes angell’s own core clench, and her hand fights the urge to drift below and pleasure herself too. she’s in her regular sleepwear, but the fabric of her underwear is enough to bring stimulation on her clit. she finds herself rocking back and forth on her own chair ever so slightly, getting off to the display in front of her. 

“t-this one hits so- ngh, deep,” eleven whimpers out, feeling the toy hit all the right spots in her. she grabs the base of the toy and pulls it out slowly, letting the camera catch every shine of slick that it pulls from her cunt. “this is one of my favourites- it makes me cum so hard everytime i use it.” she continues, pushing it back in with shaky hands. the high-quality microphone picks up the noises that emit from her actions, filling angell’s room with the filthiest sounds. 

angell’s sensitive ears pick all of the sounds up- causing her to soak into her panties- but she makes no move to touch herself. instead, she watches on as eleven’s moans rise in volume as she plunges the toy in and out of herself. 

“i-i’m gonna cum- mmph! can you all see?” eleven moans, her other hand rubbing furiously at her clit now, causing her to gush over her toy. “fuck, i’m- i’m cumming-!” her words cut off, and she throws her head back- and she squirts all over the camera, the hot liquid hitting the lens and dripping off. she pushes the dildo in as hard as she can, panting and riding out her orgasm, rubbing slow circles on her clit. 

angell is burning up now, feeling like she needs to take off her clothes- she’s been sweating at the sight this entire time. without thinking about it, she presses the ‘donate’ button, and decides to donate five hundred duckcoins. she can hear the ping! of the donation from the stream, and looks at eleven, who is still breathing heavily, looking at her chat.

“oh, its you, angell_1231… ah… five hundred duckcoins? thank you so much for the donation- i hope you attach a message next time, hm? flattery can get you to so many places.” eleven chuckles, and the beautiful sound makes angell blush. she simply comments an ‘okay’, to which eleven gives a thumbs up to her comment. 

before she can hear eleven speak more, angell closes the tab- she doesn’t want to stay up all night watching eleven, since she has a job tomorrow. when she stands up from her chair, she becomes aware of how wet her panties are. 

she supposes her shower will have to be a cold one tonight.

-----------

it's another night at the computer. angell’s sitting at her computer once more, watching eleven's livestream. they know each other a little better now, since she’s been chatting more- plus she had asked the chief about eleven after she saw her berate her usage of professional equipment on her streams. 

“maybe you can persuade eleven to stop using the AV room’s equipment.” chief grumbles, before giving angell eleven’s phone number. but all angell can do is stare at it- she doesn’t quite know what to tell eleven just yet. so she decides to watch another stream. 

she chats more freely now, though all she says are just short sentences. nonetheless, eleven still acknowledges every sentence she says- and every donation she makes. 

“oh angell, you don’t have to donate every single time i have an orgasm, you know.” eleven pants out, watching the notification of another five hundred duckcoins coming in from angell. “that’s the second time tonight… you should keep some money for yourself, you know.” she groans as she lifts herself up off the toy she was sitting on. 

‘angell_1231: just thought that ur too pretty to let me watch this for free’

“quite the sweetheart, aren’t you.” eleven tosses the wet toy to the other side of the bed, and sits back down with a grin. “well, guess what. it seems after…” she trails off, doing the maths in her head, “that last donation, you’re entitled to a private call with me, you know.” 

angell’s eyes widen, and her hands start trembling. 

‘angell_1231: what’

eleven giggles when she sees her message. “so cute! you didn’t know?” 

‘angell_1231: no…’

“well… just know that you can cash that in any time you want.” eleven says, and winks at the camera. before she can continue with her next part of the stream, angell’s fingers fly across the keyboard.

‘what about… now?’

eleven looks surprised for a second, before breaking out into a smile. “of course! how could i say no to my number one supporter?” she quickly hits a few buttons on her computer, and turns back to the stream. “sorry everyone… looks like the stream is ending early today… well, until next time then!” she hurriedly turns off the stream, before the rest of her audience can complain about the early end. 

angell is surprised by how eager eleven had seemed to end the stream, but before she can ponder on it, a window pops up on her computer. 

a video call request from eleven. 

angell lets out a noise, and quickly reaches over to adjust the webcap atop her computer, so that only her body is visible. she doesn’t need to let anybody see her face, after all. she hits the ‘accept’ button, and eleven’s smiling face appears on her screen once more. 

“hey! angell… is that you?” eleven’s voice rings through the room, as her eyes dart across the screen to get a better look at angell’s body. 

“y-yeah…” for the first time, angell is nervous- she stutters, and she fiddles with her own fingers in her lap. “hello…”

“oh! i didn’t expect you to sound so handsome.” eleven compliments angell, causing her to flush a deep red. 

“thank you…” angell trails off, not knowing what to say.

deciding to take the lead, eleven continues. “so, anything in particular you’d like for me to do for you?” she asks, wondering what a handsome woman like angell would want. when she doesn’t answer, she continues. “roleplay? ASMR? or something simple like masturb-”

“that.” angell cuts her off. “can you teach me… that?” “ah…? teach you how to… touch yourself…?”

“y-yes… is there anything wrong with that?” 

“well, it’s just that… i had expected you to be… more daring with your request… people don’t pay as much as you do to get a lesson.” eleven thinks, recalling her previous private streams.

“i’ve never had the chance to do such things… to myself… because of my lifestyle… and seeing you just got me curious- and i couldn’t help but think about what if i were to do that to myself…” angell chooses her words carefully, trying not to divulge anything about her job or life. 

eleven looks surprised for a moment, but lapses back into her playful character immediately. “well then, after all that’s said and done, i couldn’t possibly be so mean as to not teach you…” eleven reaches over to her webcam and adjusts it slightly, so that the camera captures her upper and lower body. “turn your camera down too, okay?” she asks.

angell obliges, tilting her camera downward- and eleven’s view is now of angell’s chest, to her lower body sitting in her chair. she can see angell shifting uncomfortably in her seat, and tries to help her relax. 

“relax for me, okay? this will feel better when you let yourself focus on it.” eleven assures her. angell chokes out a stiff ‘okay’. “why don’t you start by taking off your panties? i can already see you soaking through them, you know.” eleven chuckles. 

angell looks down in embarrassment, having completely forgotten that she had only been wearing a t-shirt and panties- knowing she’d be taking a cold bath in the early morning. she flushes a deep red, but pushes her panties off her legs instead, revealing her already wet core. she attempts to hide herself, but eleven puts a stop to that. 

“don’t hide yourself, i think you’re really pretty down there.” eleven whispers into the microphone. angell moves her hands hesitantly, spreading her legs a little wider. “you’re already wet, hm? my stream turned you on so much?” 

“o- of course… it does every time i watch you.” angell admits. that’s something else eleven didn’t expect- if anything, she had assumed that angell’s compliments were just her way of trying to get into her (figurative) pants, but seeing the nervous woman on her screen now made her realise that her short, often lacking-in-emotion comments were just the way angell was. 

now it’s eleven’s turn to blush, not expecting this turn of events. “w-well, this display is turning me on all the same too.” she mutters, but loud enough for angell’s sensitive ears to hear it. angell pretends like she doesn’t, though, and tosses her panties to the other side of the room. 

“now what?”

“start with touching your clit.” eleven instructs, demonstrating it on herself. she ghosts her fingers over her clit, letting out little whimpers as she does- the slick from her previous orgasm on stream helped with lubricating her movements. 

angell tries to mirror her movements- gathering slick from her own cunt to rub gently over her own core. due to her heightened senses, the feeling of simply a single stroke over her clit makes her jolt upwards in her chair, letting out a high-pitched moan that resonates throughout the room. 

eleven is surprised by angell’s sensitivity, and thinks that it will make this more enjoyable for both of them.”does it feel good? just a few touches down there already have you letting out pretty sounds.” she whispers huskily into the microphone, watching the way angell’s fingers twitch at her words.

“y-yeah… feels different.” angell pants.

this piques eleven’s interest. “oh? different from what?”

“ah… “ angell pauses, and hesitates. “from the way my underwear feel against my clit.” she moans out. 

“have you… ever cum from that?” eleven questions, wanting to know the extent of angell’s experience with pleasure. the revelation of angell’s innocence in this aspect is turning her on, and she strokes her own clit faster. 

“no… never… not enough…” angell huffs out. her middle finger is more daring now, stroking her bud gently. the rough pad of her finger adds extra stimulation, making her hips jerk forward ever so slightly in her chair. 

eleven smiles. “well, this will be so, so much better than your silly panties.” she coos, spurring on angell to rub her clit a little bit faster. her legs spread wider instinctually, letting eleven have a better view of her pussy. “use two fingers now, okay? how many times did you try to get off against your underwear?”

“every- ah! stream…” angell whimpers, listening to eleven’s instructions.

“you should let more of that emotion slip everytime you comment in my stream after this, okay? let me know that you’re getting off to me fucking myself.” eleven presses, as she can see how angell speeds up her movements, and the way more slick drips from her cunt. 

eleven’s words are almost pushing angell over the edge, but eleven doesn’t want to stop everything here. “are you gonna cum for me? already?”

angell nods desperately. “mhm, so quickly-” she cuts herself off with a moan, and rubs faster. “gonna c-cum already.” she stutters out. eleven takes her own fingers off her pussy first, preparing herself to deny angell. 

eleven smirks. “hmm… not yet. take your fingers off.” angell doesn’t know why, but she listens to eleven- denying her own orgasm. her hips buck gently into the air, trying to chase the orgasm that she took away from herself. “good. i’ll teach you something more pleasurable, okay?”

angell nods with a whimper, ignoring the urge to continue getting herself off. she watches her screen as eleven shows her wet fingers to the camera, before dipping them down to her entrance. angell gulps down as she sees the tip of eleven’s finger dip ever so slightly inside- she finds her own hand trying doing the same. 

“that’s it, take your time with it, okay? do what makes you feel comfortable.” eleven says, watching angell’s clumsy movements. angell nods, and when eleven puts her singular middle finger in, just a little, she follows suit- the warmth of her own insides making her shift in her seat. 

“feels… strange…” angell huffs out.

“you need to get used to it, after all.” eleven hums, starting to thrust her own finger shallowly inside herself. angell watches, and mimics.

after a while, she gets used to the sensation of something inside her- her thrusts get deeper, and she’s accustomed to having her finger inside her- up to the second knuckle. eleven watches, and moans in approval, letting angell know that she’s proud of her. 

“this is my favourite trick. i love to push my fingers as deep as they can go- “ eleven moans while pushing her fingers all the way in, “and curl them up just a little- and fuck myself just like that.” she starts pumping in and out of herself, the squelching noises from her pussy now awfully audible to angell’s flushed ears. 

angell looks at eleven’s face, contorted in pleasure, and does the same. the feeling of her fingertip pushing up against her walls is a new, better sensation than simply thrusting her straightened finger inside her- and her moans rise in volume in tandem with eleven’s.

“feels so much- ngh!- better!” angell chokes out, already getting close to the orgasm she was denied just now. she can feel her walls clenching around her finger, the pulsations of her cunt driving her to fuck herself faster. 

“rub your clit with your other hand.” eleven instructs, doing the same on herself. their moans grow to a fever pitch, both of them gushing more at the sight of each other getting off. the moment angell’s other hand touches her clit, she lets out a little scream, her oversensitivity nearly pushing her over the edge immediately. 

“ah…” eleven groans, getting close to her own orgasm. “angell, baby, cum with me okay? have your first- oh!-  orgasm together with me.” she whines.

angell, too overwhelmed with pleasure, simply nods in acknowledgement. she speeds up the motion of her hands, mirroring the quick pace that eleven is going at now. together, their noises match each other and rise to a crescendo until- both of them cum over their fingers, slick gushing out and dripping onto the fabric below them.

angell, having never experienced such sensation in her life, is overwhelmed quickly- her eyes roll back in her head, and her legs straighten under her desk, and her toes point- and eleven takes in the sight of angell, in all her glory, letting go. 

angell rides out her orgasm, her fingers slowing down, eventually coming to a complete stop. boneless, she leans back on her chair, too hazy to take her hands off her cunt. now, only the sounds of her heavy breathing and eleven’s panting fill the room, and it takes a while before any of them say anything,

“so… was that everything you expected it to be?” eleven asked, breaking the comfortable silence. 

“it was… better than i expected…” angell says, still dazed out on her chair. 

eleven lets out a giggle. “looks like you enjoyed it? i did too.” 

“really…?” angell blushes. 

“like you wouldn’t imagine. in fact… i enjoyed it so much that i’ll give you another private session on the house, hm? i can teach you so much more.” eleven whispers, before giving angell another wink. 

angell smiles, though she knows eleven can’t see it. “sure,” she answers.

“then…” eleven leans into the microphone and whispers sexily, “i’ll see you at another three AM.” she giggles after, and ends the video call without letting angell respond, leaving her on a cliffhanger. 

angell stares at her computer screen, before tossing her head back and lying in the silence. the slick on her hands is drying now, and she supposes that she can take a shower after she lies there for a little while more- a warm one this time. 

perhaps the chief would let me visit the bureau some time?

[sai-int]

RETURN TO SENDER | simon riley

It was a joke. A letter to a criminal—UK's most wanted. You told him he was hot. Told him you were a virgin. Left your address, because it’s not like he’d ever get out, right?

✉ 2K FOLLOWER SPECIAL .ᐟ | [ AO3 ]

18+ AU, DUBCON, fem!reader, takes place in the UK, porn with plot, pathetic!reader, harddom!simon, asshole!simon, implied stalking, (morally irredeemable) pining, oral (f receiving), shit-ton of degradation, praise if you use a magnifying glass, virginity kink, pussy pronouns, pussy & face slapping, dacryphilia, unprotected sex [ 10.2k words ]

Who knew working at Tesco would be such a fucking nightmare?

 It’s almost absurd how people can forget how to use their brains the second they step through the automatic doors. It’s a massive store, but you’ve come to believe that its sheer scale only amplifies some customers’ overwhelming stupidity. 

You find yourself watching, day in and day out, as people stumble over the easiest parts of shopping, like scanning a barcode or finding the right aisle despite the sign above their heads. It’d be laughable if it wasn’t so damn frustrating. You can’t even afford the luxury of venting because you're stuck behind the register, forced to plaster on a fake smile, nodding while they hold up the line, your eye twitching as you answer the same question for the umpteenth time in 30 minutes.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of gritted teeth and hollow patience, your shift comes to an end. The relief is brief, but it’s there, at least. You drag yourself out of the store, shoulders slumped under the weight of the day. The commute home isn’t any prettier, but it’s a kind of mindless ritual that’s grown familiar over time—20 minutes on the train, crammed between strangers who are just as exhausted, just as done with the grind. The train lurches and hums beneath you, a rhythmic noise that almost lets you forget the stress. But you’re too far gone for that kind of escape, your mind still whirling with all the things you’ve had to swallow throughout the day.

The train empties as the sun sinks below the horizon, each stop peeling away another layer of the late afternoon crowd. You finally step off the train at the final stop, the air crisper than when you left for work nearly 11 hours ago. The walk home is short, but it’s long enough for your legs to remind you that you’ve been standing for hours. Ten long minutes to your flat, a familiar route that feels both comforting and suffocating in its monotony. 

After walking down some quiet streets, past some sketchy alleyways, you finally reach your tiny one-bedroom flat. It’s tucked just outside Bromley, and it’s small, not much at all, but it’s enough. It’s the kind of space that suffocates you some days and feels like a sanctuary on others. You push your key into the lock and push the door open. You kick your shoes off and they thud as they hit the floor, echoing through your small flat. You hang your keys on the singular hook you stuck on the wall, barely noticing the clink of them settling into place. 

This is what most days look like for you: wake up, subject yourself to a long, draining shift, then return home to an empty flat and an even emptier fridge. It's a routine that feels as hollow as the flat itself. The days fly by in a boring cycle of work, silence, and the echo of things you thought you’d left behind when you took the leap and moved out.

After college, you made it a point to leave your parents’ house. You couldn’t stay in the nest anymore, not when you so strongly believed there was something better waiting out there. You had to prove you could stand on your own, that you didn’t need the constant supervision or the suffocating presence of a family that just didn’t get it. 

Honestly, who could? Who could stay locked in a house that felt less like a home and more like a cage? College had been the escape you’d craved, the independence you had  always wanted. You dove in headfirst, joining club after club, meeting all kinds of people, each one with their own story, a sort of authenticity that people in high school never had.

In college, one of the many things you got involved in was Vets Club, which wrote letters to veterans, thanking them for their service. It was a simple thing, but there was something about it that felt right. You’d write a few lines of gratitude, nothing big, just a small act of kindness. And sometimes, you’d get a letter back. The responses were always the same—surprised and grateful that someone even bothered to take the time. It never felt like much, but it always made you feel good, knowing you could brighten someone's day just by saying thank you.

But now, when you’re standing in your tiny flat, staring at a barren fridge that only houses a bottle of wine and some leftover takeaway containers, you wonder if wasting your time on asinine things like that were worth it. 

You’re having a… Well, a hard time, to put it kindly. The kind of time where nothing seems to go your way, and you can't quite shake the feeling that maybe you made some wrong choices. All of your college friends? They're out there, living it up, traveling the world, landing glamorous careers, posting photos of sunsets in Bali and dinners at places with names you can’t pronounce. They’re thriving, but you’re stuck here, watching their highlight reels on social media while your own life feels like it’s paused on a loop of dead-end shifts and lonely nights.

You had big dreams once. You convinced yourself that an art history degree was going to be the key to something meaningful, something that would set you apart. Now, though? Now, you can barely find work, and the opportunities that do pop up feel like they’re beyond you in all shapes and forms.

Rent and bills are manageable, but manageable doesn’t mean easy. To you, it means scraping by, choosing between a decent meal or keeping the lights on for another month.

Your parents help sometimes, covering the electricity bill here and there, but you’d rather die than let them know how bad it really is. You don’t need their pity, their unsolicited advice, or the smug ‘I told you so’ about picking a more practical degree. No matter how deep you’re sinking, you’ll claw your way up alone. It’s not pride, it’s survival. You’ve always done it yourself, it’s just easier that way. 

And the real kicker? The cherry on top of this already pathetic sundae? You’re a fucking virgin. No one to warm your bed, keep you company. Mid-twenties and untouched, while your friends from high school are already posting pictures of shiny rings and baby-bumps. Like struggling to stay afloat wasn’t humiliating enough, you’re also trailing behind in the one thing that’s supposed to have happened already.

You’ve had chances—plenty of chances—but every time, you freeze. The pressure, the vulnerability, and the fear of not measuring up always make you bail.

Not that you’re a prude. You’ve done everything but. Had shitty oral a few times, given it even more. And if the guy’s screaming was anything to go by, you were either naturally good at it or he was just being dramatic. Either way, it was a fleeting moment of triumph in an otherwise awkward, unremarkable sex life, not quite the high point you’d imagined, but in your world of half-hearted hookups and ‘almosts,’ it was something. Proof you weren’t completely out of your depth.

Not that it really mattered.

You shut the fridge and turn to open the cabinet with the same lack of enthusiasm that’s come to define your evenings alone. Peanut butter and jelly, quick, mindless, barely even a choice. You spread the peanut butter, then the jelly, the motion mechanical, just something to fill the silence. The takeout leftovers can last till tomorrow.

You pad over to and collapse on your second-hand couch, the cushions sighing under your weight, and pull your legs beneath you. You grab your phone out of your pocket, thumb idly swiping up to unlock it. The screen lights up, and for a moment, you just stare at it. An infant-sized handful of notifications blink back at you—an automated bill reminder, a news alert you’ll ignore, a lone text from your mom checking in. That’s it. No stream of messages, no flood of tagged posts or party invites. Just a near-empty notification bar, silent in its own damning way.

With a sigh, you lock your phone and toss it aside, letting it land somewhere on the cushion beside you. No one’s waiting for you to reply anyway.  Instead, you grab the remote and flick on the TV. The screen blinks to life and you skim through a few channels, the lowest-tier cable offering not much more than black-and-white novellas and the news. You settle for the latter, knowing it won’t add much to your day, but it’ll at least fill the space with noise.

The pretty woman on the screen drones on about politics and stocks, things you don’t have the capacity to care for. You nibble at your sandwich, half-listening as the segment shifts. The soft murmur of the newscaster is background noise until something catches your ear, an undercurrent of excitement creeping into her voice as she announces a breaking story. Your attention sharpens as she mentions a supposed notorious figure, someone whose name apparently carries weight in the world of crime.

A man known only as Ghost. No full name, no history, just a shadow stitched together by word of mouth and grainy security footage. The anchor’s voice is steady as she rattles off his crimes. High-profile armed robberies that bled banks dry, embezzlement schemes that unraveled entire corporations, and a trail of bodies left in the wake of meticulously executed mob hits.

It’s the kind of name you’d expect to hear on the news, or in the underbelly of the city where crime festers unchecked. A name spoken with a mix of fear and reverence, as if he was more myth than man.

And yet, despite knowing nothing about him beyond what you've learned in the last 5 minutes of the broadcast, the sight of him on your TV—towering, masked,—hits you in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Intrigue coils in your stomach, but you can’t fight the way he unsettles you.

He’s been arrested. The news anchor’s voice carries the weight of the revelation, the story intensifying with every word. After years on the run, the law has finally caught up with him. Ghost—a ghost no longer—is now locked away in the High-Security Unit of Belmarsh, one of southeast London’s most formidable prisons, home to terrorists, murderers, and just the worst of the worst.

You stare at the screen, the words sinking in as you take another slow bite of your PB&J. There’s a strange sort of chill that runs through you, not from familiarity but from the sheer presence of the large man on the screen, as if he’s in the very room you’re sitting in. The news anchor’s voice drones on, but you’re already lost in thought.

You think back to Vets Club, remembering how the club would sometimes send letters to other people—petty criminals who were locked up for minor counts of drug possession, vandalism, or shoplifting. Stupid shit. At first, it seemed odd, but the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. Why not offer a little kindness to anyone that needs a pick-me-up? They didn’t have to be war heroes. 

As long as they didn’t kill anyone—or anything. 

So just like the veterans, you guys would send letters. And just like the veterans, you'd sometimes get a reply, a genuine thank you, as if the fact that someone cared enough to reach out made a difference. It was just about being human, about showing some kindness when so much of the world felt cold.

You never wrote to someone like Ghost before. Not someone so... bad. Not someone whose reputation is so undeniably, explicitly rotten. Someone who, many would argue, is explicitly undeserving of such kindness. 

You snap back to reality, and his figure dominates the screen—broad shoulders, large muscles even under the clothing, the kind of man who demands attention.  The CCTV footage is grainy, a mere screen capture from a longer video plastered on the TV for your viewing pleasure

His face is masked with a skull-patterned balaclava, the fabric stretched taut over his facial features, distorting the skeletal design just enough to make it seem like the grinning visage is shifting with every movement, angular lines that give him an almost inhuman quality—like a wraith lurking in the dark. 

He’s swathed in black from head to toe, the fabric of his dark jacket and and even darker pants absorbing the dim light, making him one with the shadows that cling to every surface around him. Each step is silent, calculated, his presence more of a feeling than a sight—an omen in the periphery, waiting.

It’s strangely captivating, the way he looms, the way the static buzz of the television makes it feel like he could crawl through the screen at any second, like that stupid Ring movie. You sort of wish he would. 

His image lingers, burned into the LEDs of your TV, burned into your mind. You’re not sure why it catches you the way it does, but you can’t look away. Something about him—his sheer presence, even through a screen—snags at your curiosity like a loose thread begging to be pulled, a sweater unfurled into a heap of yarn. God you’re so lonely.

Your mind drifts as your fingers move almost instinctively. A few quick Google searches lead you down a steep rabbit hole, a litany of news reports covering crimes that stretch back years. No one has seemed to figure out his real name, no verifiable background. Alleged military ties, some say, possibly ex-special forces. Others insist he was born into the criminal underworld, raised by it, shaped by it, an enforcer forged in violence.

Though nothing could be determined for sure, most of the reports agree on one thing for certain: he was methodical, precise, and had an undeniable dedication and passion for his craft. You presumed that’s what made him a terrorist-level threat.

Then you stumble upon another fact—and you pause. Belmarsh Prison, his current home, isn’t even that far. Just a thirty-minute drive from your flat.

That should be alarming, but the thought sinks in your mind like a stone dropped into a well. For a second, the dull, predictable rhythm of your life feels disrupted—a ripple in reality, as if you've slipped into some parallel version of your life, one that isn’t just last night’s leftovers and tomorrow's 10-hour shift.

For the first time in a long while, you feel a flicker of excitement. It makes your life feel a little less dull, like something unexpected, something outside the ordinary routine, has just entered your world. Maybe you could write him a letter—

—No. What the fuck? That’s insane. He’s killed people, and you want to send him a letter? 

…

You decide to send him a letter. 

It’s not like you’re his number one fan—or a fan at all, for that matter. Plus, the chances of him even reading it are slim to none, he’s probably buried under piles of letters that sound just like the ones you used to write, if not worse.

It’s just a letter. You’re not looking for anything in return. You’ll write to him, then move on, because why not? It’s not about trying to change him or sympathizing with him, it’s just... kindness. 

Your half-eaten sandwich is abandoned on the coffee table, forgotten the moment the thought takes root. You push yourself up from the couch. The floor is cold beneath your feet as you move down the narrow hall and toward your bedroom, each step fueled by something you don’t care to name—excitement, recklessness, boredom, maybe all three twisted together.

Your bedroom is dim and poorly lit by your bedside lamp. The air feels alive, the window cracked open, allowing the evening breeze to slip through and blow through the room. The curtains sway with it, shifting shadows across the walls, fleeting and fluid, much like the thoughts in mind.

You reach for an old journal tucked away in your bedside table, its spine softened by years of thumbing through its pages. The cover, once smooth, is now rough with wear, smudged with time and old ink stains. As you flip through, the pages crackle—thin, fragile things filled with half-formed ideas and late-night ramblings from high school.

You find a blank page and grab a pen from the bedside table, its weight familiar, and grounding, and shift into a cross-legged seat on your bed. The mattress dips beneath you, the duvet stretching with the movement. 

For a moment, you hesitate. What do you even say to someone like him? 

You reason with yourself that if he’s unlikely to even read the letter, then it doesn’t matter. You don’t expect anything to come of it, but the thought of sending a message feels like the most fun you’ve had in years.

You press the pen to the paper. 

‘Dear Big Bad Ghost,’ 

A quiet giggle escapes you at that, the kind that bubbles up when you know you’re doing something absolutely stupid. But really, what’s the harm? You have nothing to lose, no reputation at stake, and no consequences beyond a letter that will likely end up thrown in a trashcan. You might as well have some fun with it. A little tongue-in-cheek humor never hurt anyone.

Your pen glides across the paper, words spilling faster than you can second-guess them. You tell him how you found out about him, how you saw his face flash across your TV screen, how his name is spoken like an urban legend on the news channels. And—because there’s no point in pretending otherwise—you admit the truth outright: you thought he was hot, because—let’s be honest—you wouldn’t be doing something this rash if he wasn’t (you make sure to write that, too).

You just keep going. You tell him you’re 24, impossibly lonely and still a virgin, stuck working at Tesco with the worst coworkers possible, with little excitement in your life. You’re sure you’ve painted yourself as painfully average, definitely the most boring woman on the planet, though you wonder if that in itself might intrigue him. Or maybe he won’t care at all. Either way, the words are already there, ink drying on the page.

You tell him that if this were happening back in the States, they’d have slapped him with a RICO charge so fast he’d get whiplash—but lucky for him, he’s dealing with the UK’s legal system instead. A small mercy, though not much of one.

Your pen barely lifts from the paper as you continue. If he ever gets out, you tell him, your door is open for a ‘good time’. You underline it for emphasis, like a wink through the page, though you’re quick to add that, realistically, you’re sure he’ll be locked up for life.

Still, you suppose, even the worst criminals must get bored. Maybe he’ll want a pen pal to entertain him for the rest of his days.

You sit back, tapping the pen against your chin as you reread the letter. It’s ridiculous, a tad insane, but the thrill of it makes your stomach buzz. Some prison guard will probably skim it, roll their eyes, and toss it straight into the bin.

But still…

 You scrawl your name at the bottom and the moment the ink dries, you tear the page from your journal, fold it neatly, and slide it into an envelope. You write your address in the return section. Just in case. Your fingers hesitate at the edge, but before second thoughts can creep in, you lick the edges, the bitter taste making you wince and seal it shut.

Next thing you know, you’re sliding on some slippers, unlocking the front door, and stepping into the cool night air. The mailbox is just a few paces from your front door. The world has gone to sleep for tonight.

You reach the rusted blue box, heart hammering as you pull open the slot. The envelope feels heavier now like it carries more weight than it should. You hover there for a second longer than necessary, gripping the paper between your fingers.

And then you let it go. It’s chilling how easy it is. 

The past two weeks have passed in a blur of work, exhaustion, and the crushing weight of an uninspired routine. You’ve long since moved on from the letter. You’ve nearly forgotten about it entirely. Life doesn’t give you much room to dwell on dumb things like that—not when you spend your days dodging entitled customers and biting back the urge to commit minor acts of violence in the break room.

Today was particularly brutal. Some guy spent ten minutes arguing with you over a 5 quid price difference like it was a matter of life and death. A toddler managed to knock over an entire display of crisps while her mom scrolled through Instagram, blissfully unaware. By the time your shift ended, you felt like you’d been put through a meat grinder and then asked to clock out with a smile.

Rush hour on the train only adds insult to injury. Someone sneezes directly onto the back of your neck. Another person else eats an offensively pungent egg sandwich within arm’s reach. You spend the entire ride back gripping the overhead rail and wondering why you ever thought adulthood would be anything more than a slow, soul-draining trudge toward the grave.

By the time you finally get home, your body aches with exhaustion that seeps into your bones. You kick off your shoes, chuck your bag onto the floor, and drag yourself toward the kitchen. There’s no energy left in you for cooking, so you grab some leftover takeout from the fridge and toss it into the microwave, staring blankly at the rotating container as it whirs to life. No, it’s not the same takeout from two weeks ago. 

You settle onto the couch with your dinner, flicking through the limited selection of channels. With an eye roll, you settle on the news once more, just as a reporter’s voice cuts in, crisp and professional.

At first, you’re barely paying attention, too focused on shoveling lukewarm noodles into your mouth. But then—

BREAKING NEWS: MASS PRISON RIOT ENSUES AT BELMARSH – GHOST AT LARGE

The bold red banner streaks across the screen, sharp and urgent. Your fork stalls midway to your mouth, noodles slipping off the prongs and back into the container as your brain struggles to catch up.

The news anchor doesn’t miss a beat, her voice steady, polished, and edged with just the right amount of alarm:

“Authorities have confirmed a large-scale riot at Belmarsh Prison earlier this evening, resulting in multiple casualties and the escape of several high-profile inmates—including ‘Ghost’, who was awaiting trial for dozens of indictable offenses.”

Your stomach tightens.

Ghost might be on your doorstep and London might look like Gotham, all before dawn even breaks tomorrow.

For a moment, you simply sit there, absorbing the weight of it. You should probably be more concerned. Probably get up, lock the doors, check your windows, and maybe even send a half-hearted text to your parents that, no, you haven’t been stabbed or kidnapped yet. 

After a few more seconds you wisen up, mentally slapping yourself. Super-Mega-Criminal-Ghost has bigger problems than tracking down a random girl who sent him one dumb letter out of the hundreds you’re sure he’s gotten. You’re not special. You’re not even remotely relevant in this situation.

Your eyes lock onto the screen as aerial footage of Belmarsh fills the frame. The prison looks like something out of a videogame—thick plumes of smoke curling into the night sky, roaring flames illuminating figures in riot gear as they swarm the perimeter, floodlights sweeping across the wreckage of what was, until hours ago, one of the most secure facilities in the country. Sirens wail in the background.

Somewhere in that chaos, a man you sent a letter to—that more closely resembled a dating profile— has vanished into thin air.

You exhale, exhausted and too tired to brood on it further. Even if he did show up and break down your door, you’re sure your life couldn’t get worse, so you decide to ignore the news and reach for the remote. With a press of a button, the world of reports and fear-mongering headlines is cut off and replaced by the manufactured warmth of a sitcom.

The studio audience laughs on cue.

You force yourself to eat, to go through the motions. Take small, measured bites, as if chewing will somehow settle the restless feeling creeping up your spine. 

It doesn’t. 

When you finish the sad lump of noodles, you head to the kitchen. Dishes clink as you rinse them, your mind half-present as your body moves on autopilot. 

By the time you’ve cleaned up, the tension in your body has quieted. You tell yourself it’s fine. You’re fine. It’s just another night with one more thing to add to the ever-growing list of reasons why this city is exhausting.

You make your way to the bathroom with a sigh, shutting the door behind you. The day clings to your skin, heavy and lingering, but the promise of hot water is enough to shake off the worst of it.

You twist the shower knob. Pipes groan, then sputter, before a steady stream rushes out. You strip down, kicking your dirty clothes into the corner as steam billows, curling against the mirror until your reflection blurs.

After testing the water with your hand, you step in, a sharp inhale slipping past your lips as the warmth crashes over you. It seeps into your muscles, loosening tension you hadn’t even realized you were still holding. You tilt your head back, eyes fluttering shut as you let it pour over you.

Your body moves through the motions on autopilot. Shampoo, scrubbed into your scalp. Conditioner, combed through the ends with your fingers. The buy-one-get-one soap glides over your skin, the scent of cheap vanilla and pomegranate thick in the humid air, mingling with the steam that cocoons you. You carefully shave where necessary before the water washes everything away.

You finish your shower, stepping out into the warm fog of steam clinging to the bathroom walls. You take your towel off the hook and drag it over your skin, patting your hair just enough to keep it from dripping but not enough to fully dry it. 

Right now, all you want is to crawl into bed and pretend this night is just like any other, despite the very real fact that the London Bridge might actually go down overnight.

You don’t bother wrapping the towel around yourself. There’s no point. It’s just you here—always, unfortunately, just you. As much as you wish that wasn’t the case, there’s no reason to pretend otherwise.

Pushing open the bathroom door, steam rushes past you, rolling into the hallway like a ghost of its own. The air is cooler than usual, biting at your damp skin. A shiver rolls through you, goosebumps prickling to life as you clutch the towel tighter around yourself.

You move quickly, bare feet padding against the floor, the cool air chasing you down the hall. You shake it off, the shower was especially hot today, after all. 

Once inside your bedroom, you flick on the small lamp on your bedside table. The weak glow struggles against the shadows, barely illuminating the room beyond a soft, feeble pool of light. You sigh, staring at it for a moment. You really should invest in another one, something stronger, something that does its job—but the thought of subjecting yourself to the blinding glare of overhead lighting is unbearable.

The usual cool breeze from the window rolls in and whisks against your skin as you stand in front of the large mirror sitting atop your dresser, as naked as the day you were born. You absentmindedly rub lotion onto your arms and legs, the smooth cream sinking into your skin with satisfying ease, a small act of self-care amidst the shit-show of your life. You swipe on some deodorant, a miscellaneous powdery scent briefly masking the other smells that linger in your room.

You pull open the top drawer, fingers brushing past folded fabric until you find a pair of plain black no-show panties. The material is soft between your fingertips.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband, bending slightly as you slide the fabric up your legs, smooth against your skin. It settles high on your hips, snug and familiar.

But as you straighten,  the air feels different.

Your breath stalls, a tight, involuntary hitch in your throat. A prickle skates down your spine, the hairs on the back of your neck rising, your body sensing the shift before your mind can grasp it. Then comes the scent. Subtle quickly shifts to suffocating. 

Ash, woody and bitter like a lonely bonfire.

Gunpowder, metallic and pungent like a shrill war cry.

And beneath it all, something brutally masculine. Utterly tart, like blood welling on your tongue, bitter, metallic, yet impossible to spit out so you’re forced to swallow.

You’re still facing the mirror, bare skin gleaming under the dim light, damp where the shower’s heat still lingers. Your reflection is all soft curves and slow, steady breaths, the delicate contrast of black fabric against your skin.

But you’re not looking at yourself anymore.

Your eyes are locked onto something else. Someone else.

Over your right shoulder, a hulking figure sits backward in your desk chair, big, long legs spread on either side, the heavy, shadowy outline of him filling the space behind you. His presence is so sudden, so jarring, that it takes you a moment to even process it. From what you can make out, he is facing you,  arms crossed over the backrest like he owns the room.

You’re frozen, trapped in your own body, your mind a tangled mess of confusion and fear. You scramble to process how this could even be happening. Your eyes dart to the window over your left shoulder in the reflection, the wind howling on cue as if to mock you. 

Your window is violently wrenched ajar, and suddenly, the drop in temperature makes sense. That’s what you felt earlier—the sudden chill that wrapped around you the second you stepped out of the bathroom. How you didn’t feel it moments ago is beyond you.

Your heart pounds in your ears, a brutal thundering that mutes the voice in your head telling you to run, single-handedly hijacking every morsel of reason you possess. Each beat is so violent, that you think you can feel your ribs splintering, cracking to make room.

You can’t help but stare at yourself, standing there, exposed and utterly vulnerable, tits perked and on display like it’s time for Sunday dinner. But it’s impossible to make yourself move. Your feet feel like cinder blocks.

Your eyes flick back to him.

He hasn’t moved. Not an inch. A statue of flesh and shadow, his towering frame swallowing the space behind you. Your breath stutters as your gaze collides with his—an accident, a mistake. Dark eyes, barely visible, catch the light as he leans in, closer, closer still.

You regret it instantly. Your stomach flips, twisting in on itself as something molten ignites deep inside you. Butterflies—you’re sure—but they feel wrong, tainted, clawing their way up your throat, wings drenched in bile, desperate to break free.

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t even breathe.

Just silen—

“Shouldn’t’ve given a dog a bone, Girl.”

Oh.

Oh.

Shit.

You swallow, the motion sharp and dry, as your eyes fixate on the sliver of him that the mirror allows you to see. Your tongue feels like it’s too big for your mouth, thick and clumsy, but it's not just that—it’s as though it’s been wrung dry like you’ve forgotten how to speak, how to make any sound at all.

Could be fight, could be flight—or could be sheer, reckless stupidity. Superficial courage floods your veins, burning hot and impulsive. You don’t know where it comes from, only that it’s there, forcing you to turn, to face him, not through the mirror’s reflection but for real, head-on. Your body obeys even as your mind screams to stop, to run, to do anything but face the giant sitting in the chair behind you. It must be adrenaline. 

You pivot, and the room changes. It warps.

He fills the room—dominates it—far more than four walls should ever allow, and far more than your traitorous mirror portrayed. His frame is more ape than human, more God than man, every inch of him radiating undomesticated power that seems to bend the very air around him like a mirage.

He’s dressed in grey, prison-issued sweatpants, the soft fabric taut over his thick, spread thighs. A matching grey sweatshirt is tied around his waist, a small, white wife-beater stretched across his chest. The fabric strains against the thickness of his body, pecs beneath like boulders, barely contained by the threadbare material. The shirt looks as though it might snap under the sheer pressure of him.

It almost seems pointless for him to wear it.

A sick part of you wishes he didn’t.

Around his neck, a set of dog tags dangles, the metal catching the light as it sways in rhythm with his slow, steady breaths. His arms are a canvas of dark ink—twisting amalgamations of war and death, flames and ruin etched into his skin. The same balaclava you’ve seen on your screen stretches over his face, but it feels even more menacing now.

His eyes—dark brown, nearly black—burn as they lock onto you. There’s an eerie glow to them, a depth that makes your stomach twist. You can barely make out their full shape, but you feel the weight of his gaze, the way it maps your body with an intensity that singes. He’s memorizing you, branding you into his mind, scorching every visible inch of your skin just by looking.

Which, right now, is essentially all of it.

It’s suffocating, and overwhelming. The space around you seems to shrink, the walls pressing inward, forcing you to feel the heft of his presence. Your bubble, your safe little world, vanishes, replaced by the oppressive weight of him, his sheer size and power making the room feel like a part of a dollhouse, too small to contain him. Every breath feels harder to take like you’re drowning, and he’s the rip current that dragged you out from shore and pushed you under.

And then, as if sensing your every thought, as if aware of your discomfort and your disbelief, he shifts. Just a subtle movement at first. But a shift is all it takes before he’s not sitting anymore.

Your breath catches in your throat, as he slowly rises from the chair, taking up even more of the room, shadow growing longer in his wake, his muscles rippling in the lamplight. He doesn’t rush. No, there’s no need. He moves, each large step bringing him closer to you.

All that ‘courage’ drained. You never thought you’d be the frozen-in-fear type, but here you are, your body stiff and uncooperative as you look up at him. Your neck cranes back further and further, unwillingly following as he stalks toward you, each step near imperceptible to the ear. At least you know why you didn’t hear him come in.

You’re backed flush against your dresser, your breath coming in shallow gasps, your chest tight with panic, but you can’t look away. You don’t even know if you want to. There’s a strange magnetism to him, something almost predatory in the way he moves, so controlled, so sure. 

It’s addicting.

Your thighs clench together at the internal acceptance, a small attempt at some kind of control over the sick part of your brain that’s turned on by this.

“Quiet little thing.” His voice is low, gravelly like it’s been rubbed raw, but there’s a hint of amusement in it, a wicked edge that makes your skin prickle and your cunt gush. He takes another step closer, a mere foot away, the distance between you is agonizing. “Glad you’re not a screamer.”

He pauses just in front of you, towering over you. The weight of his gaze chokes you like a noose. He doesn’t miss when your thighs clench. You could have sworn you saw the flicker of a smile beneath the balaclava, though it’s hard to tell.

“I’m not gonna bite, Girl,” he tuts, “unless y’want me to.”

The way he says it—so carnivorously—sends a jolt of electricity down your spine, a hot flush of pure shame of pooling low in your stomach. You're still frozen, unsure whether you should respond, run, or drop to your knees. 

“Y’sent me a letter,” he continues, his voice softening just slightly as his eyes flick to your tits like he’s checking out a new appliance.

 “Tellin’ me all about your boring little life,” He steps even closer, “And that sweet little cunt, untouched like you want me t’make it mine.”

You try to speak, but only your mouth moves, your vocal cords too dry, too hoarse, and your throat constricted. He notices. The slight twitch of his lips like he’s enjoying how utterly speechless you are, how dumb you look.

“Y’want me t’make it mine? Hmm? That why you gave a ‘Big Bad’ man your address?”

You swallow in an attempt to lubricate your throat, but it’s futile. Is this what you were subconsciously hoping for when you wrote down which street you lived on and your apartment number? Did you want this? Were you that lonely—that desperate?

“Can y’imagine how hard I came,” he leans over you, his breath hot against your ear, you feel it through the mask, “How I rubbed my cock raw to the thought of some dumb virgin with the audacity of a dozen slags?”

Yeah. You were that desperate. 

You nearly whimper at the way he talks to you. You finally manage to take a breath, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I— I didn’t think you’d—”

He cocks his head slightly as if considering your words “What? Didn’t think I’d show?” he repeats, dragging the words out slowly, a smirk curling at the edges of his lips as if he’s savoring the mockery in them. “You invited me here. It’d be rude to reject such a generous offer.”

You bite back a scoff. As if he’s so gracious, breaking into your house and cornering you while you’re naked. Talk about audacity.

“Go fuck yourself.” 

“I have,” he shoots back, shrugging almost imperceptibly as his hands find your hips, tracing the fabric of your panties, eyes darkening at the way your mons dimples beneath his thumbs. “Won’t be as good as her.”

Your pulse spikes, a mix of anger and something darker curling in your chest. You should shove him away, scream at him to get out, but his hands are so warm when they hold you. The proximity of his body has you paralyzed, his hands still firm on your hips, as if to remind you that he can have his way with you at a moment’s notice.

You open your mouth to speak, but his hand moves higher, wrapping around your waist, while the other slides down to grip your ass, pulling you against him with a force that leaves no space between your bodies. The words die in your throat as your tits collide with his stomach and your cheek presses into his chest, the hard beat of his heart thudding beneath your ear, as he holds you there, pinning you in some weird, bone-crushing hug. 

He smells like soap and something musky and everything you’d expect a fugitive to smell like, like cigarette ash and a smidge of gunpowder. It makes your pulse stutter, like a drug you didn’t know you were addicted to. You can’t help but melt into his strong frame despite your brain screaming at you to push him away.

“Y’feel that, sweetheart?” he hums, his hand kneading the fat of your ass, pressing his bulge against your pelvis through his sweatpants.  “Ever felt a cock that big before?”

“Please,” you whisper, the plea a stark contrast to the defiance you try to muster. Your body trembles, a mix of fear and blistering heat. “Just... don't.”

He chuckles, a low, mocking sound. “Don't what, sweetheart?” he murmurs, his fingers rising from your ass to trace the delicate line of your throat. “Don't touch you? Don't remind you of what y’are?”

He tips your head up to his as you flinch at his words, the truth of them cutting deeper than any physical blow. “I…” you stammer, faltering as you meet his dark hazel eyes. 

“Virgin,” he deadpans as he grips your chin between his digits, “Y’terrified. It's written all over your face, baby” He coos condescendingly, eyes scanning your body, lingering on the cute flush in your cheeks, “Curious, too, aren't you? Wondering what it would be like.”

You swallow hard, eyes flicking away from his. “No,” you lie, the denial weak and utterly unconvincing.

He lets out a low, exasperated grunt, like you’re testing his patience, like this is tedious for him. And then, without warning, his hands clamp around your thighs, lifting you effortlessly before settling you atop the dresser. His grip is firm as he pushes your legs apart, spreading them as far as they’ll go to make room for himself. The wood is cold against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from him, from the rough drag of his palms as they find purchase on the soft flesh of your thighs, from where he dips his head to your throat. 

“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me, sweetheart,” You don’t know when he pulled his mask up, but you can feel his canines graze against your jugular, making you wince. He crowds your space, forcing you to tilt back until you’re leaning against the mirror, until there’s nowhere to go. You can feel his lips twitch against the skin of your neck, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“I can smell your cunt.” He licks a fat, hot stripe from your collarbone, past your jaw, and to your cheek, all before growling in your ear, “She’s droolin’ f’me, ain’t she? Gonna give me a taste o' her?”

Your eyebrows knit at the feel of his tongue slobbering all over you. Your breath hitches, and you can’t help but tremble. You can feel your panties sticking to your folds, but you’ve never been this wet before.  “I... I don't know,” you whimpered, overwhelmed by everything he was making you feel.

“Don't know? Please,” he scoffs, his voice thick with disdain. Without any hesitation, both of his hands find the gusset of your panties, balling them before ripping them in half. You yelp as they fall and settle against the dresser top. “Awh. Look at that,” he gets to his knees, thumbs spreading your glistening folds. “She's leakin’ onto my hand." He chuckles as he stares at the dampness between your legs. 

He lunges forward, his mouth latching to your pussy like it promised him a million dollars. A strangled moan rips through you as his tongue swirls and plunges into your weeping hole, mimicking the thrusts he intends to deliver later. He laps and nips, teeth gently but fervently grazing your clit, sending shivers of both pleasure and terror through your body.

Your head jerks back, waves of pleasure that have you gasping for air. His tongue works you in ways that should be illegal. You cling to the edge of the dresser, your knuckles turning white as he buries his face in you. You peer down at him as he eats you, his mask pulled over his nose.

“Whinin’ already?” he growls, his voice muffled against your cunt. He sucks harder, reveling in the way you arch your back and press your hips into his face. “Like a bitch in heat.” Your hands find his head and he suckles at your clit harder, eliciting a string of please, please, please’s from you. 

“Beg for it,” he commands, “Beg to come on m’tongue, baby.” 

“Yes,” you choked out in a gasp, the word a desperate plea lost in a wave of overwhelming sensation. Your body thrums with frantic energy, every nerve ending firing in a symphony as you desperately claw at his balaclava, nearly smothering him. “Please,” you beg, your voice thick with need. “Please, I— ‘m—”

He pulls away from you, gasping for air. His eyes find yours and he lands a firm slap to your cunt, making you jolt. “Tell me,” he hisses. “Tell me y’want to come for me.”

“I... I want to,” you gasped, your body trembling on the verge of collapse. “I wanna come for you, Ghost— Please—.”

“Good fuckin’ whore,” he slaps your cunt again, before diving back in, his hot tongue carding through your folds. He slips his ring and middle finger into your hole and you wail as he massages your g-spot. He slobbers on your clit, wet squelches echoing through the room as you feel the coil tightening in your belly. “Come, let me taste this slutty fuckin’ pussy.”

A strangled cry rips through you as the pleasure reaches its peak, a blinding wave of sensation that absolutely shatters your control. You convulse around him and he has to hold you still, pinning your hips down as your muscles clench and release in a series of involuntary spasms that make up the best orgasm of your life. Hot, thick spurts of cum flood his mouth as you croak out a broken string of curses and moans.  

He laps at you unhurriedly, savoring the taste, the feel of your release coating his tongue. “Fuck,” he moans, his voice rough with satisfaction. He pulls back, lips and chin glistening, and looks up at you with a smirk. “Love you virgins. Come so easily.”

Heat surges up your neck, pooling in your cheeks—a traitorous flush of shame that only worsens when you try to press your legs together. You didn’t think it would affect you like this, didn’t think you’d feel a spark of something twisted at being called the most horrific of names.

Your gaze darts away from his, unable to withstand the weight of it. Your hands move on instinct, a feeble attempt to shield yourself, to reclaim some sense of control. “Stop staring,” you whisper, not used to having eyes on you. But even to your own ears, it sounds weak—like a plea rather than a command.

He chuckles, a low, mocking sound as he rises to his feet, pressing his massive bulge against your bare cunt. “Stop what? Admiring my handiwork?” He reaches out, his fingers tracing the curve of your cheek before harshly squishing them between his index and thumb, your lips puckering.  “Don't be shy, sweetheart. You should feel lucky. Could’ve ruined this pretty fuckin’ mouth instead.”

You bite your lip at the thought of taking him in your mouth, stretching your throat and making you gag. He was so big, would stretch your pussy so good and you know it. He could give you what you’ve been wanting, what you’ve been needing. Tears prickle your eyes as you recover from your orgasm. “Just... fuck me, Please…?” you hum, unsure..

He grins, briefly flashing his teeth in the dim light. “Eager, are we?” He straightens, pulling you by your knees to stand on your feet. “Don't worry. Got more in store for you.”

He hauls you off of your dresser and toward your bed without much effort. Your legs feel like jelly and you trip over yourself, falling back onto the mattress, your body bouncing with the impact. He chuckles as he moves toward you, looming over you, his eyes burning with lust at the sight of you all spread out beneath him.

He reaches for the hem of his wife beater and pulls it over his head, tossing it aside without care, not bothering to take off his balaclava. You drag your gaze over his broad torso, taking in every inch as he stands before you. His muscles shift beneath scarred skin, every ridge and plane carved by years of violence you can’t even begin to imagine. Scars that have scars, bright pink wounds closed over. His dog tags rest between his pecs, gleaming dully against the heat of him. 

Your eyes trail lower, catching on the unmistakable wet patch darkening his sweatpants, a frighteningly long outline of his hard cock to accompany it. He watches you closely as your gaze traces the contours of his body, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. 

"Like what you see, Girl?" His voice is low, thick with a dark amusement. It’s rhetorical, he knows you do. Without breaking eye contact, he slides his fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and pulls them down, revealing his length with a singular motion.

No underwear. A Right dog, he is. 

Your breath hitches, a gasp trapped in your throat as you take in the full view. His cock is thick and heavy. A brutal, veined length that periodically twitches every time his gaze drops to your sodden cunt. A thatch of dark, dirty blonde hair frames its base, leading up to his navel. The uncircumcised head glistens in the lamplight, a single drop of pre drooling from his tip. You wish you could flick your tongue against it, gulping down every ounce of his slick he’d be willing to let you swallow.

“What’d y’want?”

You can't form the words, your mind blank, throat tight with a mix of fear and anticipation, the air heavy with implicit tension and the scent of sex.

How could he even fit inside of you?

You just dumbly nod in response to whatever he said. Meek, almost imperceptible.

He tuts, “Noddin’ ain’t enough, sweets,” he growled. “You’re a big girl, ain’t you?

“I…” you stammer, your cheeks burning with shame at saying something so lewd out loud. “I want…”

“Say it,” he taunts as he takes his cock in his hands, pumping slowly. His voice is like thunder, a low, dangerous rumble. “Say y’want this cock.”

“I... I want your cock,” you whisper, the words barely audible. You’re too focused on the way his pre drips onto your spread pussy.

“Louder,” he demands, landing a firm slap against your clit. “Can't hear you.”

“I want your cock,” you enunciated, your voice a little stronger this time.

“Louder, y’fuckin’ slag—”

“I want your fucking cock!” you shout, the words echoing through the room.

He shrugs and a satisfied smirk spreads across his face. “Geez, all y’had to do was ask.” 

You could slap him. 

He positions himself between your legs, the bed dipping as he crawls closer to you. He takes your thighs in his hands, pressing them up to your chest. His knees dimple the duvet on either side of your hips, the ruddy head of his cock tracing the puffy folds of your entrance. Each time his tip grazes your clit, a tremor runs through your body.

“So fuckin’ sensitive,” he groans, “So wet f’me, too, Christ.”

He presses forward, your pussy stretching taut over his mushroomed tip. You wince, your eyebrows knitting in pain. He was huge, impossibly thick, and the feeling of him pushing against your sensitive flesh was both terrifying and exhilarating.

“Gonna split this cunny in half, girl,” he winces as you pulse around him. He draws tight circles on your clit and you’re reeling, choking on your own gasps, “gonna feel me in y’fuckin’ throat.”

He pushes himself deeper, inch by agonizing inch until he sheaths himself inside of you completely. Tears stream down your face, a mixture of pain and pleasure overwhelming you. You cry out at the stretch, your body arching into his as your hands search for anything to steady yourself, settling on the hard plains of his back.

“Jesus baby, so tight,” he grunts, stalled inside of you as he tries not to blow his load. “So fucking tight.”

You slowly loosen around him as you adapt to his size, but the burn still has you lightheaded. You've never been so full in your life. Your nails claw into his back, leaving raw streaks and crescent-shaped marks on his scarred skin. “Fuck me,” you rasp, “Please, Ghost, fuck me.” Your hips buck involuntarily as you babble, desperate for more of him. 

He chuckles a low, guttural sound that you swear you can feel vibrating through your body. “Cock-drunk already, are we?” he taunts,  “Fuckin’ whore,” He pulls back slightly before plunging forward with renewed force, cramming his cock against your cervix, hitting places you couldn’t even reach with your own fingers.

He was right. You could feel him everywhere, stretching you, filling you, owning you, utterly consuming you. Every thrust punched the air out of you, the rhythmic plap, plap, plap of his thighs meeting yours reverberating through the room as he fucked you.

“Fuck me harder, I need you— please—” You were so close already, worked up from your last orgasm and already teetering on the edge of another, the pleasure building each time the head of his cock strokes your g-spot. He picks up the pace with a groan and hammers into you, unable to breathe as his cock stretches you to your limits.

 “Ghost,” you sob, fat tears falling from your eyes, wetting your cheeks before you can stop them. His name escapes your lips through hiccups, unable to think of anything except how full you feel, how you could’ve possibly missed out on this for so long. 

He slaps your cheek, the sting is a sudden shock that jolts you back to the present. “Stop fuckin’ callin’ me that,” he snarls, his voice thick with pure sex and an edge of possessiveness, just lurking beneath his words. He leans directly over you, your legs pinned between his torso and yours. He groans before  shrugging up his balaclava and licking your stray tears. You’re too deep in it to fully process, too consumed by the heat of the moment to care.

“Call me Simon when I fuck you,” he rasps against your lips,

“Say it.”

“S—Sim—on,” you mewl, your voice punctuated by each of his thrusts. “S—simon, p—ple—ase…”

“Please what?” he snarls, the head of his cock devastatingly rubbing your g-spot with each thrust, “Please fuck you harder? Please make you cream all over this cock?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you wail, your body writhing beneath him. “Please, Simon— Fuck!”

“Atta fuckin’ girl,” he praises through gritted teeth, and with renewed vigor, he fucks you harder,  caging you in as he fucks you into the mattress, each stroke shoving you farther up the bed.

“Squeezin’ me so tight,” he rasps, “So fucking tight.” he gripped your thighs harder, the fat dimpling beneath his fingers, surely to bruise in the morning. He presses you further, painfully folded in half. “Feel me? Feel how deep I am inside o’ you?”

You gasp, your body trembling, heat pooling low in your belly, sparks shooting up your spine, “Yes,” you breathed, your voice a strained whisper. “Too much... it's so much, Si—”

You’re on the edge, pressure just building and tightening as your walls pulse around him, ready to milk him for all he’s worth. His hips stutter and he knows he’s done for. “Fuck, let go, Let it happen, pet,”

At his command, a raw, guttural cry tears from your throat, and a shattered echo of his name launches into the humid air. It isn’t much of a word, not really, but a primal sound, a desperate, broken exclamation born from the white-hot core of your pleasure. 

Your back arches, lifting you off the bed, your spine a rigid curve against his. Your hips buck wildly against his, grinding and shuddering. The hot, slick rush of your release coats his cock. It spreads across his abdomen and your thighs as well, a glistening sheen in the dim light. Your breath hitches and ragged gasps escape your lips as the waves of pleasure wash over you. 

The world narrows, focusing solely on the feel of his skin on your own as he still thrusts into you, telling you to  “Cream this fuckin’ cock,” as he groans, just as lost in the pleasure as you. The aftershocks of your orgasm reverberate through you, leaving you trembling and weak as he fucks you through it to reach his own. 

A series of breathy moans escape his lips in tandem with yours, each one a ragged exhale as his hips begin to twitch, thrusts growing sloppy as you pulse around him, energy rippling through his muscles as his own orgasm approaches.

 “Oh-,” he breathes, his voice a low, jagged rasp, a guttural urging. “Fuck! Fuck— Shit, just like that, girl.” His hips slam against yours, a final, desperate thrust that presses him flush against your cunt. He spills inside you, a hot, thick tide of his cum flooding your cunt. Ropes of his seed paint your inner walls, as far as he can reach, marking you as his. A wave of heat pulses through you, the feeling of him filling you completely, claiming you from the inside out.

Eventually, the tremors die down, and he rolls off you, the sudden absence of his weight pinning you down leaving you feeling strangely hollow. Your thighs fall limply as he lets go of them, a strange ache that almost bothers you.

A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, a sound of contentment. 

“Broken little bird aren’t you?” he drawls.. 

You lift your head to see him eye-level with your pussy, watching as his cum leaks out of you. You lay still, your body aching, your mind spinning. You want to protest, to deny his words and shut your legs, but you don’t think you could form a genuine sentence if you tried. 

Not only did you (finally) lose your virginity, but you lost it to a criminal. That broke into your house. 

He moves to sit next to your laid figure and reaches out, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of your jaw, his touch surprisingly gentle. “Don't look so glum, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice softening slightly. “You did well,”

“for a first-timer.”

A blush creeps up your neck, and you instinctively turn your face away, curling into yourself. “Shut up,” you mutter, your voice hoarse.

He lets out a low, husky chuckle. “Oh, usin’ fightin’ words now, are we?” His fingers find a stray strand of your hair, twisting it lazily between calloused fingertips. “Funny, didn’t see you puttin’ up much of a fight five minutes ag—”

You don’t let him finish. Grabbing a tousled pillow, you launch it at his face. It bounces off his head with a pathetic little thump. He snorts, catching it mid-air, the plush looking comically small in his massive hands.

“Oh, we’re throwin’ shit now?” He smirks, squeezing the poor thing for emphasis. “Little minx—”

The sudden blare of the doorbell slices through the moment. You both freeze.

His eyes flick toward the door, sharp and assessing, mood immediately changing. “You expectin’ anyone?”

You shake your head. “No.”

His jaw tightens. The weight of reality comes crashing back. He’s a fugitive, and did, in fact, break into your house.

“I’ll get it,” you hum, already moving.

He gives a slow nod, hungrily watching as you rummage through your dresser for something decent. You yank an oversized T-shirt over your head and grab the first pair of pants you can find, his sweats. They nearly slide right off your hips, the waistband hanging dangerously loose, but there’s no time to fix it.

You leave the bedroom, your pulse drumming in your ears as you make your way to the front door. The second you pull it open, your stomach drops.

Two cops.

Their faces are unreadable, their eyes scanning you, the dim space behind you, everything. “Evening, miss. Sorry to bother you, but we’re making the rounds,” one of them says, flashing a tight-lipped smile. “You seen anything suspicious? Anything out of the ordinary?”

Your fingers tighten around the doorframe. You think of Simon. His hands on your waist, the weight of him between your legs, the low rasp of his voice still ringing in your ears. But you swallow hard and shake your head.

“No, nothing,” you say, keeping your voice light, casual. “Why?”

The other officer exhales sharply, shifting his weight. “ Highly dangerous man on the loose. Escaped with the rest of those arseholes from Belmarsh. Last spotted in this area.” His gaze flicks past you again, scanning the dreary interior of your flat. “Figured we’d check in, see if anyone’s seen him.”

You school your face into something neutral, shaking your head again. “Haven’t seen anything lately, sorry to disappoint.”

They watch you for a second too long. You wonder if they can hear your heartbeat slamming against your ribs. But finally, they nod.

“All right. Just be careful, ma’am. Lock your doors.”

“Will do,” you say, forcing a tight-lipped smile of your own.

You shut the door.

Your heart is pounding. You press your back against the timber, exhaling sharply before pushing off and heading back to the bedroom.

“Simon—” you call, nudging the door open.

The bed is empty, sheets tangled, the ghost of his warmth already fading. The curtains billow, the night air slithering in, laced with the scent of him—sex, sweat, something else that’s so distinctly him.

He’s gone.

But ghosts always return to their haunt.

[musouie]

sending simon a “care package” while he’s on deployment, but in lieu of non-perishable food and toiletries, you send him erotic photos and his favourite pair of your lace knickers.

he thanks you the following afternoon with a string of blurry videos of him jerking off in his bunk, muffled moans escaping clamped lips and a massive, veiny hand pumping his flushed cock.

when he comes, his meaty thighs tremble, as does the camera. you don’t see much, save for the splatter of white against his skin as he groans and sighs — a bestial thing ripped from his throat — and your knickers wrapped around him.

and when he returns from deployment, with pallor skin and sunken eyes, he leaves no room for you to question what could be wrong — because the second he enters your home, he’s forcing you against the wall and fucking your starved cunt for as long as he can manage, making up for all those precious months lost :(

masterlist <3 . . . newest feral!simon

[davinawritings]

Monster Bestfiend Accidentally Finds Your Only Fans

Monster best friend that accidentally finds your only fans. As soon as he sees your face, he goes to get off your page, but when he sees the giant monster dildo in your hand, he pauses. His finger hovers over the play button, his mind at war with itself on whether to see more. His conscience screams at him to put the phone down and forget he saw you there, but everything else screams at him to see more.

He gives in and clicks on your page, and his cock throbs as he realizes that every video is of you playing with all different monster dildos. He starts a video and can’t help but moan as you bounce up and down on a very large dildo, clearly modeled after a werewolf cock. Your tiny cunt stretched more than he would have thought possible for a little human. 

His hand is immediately wrapped around his throbbing cock and stroking in time with your movements. He growls as he watches your face scrunch up in pleasure, feeling his own release getting closer, far faster than he would like. 

As you let out a scream and gush all over the dildo, he finally cums, shooting all over his hand and the floor. He releases a small moan as he glances at his phone and sees the cum covering the screen over your naked body. 

The guilt slowly creeps in as he comes down from his high, and he vows he will never do this again. And he continues to break that vow every night as he crawls into bed, his cock cumming hard as he watches your videos, only to swear it’s the last time all over again. 

And when he sees you next, and his cock starts hardening immediately, he knows he is truly fucked. He’s just going to have to find a way to claim you for himself. At least he knows you have a thing for monsters and riding monster cock. He can’t wait to see you bouncing on his. 

[gossamyrrh]

dubcon/noncon. intox. fem!reader. not proofread

i’m so horny thinking about you smoking with plug!geto in his car, trying out some new weed he bought.

“i’ve heard it’s some good stuff.” he tells you, lighting a joint and passing it over. “you’ll sleep like a baby tonight.”

the first hit makes you let out a soft sigh. the next three make you feel like you’ve entered heaven.

and suguru is there just egging you on—telling you all about it, who he got it from, rolling and relighting and rolling and relighting.

and then after half an hour or so, you are so absolutely fucked out and dizzy, slurring your words, squinting against the strain of the overhead car light.

and you don’t realise that suguru has his hand halfway up your skirt until you feel his fingers pushing past your tight, little hole, knuckles brushing against your clit.

“sugu… why are your hands—”

“shhh, don’t worry about my hands, baby. just focus on the pot. that’s what you came for, right? it’s good, isn’t it?” he coos.

your eyes flutter as suguru thrusts his fingers in an out of you, a lewd squelching sounding in the car, pulling soft whimpers from your throat. “y-yeah. it’s good.”

he gives a nod, leans over the console as he takes your ear between his teeth. “got it just for this occasion. wasn’t cheap. ain’t free, either. just relax, baby. smoke s’more.”

and you do.

plug!geto makes you cum twice before he’s pulling his fingers out of you. licks them, too. promises more good weed for free, if you’re willing next time.

part two here

[theorphicangel]

trying to convince bf! sukuna to do the TikTok challenge to the Sabrina carpenter song lyrics of “ a boy who’s jacked and kind” whilst he picks you up.

Yeah , your boyfriend isn’t too kind but you know he fits the jacked description pretty perfectly.

“No.”

“Pleaseeeeee, I’ll blur out your face.”

“No.” He pouts, frowning at his phone. He was sat on the couch, mindlessly scrolling. Of course he saw the trend but he had no interest in following stupid things he saw on the internet. He could pick you up easily but why should he have to prove it to the internet?

“If you’re too weak to pick me up then that’s okay I’ll just find someone who can…maybe satoru’s free—“

Sukuna’s head snaps up from his phone, immediately raging at the thought.

“Like hell you will, Go get your phone.”

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

warning: slight corruption kink, yandere behavior, panty stealing, breeding kink, dubcon if you squint

EHEHEH thinking about yandere!angel who has never been hard before.

He sees you, such a pretty little human he’s meant to watch over. You’re so soft and plump, your body stirs something in his belly that he doesn’t completely understand.

And he sees you undressing one night, your form completely bare before his very eyes.

Angels always walk around in the nude, they aren’t ashamed of their bodies… so why does his cock start to twitch and harden?

He doesn’t understand, this has never happened before and the feeling is unbearable. Something in his body wants to be closer to you, to… connect with you.

The angel approaches your room, quiet as he opens your window and slides in with ease. He’s not sure what he should do, but he spots your discarded clothing.

It’s shameful, how he even thinks about stealing an item of your clothing. Your panties are your favorite color, lacy with a little bow on the front. He can spot a slight wetness there, and he starts to drool.

Why is his body reacting like this? His cheeks flush a crimson red as he flees your home, your underwear in his hand. He flies far away, as if trying to escape his new, lustful feelings.

He isolates himself in a small cave, slowly draping your panties over his throbbing cock. The feeling of your slick coated panties touching his tip made him hiss out in pleasure.

Of course, the angel had never masturbated before. He came within just a few strokes, but his cock was still so swollen. Every time he thought about your plush frame, his tip dribbled precum, and he couldn’t help but jerk off again.

It just wasn’t enough… soon he felt so sore, and his hands weren’t soft like yours, and he bet your lips or pussy would feel so much better…

He was your protector, wasn’t he? It made sense that he’d get to fuck his precious little cherub, his sweet girl, right?

Wouldn’t it be a blessing to put a baby in your belly?

Usually the angel had no trouble flying, but now he was trying his best to concentrate on getting to your home.

You spot him in the window, your eyes still bleary from sleep. He’s the picture of elegance, with long, flowing blonde hair and gorgeous dark eyes…

“Be not afraid, I am a messenger of god…” he panted, cheeks flushed pink. “You… have been chosen for something… great…”

He walked in, your curtain billowing around him as he stretched out and lightly clapped his snow-white wings.

His eyes were on your skimpy nightgown, and the way it barely covered your plush thighs.

“You’ve been chosen… to carry my child…”

Your plump thighs squished together, causing him to let out an involuntary moan. “Ch-child? How would you… do that? Touch my belly or something, like the Virgin Mary?”

His eyes were clouded with lust as he approached your bed, his hand trembling with need. “No, my sweet girl… I am no God, I’ll have to take a much more… direct approach.”

In an instant he was on top of you, his lips crashing into yours with an urgency only to be expected of a virgin. He was inexperienced, but tasted like honey and was as gentle as he possibly could be.

Already his erection was pressing against your thigh, and he unceremoniously thrusted his hips, trying to get more friction.

You were so damn soft, warm to the touch. It was taking everything in him not to ravish you instantly.

His fingers danced across your clothed cunt, testing the waters. When he pulled his hand back, it was wet and with a soft lick, his eyes went wide.

You tasted amazing.

Though he wanted to devour your fat cunt, he needed yo be inside of you even more. He was in pain, his cock aching and begging your your warmth to envelope him.

You watched his wings twitch as he positioned himself between your legs. The white feathers were soft to the touch, and you held onto them while he pushed in.

The angel couldn’t help himself, the second he felt your warm pussy he went crazy. His head was buried in your neck, his hips slapping against yours as he struggled to control his body.

He had never felt so good before, the angel was committing a terrible sin but he didn’t care, not one bit.

“S-so good, you’ll have your reward in heaven…” he blubbered out, cheeks red and covered in pleasured tears. “God…”

He came so quick, painting your walls white as hips nails dug into your hips.

All he wanted to do now was wrap his wings around you, holding you close. The angel didn’t pull out, you felt way too warm and comfy for that.

As he kissed your head and snuggled with you in bed, he was sure that that this was fate. Perhaps he was meant to lust after you…

You were something special, and no one would take you away from him.

————————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @anonymouskiwi

[sinful-lanterns]

GOING LIVE!

synopsis: (camgirl AU) collaborating with various ptn women for your streams.

featuring: eleven, deren, bianca, shawn, angell

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, dom characters, adult se.x work, camming, fing.ering, strap ons, exhibition, voyeur.ism, deren grows a di.ck, oral, toys, mast.urbation, doggy style, riding, lap se.x, pet names, praise, masked se.x, belly bulge, may be ooc.

art credits: my drunken boss

ELEVEN

With your back pressed against Eleven and her fingers working like magic on your clit, your breathless whimpers were picked up by the microphone in front of you and left hundreds of viewers waiting on bated breath. The audio quality was astounding thanks to the help of Eleven’s professional equipment, but you couldn’t really fawn over it yet because of how good Eleven’s fingers felt plunging into your hot, slimy folds… 

“Welcome back to our Saturday Night special on Call at 3 AM…” Eleven didn’t even seem fazed by the speechless silence coming from you as she was too busy making sure the stream was perfect, “Joining me today is a woman that many of you…heh…are familiar with…” She gave you a soft smile before grabbing onto the camera and making it zoom closer on your face, the viewers instantly spamming the chat with heart emojis and bounties of cash, already kicking your night off with a plethora of fans.

“…Oh my, it seems that my viewers recognize you already.” Eleven cooed, using her free hand to tilt your head back to her before kissing the shell of your ear. As you were distracted, she grabbed the head of the camera and tilted it downwards to focus more on your cunt, the audience getting a high quality view of Eleven’s fingers sinking into your wet, velvety walls. 

The squelching noises picked up from the mic were so lewd. So intimate. For a woman as innocent as Eleven seemed, she definitely knew what she was doing. “Let me hear those moans, pretty girl. I know you can be as loud as the lips down here.” She giggled and teased your entrance with another finger, the tip swirling little circles around your folds before slowly inching in. Right away your leg flinched at the third intrusion, walls spreading to accommodate all three of Eleven’s fingers while she wormed her way inside of you. Even if she couldn’t feel any pleasure herself, you could hear Eleven’s breaths falter as she felt you tighten so sweetly around her fingers. 

“Oh…baby…” Eleven nearly whimpered, her voice making you quiver as she began thrusting her hand up and smacked her palm against your clit, “Enjoying yourself on my fingers? Our fans certainly are…” 

She smiled and adjusted her hold on you so that your back was pushing harder against her breasts. Though currently overwhelmed with the sensation of Eleven’s lithe fingers curling up against that tiny spot you adore, you could feel just how turned on she was by how stiff her nipples were against your back. If you could turn around and suck them in your mouth you would, but she kept a firm grip on your hips and made you face the camera for all to see. Your craving for her breasts will have to wait…

“Uh uh…eyes on the camera, my good girl…” Eleven purred, eyes going half lidded at your adorable expressions, “Everyone wants to see you…give them a show why don’t you…? She laughed and pushed her fingers even deeper than they’ve ever been before, ripping a moan right out of your throat like a primal growl deep within. “Mmpf…right there, baby? Yeah? You like that…?” 

She giggled and continued thrusting her digits faster, finger fucking you until all the chat could hear were your desperate little whines and Eleven’s slaps against your ass. “You’re such a natural at this…look at how many patrons are paying for our show, sweetie…”

Eleven groaned huskily before licking the side of your cheek, suddenly pushing you down on the bed with your ass up and stomach pressed against the sheets. “Don’t worry, chat…for tonight’s 3 AM special, we’ll be going all the way until dawn…. So hang tight, grab some lube, and just enjoy the show…” She winked playfully at the camera before hovering above you and caging you beneath her. “Stay like this for a little while longer, okay baby? We’re gonna be here for quite a while…” 

She kissed your cheek before you felt the thick, stiff prodding of her strap push against your already sopping entrance, the rest of the night a dizzy blur, as all you could see were Eleven’s hair curtaining your head, and the spam of donations coming from the chat…

DEREN

“Ah, well would you look at that. Our first donation of the night and I haven’t even done anything…” Deren smiled lazily as she was currently laying against the bed with you on top of her, completely naked while Deren only wore her jacket and her boxers. Though she was just a director, she was also excellent at filming too, her hands steady on the camera while she gave all your viewers a mouthwatering shot of you about to ride Deren like no tomorrow. 

“No strap. Boring?” Deren chuckled as she read one particular comment from the stream. “Oh, I’ve got something way cooler than a strap.” 

Using her special sinner abilities, Deren was able to conjure up a growing cock from underneath her boxers, stretching the muscle against the cloth of her underwear, until you inevitably freed it by yanking the elastic down. Like a spring, it bounced up due to how hard it was, the blood immediately rushing to the tip and making Deren groan with pleasure. “Fuck…” she licked her lips as she made eye contact with you from behind the camera, the live chat going crazy as no one has ever seen anything like this before. “I shouldn’t have envisioned it so hard already…” 

Yet although Deren was groaning to herself, you on the other hand were smirking and staring smugly at the camera. You were excited to collaborate with Deren for this exact reason; her S-Class sinner abilities that allowed her to make anything she fantasized into a reality. 

“Are you just gonna sit there and drool at it, babe?” Deren rested her hands behind her head and looked up at you, chuckling, “Or are you gonna ride me like you promised to…?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at Deren’s smug attitude but decided to play along. As you angled your body to face the camera more clearly, you grabbed onto the base of her shaft and gave it a few, steady pumps, feeling along the girth and length of it. “Like it? I tried thinking of a size that best fit you,” Deren hummed, finding pleasure in the way your fingers wrapped around her stubby base. You nodded, clearly excited to get to the main course of your stream and show everyone just how good you could please another woman. Hovering just above her cockhead, you playfully ran your thumb over the tip before nestling it between your entrance, breath hitching as you slowly sank down on her length. 

“Shit…” Deren suddenly cursed under her breath and weld her eyes shut, the feeling of your warm, hot pussy enveloping her making her head go dizzy with ecstasy. “Haven’t even started and you feel like heaven…” 

She tried to play off the amount of pleasure she was feeling but couldn’t resist releasing a small moan when you sank all the way to the base. With just a bit of spit, lube and foreplay, you were already opening up so wonderfully for her, tight walls gripping at Deren like your life depended on it, all the while the director kept a firm hold on the camera. Despite her professionalism in this line of work, her hands were trembling from how good you made her feel, causing the livestream footage to be a little shaky…

“Heh…the watchers love you,” Deren comments, trying to avert your attention away from how pathetic she was being. “Why don’t you start riding me now? The audience is getting antsy for some action.” 

She attempted to relax back against the pillows, before you suddenly bounced on her hips and made her choke on her spit. Instantly, it felt like she was going to pass out from how good she felt, your pussy swallowing her in and out every time you bounced on top of her. “Oh…b-babe…” her face went red with pleasure as the comments immediately flooded in, cooing over how cute you looked riding your director’s dick. 

‘Not so smug now, are you?’ You couldn’t help but think, smiling before letting out the moans you held in while Deren’s fat cock plugged you whole. Sure, Deren was a professional when it came to shooting films and movies, but she sure as hell was inexperienced when in the place of the actor. As more donations and comments flooded in your comment section, you could only smile and listen to every suggestion Deren had to read; cockrings, sucking her off, fleshlights…? Oh, you were certainly going to have a fun time with your dearest director….

The poor woman was going to be an amateur at something after all…

BIANCA

With a shaky camera lens and Bianca’s eyes attentively focused on you, you sat sprawled out in front of her with a dildo in your hands currently thrusting into your cunt. When Bianca said she was an expert in filming things thanks to her job as a reporter, you believed her and let her collaborate with you on set. However, now that you actually had her helping you film one of your livestreams up close, you could see that Bianca’s “professionalism” was starting to slip through the cracks the more she watched you. 

“A-Ah…you’re doing great!” Bianca’s voice cracked, sweat starting to drip down her face as she tried to keep herself from blushing. To be honest, just the sight of you naked in front of her was enough to make her nervous, legs clamping together to hide the wetness forming in her pants, all the while she tried to distract herself by reading some of the livestream comments. 

“So many donations already! W-Wow…your fans really love you!” Bianca giggled, though there was an obvious lump in her throat from how much saliva was gathering in her mouth. Poor girl was drooling so much, her blue eyes trained on that ribbed dildo and silently wishing she was the one pushing it inside of you. “Hnn…many are suggesting for you to try the other toys next…” 

Bianca couldn’t help but gulp as her eyes trailed over to the selection of toys you had prepared for yourself. Dildos of different colors, vibrators, nipple clamps, plugs, the broad selection made Bianca tremble as she imagined you in various positions with different things to make you scream. The urge to touch herself was strong, yet no matter how much she wanted to stuff her fingers down her pants and masturbate to the sight of you fucking yourself live on silicone, she was determined to keep filming.�� 

You, of course, noticed just how riled up Bianca was getting judging by how much she was biting her lip. If you kept up like this for an hour or two, Bianca’s lips would be all bloody and blue. “You can touch yourself, my sweet camerawoman,” you assured softly, teasingly spreading your legs wider to give both your audience and Bianca a better view. “I’m sure my fans wouldn’t mind a little bit of shaky footage.” 

A small gasp left Bianca’s lips as her knees practically buckled in excitement. Resisting the urge to just toss the camera away and tackle you to the bed to have her way, she eagerly pushed her pants down, fingers quickly finding her entrance and swirling them around while she kept watching you. “Oh…damn.” Bianca squeaked, smiling ear to ear while a blissful expression overtook her face. “I could get used to this. No wonder— mmpf, so many people pay to watch you. You’re like a movie star!” 

Despite her excited tone, you could see just how much you were affecting her, her eyes half lidded in pleasure while the shuffling in her pants indicated how fast she was fingering herself. Her lips were slightly parted as if frozen between a moan and a whimper, her cute face going all pink with how hot her body was getting. “Nnnn feels so good…but…I wanna know if you feel good too…” 

Despite not being supposed to talk much during the livestream, Bianca couldn’t keep her babbling mouth shut. She couldn’t help but whine about her needs to finger you and make you hers, to kiss those pretty lips and distract you while she grabs that dildo and shows you how much harder she could fuck you. “Wanna touch you so bad…ah…please…” chatty that she was, silently pleading for you to let her do something. “Please…please, I wanna touch you too…you look so good like this…” 

Unable to resist her pretty begs any longer, you groaned and slid the ribbed toy out of you, using a finger to beckon her closer. “Alright…” you whispered breathlessly, pussy clamping over nothing now as it now craved to have something inside it once more. “Go ahead Bianca, I’m all yours…” 

Your poor viewers could only watch as the camera shook and was scuffled away to prop itself on your desk. The angle was messy and the quality decreased a little, but no one really cared as they all watched in amusement when Bianca lunged herself at you. Ready to give the audience a show that she’d been wanting to do with you all night…

SHAWN

“Keep the camera on my good side. You’ll get more followers that way.”

Cocky that she was, yet Shawn was an interesting collaborator to work with, as her good looks and charisma instantly had your viewers swooning and spamming various donations in your comments for her to demolish you. She was definitely riding a high horse when you asked her to collaborate with you for your “special streams” but Shawn was quick to say yes. How could she ever turn down the opportunity to fuck a pretty girl like you? Especially in front of a live audience on the internet where she could display her talents in pleasing a woman. 

“Ah, many of them seem to like me…” Shawn grinned as she watched all the oncoming messages spew out like flies. She was nonchalant, relaxed almost, if not for the fact that she had you gagging on her strap and drooling so prettily for the camera. “Make her choke some more?” Shawn tsked as she read another slew of comments, a bit impressed by how dirty your fans could be, “My, your viewers are quite the sadistic bunch, aren’t they?”

Shawn gently patted your cheek and gazed down at you rather condescendingly, her hand moving up to rest on the top of your head and nudge you down. “Ease down a little lower, pretty girl. You’re lucky I’m only nice to you.” She couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of ever being rough with you. While she knew you were able to take a bit of rough manhandling from her, she didn’t want to make her pretty girl cry (even though she knew you loved it when she made you cry during sex).

“Deeper…deeper…” Shawn exhaled shakily as she eased you down on her fake cock, eyes trained on the way you greedily slurped on her shaft like it was your last meal. The clear strings of drool that clung to the sides of your lips made Shawn shiver with rogue imagination. “Fuuuck, you’re good at this…” Shawn grumbled, grinning at the way you took it down like a champ, “Your cheeks look so cute when they’re full. We should have you suck me off more often…”

She laughed at the thought, accidentally pushing your head down further and causing you to choke on her strap. “Shit. Sorry, sorry…” she immediately softened and pulled you back so you could slide off, your drool clinging onto the warm silicone and attaching you to the tip by your tongue. Despite Shawn’s rare show of concern however, you brushed off her worries and gave her a look that indicated you wanted to do more. You weren’t here to be babied and coddled, you were here to get fucked and fucked good. 

“Oh…oh…” Shawn’s face relaxed back into its nonchalant state, and she immediately smiled at your show of enthusiasm. “You’re tougher than I thought, kitten.” 

She eased your mouth back down on her strap, grabbing onto the camera to make sure the audience got a full view of your lips wrapping around her head, the girth of it all was making your cheeks puff up as you continued to bob your head down on Shawn. The sight of you on your knees for her, gazing up at her with innocent, doe-like eyes was sending Shawn on a little power trip that made her eyes darken with lust. 

“You know…as hot as you are throating my strap, I can’t help but think it’s lubed enough already.” She snickered a little before tilting your chin up to gaze at her, mouth still occupied with her dick, “On your knees once more, but this time…ass up.” 

A flurry of comments quickly overwhelmed the live chat, reactions and donations alike clearly excited for what Shawn was about to do to you as she pushed you down into doggy position. “Make sure to get on this side. Yeah, this side is where the camera gets my best side.” She chuckled at her words before swirling the tip of her strap against your already soaked folds, her cockiness canceled out by the amount of cock she was going to put in you…

ANGELL

Dressed in an all dark mask that obscured Angell’s identity on stream, the only thing that your viewers could see through the camera lens; were the long dark locs of Angell’s hair, and the lewd facial expressions you made as your “mysterious guest” fucked you silly on her strap. Right away, your viewer count had exploded when your special guest revealed herself for your livestream of the night, leaving many of your viewers spamming heart emojis and comments all complimenting on how hot your guest looked while fucking you. 

Despite wearing a mask, everyone could tell Angell was quite the looker. Strong, chiseled abs pulsing and flexing with each thrust of her hips, her defined jawline showing off how beautiful she was underneath the mask… Not to mention how hot her voice was whenever she grunted everytime you squeezed around her. Everything about your mysterious guest was alluring, and thanks to Angell, everyone was completely mesmerized (including you). 

“S-Slower…Slower…” you whimpered, gripping onto her shoulders as she bulldozed into you at a pace only she could achieve. Her breathing was ragged and hot, her lust for you evident in the way she excitedly nipped at your neck. “Sorry… she grumbled softly, yet her pace barely slowed down, her body struggling to keep itself from thrusting even faster. “I’m…excited.”

Judging from the tips of her ears, Angell was blushing. For a woman as stoic as she was, you hadn’t expected her to be so soft and vulnerable around you, even when you couldn’t even see her face that well. It was clear that having you beneath her, legs pathetically wrapped around her waist and clinging to her like your life depended on it, really shook up Angell’s nerves as she wanted to be as close to you as possible. 

Her abs met with the bare skin of your tummy, breath faltering as she pushed her faux cock even further. She was being so intimate, grumbling to herself as her calloused hands moved down to rest upon your soft belly, feeling the smallest of bulges appear whenever she thrusted in and out. “So deep…” she murmured to herself, mesmerized by the sight of her strap going so far, palm gently applying a bit of pressure on the bulge. You whimpered at the extra pressure, your walls clinging onto Angell’s shaft and keeping her locked in place. As she tried to slip out to thrust into you again, she found herself unable to, groaning at the feeling and holding onto your hips. “T-Tight…” she mumbled quietly, gently prying your legs off of her so she could move. “Relax…easy…” 

Her words made your viewers gush about how soft she was being towards you. While Angell looked very intimidating and they expected a whole dominatrix session between you and her, Angell surprised everyone with how gentle she was, her fingers massaging your thighs so that your cunt could ease up a little, and allowing her to slide out once your walls finally relaxed. 

Finally finding a rhythm she could work with, Angell continued her movements, using her arm strength to lift up off the bed and fuck you at an angle where her tip could brush against your sweet spot. When you immediately whined from how far Angell was spearing you, she took notice and hungrily continued to pound against that spot, making your body bounce pathetically from how hard she was ravaging you. 

Various comments and donations poured in, all eager to see Angell destroy you even when she tried her best to be gentle. 

“Make her cum!”

“Fuck her like you’re breeding her!”

“Make her clean you off later when she cums.” 

As all the suggestions piled up, Angell snuck a glance at the chat and smiled a bit under her mask. Though it was hard to see, it was like a switch had gone off in her head as she began pistoning her hips even faster, her hands gentle but her pace outright brutal. It felt like you were about to cum soon given by how fast she was screwing you, your fingers grasping onto Angell’s back and clawing at it until you felt the band snap within your core. 

Angell growled when she felt your release coat all over her strap and bed, the comments all excited when you finally came thanks to Angell’s efforts. While you took a breather and laid back on the bed to smile blissfully at the chat, it seemed that Angell had other plans, as she let you take a break for a few seconds before hovering her cum-stained strap over your lips. Shocked by how bold she was, you gazed up at Angell with curious eyes.

“One of them suggested you clean me off…” Angell murmured, a little shy but clearly willing as she pushed the tip to your lips. “And…I would like that.”

You only chuckled at her statement before leaning in and grabbing her soaked strap, wrapping your lips around the head and beginning to bob your head up and down. 

[teddybeartoji]

18+ mdni; gn!reader

satoru likes jerking off in front of a mirror. no, scratch that – he fucking loves doing it.

fully bare, he sits on the bed in front of a body length mirror. the sun peeks from the window, kissing the freckles and scars on his body. there's a pink flush to his skin - his chest, his neck, his cheeks, the tips of his ears; he feels warm all over.

thighs spread wide open, he's leaned back on his one arm while his eyes are glued to his reflection in the mirror. his own hand feels hot on his tummy as he trails them over his pecs and his perked nipples. they're awfully sensitive and satoru can't help but hiss when he gives them a little squeeze. his bottom lip gets caught between his teeth and his dick twitches. he's so fucking hard.

pre-cum leaks from his aching tip, all swollen and deprived. he's been sitting here for a good while now – he loves edging himself; he conjures up the prettiest pictures of you in his head as he trails over his abs. he thinks about it being yours instead. your hand, your fingers.

he plays with his happy trail as he thinks about you nuzzling your face in it. his dick jumps again and he let's out a shaky laugh.

finally deciding to give in, he wraps his fingers around the base of his cock and his eyes almost cross at the touch. but he refuses to shut them – still keeping them trained on his own body through the reflection in front of him. he tightens his fist as he pushes down a little, putting more pressure onto his sensitive balls.

his head lolls to the side as he watches a glob of pre-cum slide down the side of his shaft. he thinks about you licking it up. he thinks about you giving his aching dick a kiss. his pearly white teeth sink into the plush flesh of his lower lip, almost strong enough to draw blood when he moves his fist up, twisting his wrist as he goes over the leaky tip.

his hair is tousled and he's starting to sweat – he looks fucking good. all the work he's putting in at the gym is really showing under the afternoon sun; his muscles look more defined with the layer of sweat glistening over them and he's proud of what he's seeing. it's hot. he isn't afraid to admit that he thinks that he's sexy, that he looks amazing like this. even his cock looks pretty; rock hard and pink, pre-cum weeping from the slit as it bounces at every thought of you inside his head.

you and your gorgeous smile. you and your loving eyes. you and your stupid jokes. you and your... body. he feels like a bit of a creep thinking about you in such dirty ways when you're not even his.

yet.

pushing off his hand, he spreads his legs a little wider as he leans forward, getting more comfortable. his fingers stay wrapped around his length while his free hand goes to his stomach. he's so sensitive to every single sensation – no matter whether it's from his own touch or somebody else's.

he discovered something new a few days ago... his belly button is sensitive, too. he pumps his cock slowly, almost painflully so as he traces his navel. goosebumps raise on his skin despite him feeling anything but cold; his head feels dizzy in the best way possible, his tummy nice and warm. satoru circles the hole before pushing the tip of his finger in. it's feels so weird and so fucking good.

the sight of him sort of fingering his own belly button is strange, but satoru has never been one to stray from experimentation. he loves to try new things, he loves to have fun – and if a silly thing like this makes him feel so ridiculously good, then so be it. he's not gonna be ashamed of that.

he can't wait to let you do it to him either. he's even a bit excited to see your reaction to the offer – would you be weirded out or would you be into it? would you tease him for it, call him names? tell him that he's a freak? a pervert? he pushes into the tiny hole a little harder at the thought of you making fun of him, his fist tightening around his cock.

he spits down onto his cock and speeds up just a little, enjoying the slick sounds that fill the room. he stares at his own adam's apple, he watches it bob as he swallows. he thinks about having something down his throat. he thinks about how it would look, how it would feel. he moves his free hand to touch the sensitive skin of his neck and puts some pressure on it – the broken moan that ripples from him echoes around the whole apartment and he just wishes you were here to listen to him.

his eyes are low as they set on his heavy cock again. he tries to imagine his hand as your own – he needs to do it. he wants you to touch him so badly, he wants you to make him feel good. of course, he thinks about making you feel good aswell; he spends so, so much time on thinking about giving you head. about the way you'd taste, the way you'd whine and whimper. how you'd squirm below him as he fucks you into overstimulation. but he does like to think about you down on his knees in front of him too. he wants to be greedy. he is greedy.

taking his hand from his neck, he now cups his balls with a pleased sigh. he massages them, letting his own spit and cum cover them completely. it's messy, just the way he likes it. he feels it dripping down to his asshole and he can't keep his lips from tugging upward. his eyes trail up his body through the reflection – his sweaty abs, his pecs, his flushed neck; his plump and now a little swollen lips and the pink tint that's dusted across his cheekbones. he's quite fond of his dimples and he loves seeing them. he thinks they make him even better looking, more charming. they do.

satoru thinks about the way you always poke them whenever you have the chance. would you do it now too that he's here jerking off to disgusting thoughts of you like the needy boy that he is? he thinks about the way you like to rest your head on his shoulder and hide your face into the crook of his neck whenever he tries to tease you a little. how warm your breath feels on his skin. how your lips brush against his pulse point.

fuck.

as he fondles with his balls, he gnaws on his lip because he needs to feel more. he wants you to bite it instead, he wants you to play with him instead. taking his hand from his crotch, he lets it travel all over his body again – his thighs, his waist, his lower tummy. everything feels so fucking good. his hips buck up into his fist when his fingers dance around his belly button once more. his head lolls back but he never takes his eyes off from himself in the mirror. he moves up to massage his pecs now, his sensitive nipples. he wants to feel your tongue on them. he can't stop thinking about it – your teethmarks around the buds, the bruises you'd leave behind.

he grinds his cock into the tight little hole he's made with his hand, lips permanently stretched into a sick grin because he knows it's coming already. the knot in his tummy keeps tightening, his need growing with every stroke he makes. he thinks about holding it off but decides that he won't do it today; he's meeting you in an hour – he's going to have to jerk off again after that anyway.

satoru plays with his nipple while rubbing the swollen tip of his cock with his palm and oh, fuck he's close. he thinks about how warm you'd feel around him. he thinks about your pretty face. he makes his fist even smaller and humps into it, mainly focusing on the tip. it's just so sensitive and it feels so fucking good. he thinks about you wrapping your lips around it, about you licking at the slit. he thinks about your smile. how much better your hand would feel on him. the wet noises that emit from the friction between his fingers and his cock make his heart beat even faster – dirty, dirty, dirty. he thinks about recording the sounds and sending them to you. he thinks about videoing himself through the mirror; he wants you to see what he's seeing.

every twitch and every spasm, the muscles he's worked so hard on, his dimples, his fingers, the mess he's making for you. he rubs his free hand over his tummy, his belly button and he thinks about your eyes and—

white spurts of cum land on his hands and his belly and his happy trail. satoru moans with a smile on his face - he doesn't hold back, now finally letting his eyes close as his head falls back. he keeps fucking into his fist despite how much it feels. he loves it.

after a good few seconds, he finally cracks open his eyes and peeks at himself again. he looks like a mess. it's perfect. he let's go off his softening dick, focusing on the cum adorning his skin instead. he takes a finger and swipes through the thick liquid; he drags it all over his lower stomach, playing with it like a child. he pushes some of it into his belly button and chuckles breathlessly at his own silly antics. he doesn't care.

his phone dings, signaling an incoming message and to his delight – it's you. satoru hums at the sight. it's a simple text, just something about buying him sweets from the store but it has his dick twitching against his thigh again.

maybe he has time for a round two before meeting you...

+ everybody say thank you logan we love you @staryukis this one is for you baby<333333

[fallenxangel-13]

fallen angel worshipping your body for the first time. eyes widening in adoration, as though seeking salvation in your flesh alone. his fingertips ghost over your soft skin, lips murmuring praises against your bare neck- warm and desperate-before he takes you raw.

"you're so divine," he groans in your ear, his large wings shudder, feathers rustling as he thrusts deeper into you-eager for more. his faintest whispers send shivers down your spine. "forgive me, love.. heaven was wrong. you were made for me. only me. understand?"

[shotmrmiller]

your superior finding out about the secret praise kink you didn't know had a name because you'd always been called an over achiever, a goody two shoes. never gave anyone any trouble, nose burrowed in a book since you had knobby knees and a library card.

you'd thought it normal that the apples of your cheeks burned when praised after giving your teacher the drawing you'd made for them the night before. that heat spread from the center of your chest up when your first boyfriend/girlfriend whistled at the sight of you outside of uniform. that warmth settles in your belly when you get a pat on the back from your platoon leader firm enough to force the air out of your lungs because you'd disassembled and cleaned a glock with the ease of a professional.

apparently it wasn't.

after weeks of training with the fabled task force, weeks of sharing elbow room with the team, weeks of soaking up the dizzying praise from the captain ("did real good out there, eh? can always count on you." you didn't question the throb betwixt your thighs, taking care of it with a cute little bullet like you've always done since joining the military)

you're confronted by the worst of the lot. ghost catches you in a break room, your back to him, hands clutching a cup of coffee that's more sludge than liquid, its warmth barely seeping through the styrofoam.

his figure fills the doorway, shoulders nearly brushing the frame. your first thought is that his brows aren't twisted together and he lacks that cold, blank look in his eyes so your death isn't in the nearest of futures. the second is that when he's not fully covering his face, the outline of his jaw is quite visible, looking sharp enough to cut.

then he crosses his sculpted arms over his chest, seams straining against the expanse of his muscles, head tipped to the side.

he moves with the keen curiosity of a predator sniffing around a newborn fawn, gaze intense yet inquisitive, assessing your every detail with a menacing interest.

"you ever gonna tell me you've a praise kink, bird?" the question sends a chill through your veins before turning into a fiery rush as it races at twice the normal speed.

praise kink? no. surely not. doesn't everyone like to receive compliments?

"sure. i don't mind gettin' told i've an impressive cock but that's bed talk. you look ready to bend over 'nd show us how slick tha' pretty cunt can get over a rufflin' of hair and a couple of empty words."

that has you positively reeling, fingertips cracking the cup in your hands, pulse on your neck fluttering. you feel a cornered, skittish animal, ready to flee lest your life come to an end in his maws.

but as usual, the cruel man more creature than person, twists the knife he's dug into you with a certain ruthlessness only he can muster.

"so be good for me, eh? love your praise? earn it."

you've always been an over achiever, proven once again by the way you take him to the root in one long, broad stroke with any complaints at the sheer size of him resting firmly behind your clenched teeth.

"tight little thing, spread open over me like you were meant for it. for me." he runs a gloved thumb over your swollen bottom lip. "there's tha' look. drivin' me bloody insane when you gave kyle tha' molten gaze. none o' tha' now, yeah?"

he creeps his ungloved hand down to circle your pearl with the spit-slick pads of his fingers, drawing in a sharp breath when your walls flutter and constrict around his cock at the feel of something other than your toy giving you the relief you need after a hard day's work.

"bloody fuckin' 'ell."

ghost claims a fistful of hair, pulling you closer to him, his breath warming the stinging, throbbing mark he bit onto the delicate skin of your neck. the shuffling of feet right outside the door snap you out of your daze, fingernails sinking into the bulging muscle of his chest but he has none of it.

he uses your hair to direct your focus back onto him and even though he'd only given you a leading tug you felt some strands of your hair come off with a pop.

"easy. can't see your pretty face when i'm fuckin' ya if your lookin' away."

your expression twists into what you hope is bliss when he bucks his hips, your whimper drowning out his groan when he hits on something new.

something you want him to keep hitting.

"exactly like i'd thought."

everything else blurs together after that, and only when you're back in your room using a warm cloth to clean yourself up do you remember the other things he'd rumbled.

(inside o' ya, make you mine-)

(-get 'bout bein' with anyone else-)

(-ll to myself-)

you touch your tender pussy with gentle fingers at what he'd said in the end.

(leave tha' f'me, he swipes your hand away, i'll get ya there, pet.)

if price's compliments take a nose dive off a cliff you don't notice because you're getting your daily fill of them and ghost after dinner every night. kyle keeps them to one word and soap likes to tempt fate as always.

[genderlessdude92]

this is probably what Vox would do if shining a bright flash of light at Val doesn’t work 💀

meow