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ceilidho · 2 months ago

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Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 3 | masterlist

It’s not unusual for someone to mistake you for the baby’s mama.

How could someone not, at least for a moment? When you take the baby to the grocery store, older people gush over him babbling in his stroller, eager to shower him with compliments in baby-talk or tell you how much you resemble the little tyke. After hearing the same comment for the umpteenth time, you tire of correcting people by saying you’re the babysitter only to watch their face fall, somewhat mortified and feeling as though their comment should’ve been directed to the baby’s actual mother. Which isn’t you.

It’s less typical for someone to mistake you for John’s wife, though that does happen from time to time.

You’ve become a fixture around the neighbourhood since John hired you at the beginning of the summer, and over the weeks, the other nannies and the stay-at-home moms have started to gradually warm up to you. Before long, you’re being invited on coffee runs and playdates with some of the other women, always careful to ask for John’s permission before bringing his baby into a stranger’s house.

“Just text me the address and their names,” he requests while you stand awkwardly in front of him, John sitting on the bed to finish buttoning up his shirt and fixing his watch around his wrist. You would’ve been fine standing on the other side of the door while he finished changing, but he insisted on inviting you in.

“I will,” you promise, nodding along with his words.

“And call me if you don’t feel comfortable. I’ll come get the two of you right away if you need me.”

You swallow. Nod again.

The first time you take the baby for a playdate with a couple of the moms from the park, one catches you in the act of texting John the address of the house as he requested. “Hubby wants to know where you are, huh?”

“Oh,” you choke out, face heating up. “He’s not—”

“Not a control freak, I know. They’re all like that.” Her smile is ebullient, rolling her eyes like you’re in on a joke together when you most assuredly are not. “Why don’t you share your location with him? Mine’s the same way. Here—I’ll show you how.”

She takes your phone and tap-taps something and suddenly you see it in the notifications of your conversation with John. If you bite your lip instead of correcting her assumption about the nature of your and John’s relationship, that’s for you and you alone to know. Your rationale is that any explanation will just make things tense; it’s not like you haven’t seen it happen before.

It’s far more concerning when John doesn’t correct those assumptions. Particularly when you’re standing right next to him.

Like at the local water park on a particularly hot weekend, wading in the kiddy pool with the baby nestled tight against your chest in his little swim trunks and floppy hat only for an employee to ask John if his wife would like something to drink.

“Iced coffee, love?” John asks, taking your stupefied silence as a yes. “Nothing for me, mate. Cheers.”

Your head spins like a top on that thought until a good while later. The server hands you a glass of iced coffee with condensation already dripping down the sides and John thanks him for you, taking the baby from you and pulling you to his side. You drink your coffee quietly with your thigh flush with his under the water, gripping the glass harder when his free hand squeezes around your waist, laughing at something another parent said to him.

It’s so over for you. There’s no coming back from this.

The sight of someone of John’s size, a bulky, military man with arms of pure steel dusted with dark hairs, cradling a tiny, chubby baby with a thatch of similar dark hair on his head and big cheeks and roly poly arms unlocks something primal in you. An old, buried need.

In the family changing room, you stand under an ice cold shower until it breaks the fever slowly consuming you. All you can do is hope it takes.

In the evening, you sit out on the porch with John at the back of the house until the crickets swell with song, the moon a half-crescent in the sky. A cool breeze makes your shoulders lift a little, huddling into your body to keep warm.

It’s hard to keep your eyes on the view in front of you and off the man sitting beside you when they want so badly to be running over him. He’s changed out of his work clothes into a soft pair of sweatpants and an old threadbare shirt, the sage green fabric faded after years of being run through the washing machine. It clings to his biceps and the soft pudge of his stomach, a layer of fat over the hard muscle beneath.

A cigarette dangles from his fingers, thick wrist perched on the arm of the adirondack chair. Every so often he lifts it to his lips for a puff, always breathing out in the opposite direction from you. Considerate of your health, at least, if not his own.

“Cold, sweetheart?” he asks before ashing his cigarette, and your bottom lip purses when you turn your head to look at him because you thought you were doing a good job suppressing your shivers.

You stare at him, confused. He cocks an eyebrow at your questioning stare and deliberately glances down, waiting until you notice the way your nipples are protruding through your white tank top. You forgot that you’d taken your bra off earlier for a bit of relief and hadn’t yet had a chance to put it back on.

“Oh my god,” you squeak, crossing your arms to hide as much as possible, humiliation flooding through you. “I’m so sorry—that’s so—I-I’m so sorry.”

John makes a rough sound when he rises to his feet, knees cracking as he does. “S’alright, hun. Lemme get you something to put on.”

The screen door creaks when he goes back inside briefly to fetch something only to come back a few seconds later with a big, cotton sweater that reeks of him. It looks well loved, some remnant of his younger years, and even from a distance, you can smell the distinct smoky aroma clinging to the fabric.

When he kneels in front of you, you nearly go cross-eyed at the realisation that even on his knees, he’s as tall as you. The bulk of his waist forces your legs to spread around him.

“C’mon, arms up,” John commands, barely waiting until you’ve raised your arms above your head before helping guide your head and arms into the right holes.

Dragging the sweater down the way he does forces it to rub over your nipples, sending a shock through you. If you had any less self-control, your teeth might actually chatter together.

“There we go,” he says, fluffing out the sweater around your waist before resting his hands on the tops of your thighs, the gesture coming so naturally to him that you doubt he’s even noticed the placement of his hands. “Much better. That’ll warm you up.”

He isn't wrong. You’ve already worked up a sweat.

Late night rain.

It comes down in buckets, a dark slate rapping hard against the window pane. A bolt of lightning flickers across the horizon off in the distance. White striations across an otherwise dark sky. About thirty seconds later, thunder rumbles.

You peek from between the blinds, chewing your lip nervously. You’ve never driven in rain this bad, but with supper done and the dishes washed, there’s no excuse for you to stay any longer. Still, the rain comes down so heavily that despite your timidity, you briefly contemplate asking John if you can stay a little longer. At least until it lets up a bit; until your headlights won’t blind you reflecting off the puddles on the drive home.

Someone else pulls the blinds further apart.

“There’s no way in hell you’re going out in that,” John says from behind you, practically growling his words. Daring you to contradict him.

You glance over your shoulder to find him right there at your back, staring out the window. He’s so close that you can smell the red sauce on his flannel from dinner and make out the flecks of grey in his beard that are almost masked by the darker hairs.

“It’s not…that bad…”

“Sweetheart, don’t piss me off,” he warns.

The blinds shuttle back together with a clatter when you finally let go of them.

“I could—I could take the couch,” you offer.

“Sweetheart,” John sighs, looking down at you meaningfully.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“I’m not gonna take the big, comfy bed and leave you with the couch.” When you open your mouth to protest, he cuts you off. “And don’t even try arguing. I won’t hear it.”

There’s not much you can say to dissuade him after that. The furrow of his brow lets you know he’s made up his mind; no ifs, ands, or buts. Besides, there’s a not-so-secret part of you that’s relieved that you don’t have to drive home in this weather. You’re an average driver on a good day. You don’t need your last moments before shuffling off this mortal coil to involve hydroplaning on the highway before ramming into the guardrail.

John gives you a shirt of his to change into for after your shower, which you spend far too long in, scrubbing your body with his shower gel and quivering under the warm water. When you pull it on, you bring the collar up to your nose to smell. The same patent smoky scent, musky like ambergris and leather. Intoxicating. It makes the blood rush through your ear like a conch shell, the ocean swirling behind your eardrum.

You hadn’t asked for underwear, content at first to keep on the same pair, but after your shower, you cringe at the thought of putting your day-old panties back on. Besides, his shirt is long enough to cover anything indecent.

He sits on the edge of the bed when you come out, the concern on his brow melting away at the sight of you.

“Practically a dress on you, isn’t it?” John says, voice a little wondrous. His eyes drag over you, tip to toe.

You fiddle with the ends of it. “…Are you sure you want me to take the bed?”

“Wouldn’t be fair. It’s yours for the night.” His lips quirk up at the corners when you frown. “Don’t worry about me—I’ve slept in worse places before.”

“Like where?” you ask dubiously.

“Tents. Abandoned buildings. Shacks. In the back of a moving van a few times. You wouldn’t believe half the places we used to make camp. Definitely no place for pretty girls like you.”

His condescending tone vaguely annoys you, but it’s hard to dig into your irritation when he thumbs the edge of the shirt you’re wearing and you realise that he’s just a few raised inches away from noticing that you don’t have any panties on. You should’ve just put your old ones back on, but it’s far too late now.

You clear your throat instead. “We could…um…we could share.”

You don’t know what possesses you to offer to share the bed, but the words are already gone, out of your mouth and in the air. John cocks an eyebrow.

“Unless you don’t want to,” you amend.

“Don’t know about that, sweetheart,” he rasps. “…I snore like a bear.”

“That’s okay. I’m a pretty deep sleeper.”

John scrutinises you a bit longer, looking for any sign of hesitancy. You know he’d squash your offer in a second if he found any wariness in your gaze.

“Alright,” he finally concedes, letting go of your shirt and slapping his thighs. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you wake up and can’t fall back asleep because of my snoring.”

After his shower, during which you lie on your side facing away from the bathroom door, stomach fraught with nerves as you consider the fact that he’s naked in the ensuite, you hear him come out and rummage around in the dresser for a change of clothes. You lie beside him with your stomach twisted in knots, your hands shoved under the pillow and staring resolutely at the wall.

The appropriateness of sleeping in the same bed beside your boss isn't lost on you, but you're too far into this now.

The bed dips when he settles onto the other side, and the sudden absence of light when he switches the bedside lamp off nearly makes you cheep.

He breathes heavily, you notice, particularly when he finally falls asleep. It’s a deep, rumbling sound—not entirely unlike a bear, though you can’t really confirm that for certain seeing as how you’ve never slept beside a bear before.

Those are the thoughts that would signal the approach of sleep if you weren’t soon to be engulfed by it.

Sometime in the middle of the night, you wake up to a rough hand stroking your back leisurely. There’s a hard chest under you, your cheek propped up on a pillowy pec that rises and falls with his breaths. Sleep bobs around in you like a toulouse decanter. You struggle to keep an eye open, certain that there’s something you need to tend to, but then his hand slides down your back again to curve over your rump and sleep drags you back down.

You wake up again to your breath wafting back into your mouth, your face shoved into the crook of a man’s neck. Humid, hot. You’re lipping at the skin of his neck, little tongue darting out to lap up a bead of sweat, salty on your tongue.

Your cunt pulses against his leg, toes curling when John drags his hand up your thigh and hitches it higher up around his waist.

“Baby?” he groans, his voice still rusty from sleep. The sound is a rough burr up your spine.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Couldn’ get comfy.”

“You hot?” he asks.

The denial on the tip of your tongue slips back down your throat when he plants his foot on the bed and draws his leg up, pressing the meat of his thigh into your throbbing sex.

“Here, lemme help you—” he groans, reaching down to ruck up your shirt, dragging it up over your breasts and helping manoeuvre your arms out of the holes. It gets tossed off the bed onto the floor.

Now your breasts are flat on his chest, smushed against his ribcage. It registers somewhere in the back of your head as inappropriate, but sleep pushes that thought away, focusing instead on the discomfort of moving around when you just want to settle back down and go back to bed.

It must be the heat making you act this way.

“Shit—sorry, sweetheart,” he apologizes, shifting under you. “M’hot too.”

He plants a hand on your ass and heaves you up his chest, giving him enough room to wiggle out of his boxers. It pushes your breasts right into his face, your nipples mere inches from his mouth. When his tongue pokes out to wet his upper lip, it nicks your pebbled nipple.

A hard length presses against your butt when you’re slid back down, the tip wet when it catches against your skin.

“Jus’ ignore it, sweetie,” John mumbles, petting a hand down your back.

You lie like that for a while, splayed over his body. Want simmering just under your skin. Flustered and exhausted all at once, sleep-drained; not a drop of strength in your muscles.

The heat is just—

Scorching. Dizzying. You feel featherbrained, slipping in and out of sleep, biting off the whimpers that threaten to crawl up your throat when John tucks his hands into the crevice of your thighs to wrench them apart, spreading them around his hips again.

Distantly, you remember that the man under you is at least twenty years your senior. Your employer at that. A man now palming your butt, sinking his fingers into the flesh and rumbling low in his throat.

It’s wrong—flagrantly wrong. You know that you should say something, that you should get up and tell him that you’re going to sleep on the couch instead. But your tongue is too thick for your mouth. And your thoughts are a sticky paste. The pulse between your thighs empties out all the common sense from your head.

His palms are slick on your skin.

Your breathing grows shallow when a hard length suddenly pushes between your thighs as well.

When the mushroomed head nudges at your opening, you flinch, heart thumping ferociously against your chest.

“John—John—” you breathe, panicked. As if to warn him. As if he weren’t planting both feet on the bed and lifting his hips.

As if it wasn’t his hands, warm on your waist, dragging you down onto the shaft spearing into you.

Your blood is molten hot in your veins. Sticky hands and sticky fingers curl into his chest hair. Your head thumps against his pecs, too weak to hold it up, lipping at the damp skin of his chest.

“It hurts—” you bleat, tears pricking at the backs of your eyes.

“I know, baby, I know,” John pants. He draws his hips back just to press forward again, deeper this time. Filling you up more than before. “I’m sorry, baby—I can’t, it’s just…too good. Shit.”

Resolve in tatters. Shattered like his willpower, like his determination not to fuck the girl twenty years his junior sleeping beside him in his bed.

His hips pump up into yours, bouncing you in his lap. Each thrust plunging his cock deeper into your pussy. It’d be painful if you weren’t so wet, but you’re dripping, arousal making you leak around his shaft and slickening his way.

Sleep still rattles around in your brain, but not even the fog of sleep can shake the ever intensifying realisation that you’re fucking your boss. No two ways around it—breasts naked against his hirsute chest; pussy wet and stuffed to the hilt with a big dick. Knocked senseless by it.

The veins of his cock drag over the viscid walls of your cunt with every thrust. He must like the involuntary noises you make because he loses his rhythm when you cry out, growling out a string of unintelligible curses. His body feels bigger like this somehow, biceps and forearms bulging where they’re wrapped around your waist, hips forcing your legs to spread wide around him, the ache sinking deep into your muscle, into your bones.

When you look up at him, his eyes are more hooded than usual, the blue of his irises so dark that they’re almost black.

“Such a good girl,” he grunts, big arms like steel bands around your waist, holding you tight to his chest so you have nowhere to run. “Jus’ let…jus’ let daddy come and—oh Christ, fuck, fuck…—jus’ lemme come and we’ll go back to bed, okay, sweetie?”

“I’m gonna…” you pant, trailing off when he gets a little rough, pumping harder up into you. The sound of your pussy squelching around his length makes your eyes roll back, mouth hanging open.

“Yeah, yeah, you—you come too, baby. Jus’ need to take the edge off, both of us.”

You squeal when he reaches a hand down to dig his fingers into your butt cheek and it makes you tense up, walls tightening around his dick. One well-placed swat hard enough to make the flesh of your ass jiggle and you come, clenching up so tight that his next few thrusts are slowed by your spasming walls, forcing him to really cram his cock into your hole.

“Christ, that’s cute,” John growls, his pupils blown out.

It hurts to come that hard; makes your belly cramp up and everything. Whatever gibberish spills from your mouth gets lost in the aftermath.

That’s when the temperature goes from hot to blistering. The muscles of his thighs tense, straining with his impending release. Even his grip around your waist gets tighter, his self-control steamrolled under his approaching climax, oblivious to the way you squeal and squirm when it threads the delicate needle of being too much.

“Sorry, baby,” he apologises, voice treading gravel. “M’gonna mess your pussy up a bit—”

“Wait—wait—” you gasp, trying fruitlessly to lift yourself up, his arms keeping you pinned tight to his chest. “You’re gonna��John, you’re gonna come inside me—”

His hips thrust up hard at your words, one last rough pump that has him digging his heels into the mattress and clenching his jaw, the veins in his neck protruding. You feel it flood inside you, hot spurts of cum right up against your womb. He curses when he comes, eyelids sliding shut, lost in the sensation of emptying himself into you.

A few last, punishing thrusts that make your teeth clack together. More heat spurting into you. A murmured oh fuck before his legs slide back down the bed, spreading out over the mattress.

The blanket is somewhere at the foot of the bed, all scrunched up and nearly dangling off the edge. You only start to shiver when the sweat on your back finally begins to cool.

When he pulls you off his cock, you whimper, a hot flash snaking through you. Oh Christ did he plug you up good. Stringy, viscous cum leaks from your hole, leaving a little puddle on his thigh when you slide off his chest and to the side a bit.

“Oh baby,” he tuts softly, reaching between your legs to feel where you’re wet and a little swollen. “Sorry, sweetheart…wanna get cleaned up?”

“No…” you rasp, so dazed that you can’t even lift your cheek off his chest.

Exhaustion has never ridden you this hard before, but considering the circumstances…—perhaps you’re lucky to be conscious at all, is all you mean. There’s not a chance of you having enough energy to do anything as rigorous as showering though.

“Okay, baby. Little kiss?” John asks in a murmur, lifting your head up by your chin and swooping down for a kiss. Not even giving you enough time to process his words before his mouth is on yours.

His lips glide slick against yours, tongue slipping into your mouth like he needs a good, deep kiss to ground him. A wet twisting of tongues; a thick finger stroking up your neck. He can’t stop touching you. Running a hand up your spine and curving it back down over your ass. Featherlight touches meant to calm you down. His kisses grow sticky, lingering; each one almost the last until he pulls you in for another.

“Go back to sleep, okay?” John says, still speaking low enough to push you back under. He smooths his hand down your back again.

You fall back asleep with a load in your belly and your head in a tizzy. The you of tomorrow is going to have a lot to contend with from the you of tonight.

#i dont know whats wrong with me ok #ceil writing #cod x reader #price x reader #price/reader #john price x reader #john price x you #price x you #captain john price x reader

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dilfl0v3rss · 2 years ago

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quiet!choso

quiet!choso who has no problem being out by himself, but refuses to talk in any other way than a hushed tone in public. only using his regular voice at home or with family, but he still barely spoke in full sentences.

quiet!choso always looks to you to order for him. voice too deep and quiet for waiters and drive threw workers to hear him so he always just lets you do it.

“i’ll take the number five with fruit punch as the drink pleaseee.” you chirped into the receiver. pretty skirt riding up your thighs as you leaned halfway over the center console to order your food.

“okay! anything else?” the employee asked. you looked at choso, who stared deep in thought at the menu before moving his lips towards your ear. “same thing…please” you smiled at how soft spoken he was, giving him a quick peck on the cheek for his cuteness before giving the woman his order.

quiet!choso who not only speaks quietly, but moves in silence as well. there has been too many times where your soul has left your body because this man has come home from work without making a sound. just quietly changing his clothes before sitting on the couch to watch his shows.

you were in the main bathroom, just getting done with some cleaning. your earphones were playing sza softly in your ears as you hummed along to her voice. as you walked from the toilet to the shower, you glanced out the door and your heart dropped to your ass. there was a man on your couch, hood on his head as he sat comfortably watching tv. you covered your mouth from the scream that you wanted to release before quietly reaching for your phone to call your boyfriend.

since you hid in the tub, you missed the part where choso pulled his phone from his pocket, giving it a confused look before answering it. ‘why is she calling me if i’m home?’ he thought as he quietly spoke to you through the receiver. “hello?” he instantly grew worried at your shaky breaths, quietly getting up from the couch before slowly walking to where he saw you cleaning. “t-there’s a man in the house”

choso stopped in his tracks, turning around before looked around the empty living room and kitchen. “where?” he said softly walking towards the small black pistol he kept deep in the cushion of his recliner. he slowly pulled the weapon out, being as quiet as possible before walking towards your bedroom to further his inspection. “h-he in the living room. got a black hoodie on with his hood up. looks pretty big too.” choso took a deep breath, rolling his eyes as he realized his mistake. you always told him to let you know when he’s home if he doesn’t see you when he walks in the door, but of course he forgot. “mama that’s me. i’m home from work” before he could say anything else you hung up, standing up from the tub before walking out into the living room with your arms crossed.

“choso bring your ass over here right now boy!”

quiet!choso who even though is seen as an antisocial guy, goes out with you to parties and get togethers. always giving you the same quiet speech about how “a man doesn’t need a voice to keep his woman safe”.

quiet!choso who doesn’t really care what people think of him, letting his brothers and friends call him all types of names without getting irritated in the slightest.

“she already do the talking so i’m guessing she be doing to fucking too” his middle brother sukuna said with a chuckle. choso, yuji, and sukuna agreed to have “bro bonding” (clearly yuji made the name) every other weekend to “keep their relationship strong”. this time it was being held at sukuna’s cave house where the three of them ate takeout and played on the game. “kuna leave em aloneee. there’s nothing wrong with letting your woman have control” his youngest brother said, large hand outstretched on choso’s back as he gave it a small rub.

“man cut the bullshit. even yuji don’t let bitches do that shit. you should hear the sounds that be comin outta my guest room when he crashes here wit a some random broad from a party.” yuji covered his face in embarrassment, making his older brothers chuckle. choso felt if he were to tell anyone how life was at home, it would be the two knuckleheads he was raised with. a small smirk planted on his face, tattooed hands gripping his controller a little tighter as he spoke.

“if my girl ‘ran’ me, don’t you think she’d be doing whatever she wanted? when we go out, why do you think she rather sit by me than go shake her ass with her friends like she usually used t’do?” sukuna and yuji’s eyes widened, giving choso a shocked look before the two of them looked at each other.

quiet!choso who doesn’t need to talk for you to know what he’s trying to say. settling for stern looks and a tap on your thigh, ass if nobody’s looking, as a warning to get you to act right.

quiet!choso who sometimes had to use rougher tactics to correct you when you’re out of line.

“say it again” choso groaned, long girthy dick rearranging your guts as he held you up by your hair. “i w–won’t cuss at daddy” you moaned, back grazing his broad tattooed chest. wrists bound together by fuzzy grey cuffs as you dug your nails into your palms. you were so frustrated earlier that you may have let a couple curse words slip into your vocabulary while texting choso, but regardless of your instant apology, he told you to be stripped and ready for him in the bed by the time he got home from work. now you were paying for your disrespect through taking all 8.5 inches of him without complaint.

“say it louder mama. daddy can’t hear you clearly through all that moaning” choso chuckled as he listened to you whine, pretty breasts bouncing with every thrust as you tried to speak clearly for the fifth time tonight. “i won’t c-cuss at daddy ever again! fuck m’gonna cummm” he rolled his eyes, pace never faltering as he fucked you through your third orgasm of the night. choso’s inked hand abruptly let go of your hair, making a chuckle slip as he watched you fall to the bed with a huff, hands not able to stop you.

“now you cursing right at me. gon be here all night if you don’t clean it up princess”

#choso x black!reader #choso x black reader #jjk choso x black!reader #jjk choso x black reader #choso x black y/n #choso smut #jjk choso smut #jjk x black reader #jjk x black!reader #jjk choso #jjk smut

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baskeigh-ball · 2 years ago

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so yknow how big mama's nexus hotel employees all have cloaking brooches, at least the ones who work around humans? Yeah. HUMAN RAPH TIME BECAUSE I SAID SO BOOIII

inconsistent facial structure go brrr

#look. look at him. thats my son #i swear im getting back to the comics guys lol #rottmnt #mutant manhunt au #rottmnt raph #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt fanart #rottmnt human designs #my art

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gladiatorcunt · 9 months ago

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summary: racer!john b x s/o!reader x racer!jj

cw: dom/sub undertones, spanking, dp in one hole, goes without saying but… unrealistic sex lol, threesome, armpit action (jj with john b), BOYS KISSING 😨, written in the middle of night while watching the powerpuff girls so once again don’t think just vibe, f1 racer john b & jj coded but i didn’t care enough to make it super accurate 💀, fucking on the hood of a car, possibly ooc since this is my 2nd obx piece, implications of plus sized reader

wc: 999

block & move on if uncomfortable !!!

don’t repost, translate, or give ai my work

kinktober masterlist

“C’mon dude, be careful, ‘m gonna hit my head on the windshield if you don’t slow down.” JJ moans, lazily sucking your tongue. Every one of John B’s thrusts sends you further up the hood of his race car, which the three of you are recklessly fucking on top of. They just wanted to celebrate their positions on the podium with their biggest fan.

The garage in which the car is being kept is so cold your nipples could fall off, but the body heat being shared between the three of you will probably keep it at bay. Probably.

Both John B and JJ were drenched in sweat and some kind of grease, the smell only makes your pussy clench tighter around JJ, his hips shoot up in surprise.

“Oh F-fuck! Just like that, mama~ So tight….”

John B’s pace in your ass slows so he can smack JJ upside the back of his head, “Told you to be fuckin’ quiet, don’t wanna get your bare ass on the news, maybank.”

Before JJ can retort that he very much would not mind him accidentally mooning whatever poor race track employee stumbles upon them, John B is grabbing his hair in one fist with the hand that’s not clutching at your fat ass and shoving his smug face into his hairy armpit.

The lesson does nothing, like usual, JJ just moans as his boyfriend’s strong musk invades his senses. He can wet smacking sounds that are obviously you and John B making out while John B rams your asshole. Since JJ already came before the two of you earlier, he busies himself with cleaning John B’s armpit and weakly slapping his balls against you when the friction fades away too much.

“Always yapping our baby’s ear off for no reason, when you know what else your mouth should be doing instead.”

The unabashed freakish behavior tests John B’s resolve, and he slaps JJ’s face to signal him to stop so he can drag him into a sticky kiss. Your clit throbs at your favorite sight of your boyfriend’s tongues curling around each other, especially when the string of spit that connects them when they pull away snaps and falls on your face.

You’re suddenly taken hostage into a threeway french kiss, which you pull away from to gasp when out of nowhere John B gropes your jiggling ass before harshly spanking it. You moan and try to stick your hips out as far as possible in your sandwiched position, earning you more rough spanks that leave the flesh stinging like hell. Just what you wanted, with a red handprint to match too.

“Yeah I know you like that, baby. This pretty little ass looks so good in red.” John B coos, smoothing his hand over the raw skin to soothe the welcome pain.

JJ pouts at the display, despite his cock seeming to harden inside of your creamy cunt. You lean down to suck on his nipples to placate him, silently communicating that he always gets spanked after you anyway.

JJ threads his hands into your hair, making sure you keep his chest lookin’ pretty as he mentally prepares himself to start fucking up into you again. You’re just so heavenly and wet and warm and tight, he really does think you were put on this earth to drain the life outta him via his balls.

John B’s warning glare stops him, and when he obeys and keeps his hips still, the former’s gaze softens and JJ’s rewarded with a soft kiss on his forehead.

John B slowly eases out of your throughougly fucked ass, his thick tip catching on the puffy rim. You look over your shoulder to watch as he gives his stupidly big cock a few quick pumps before aiming the head at your stretched pussy. You nod and bite your lip when he shoots you a questioning look, having been together so long at this point that none of the three of you really needed any words to speak to each other.

The look of sheer excitement on JJ’s face when he feels the other man’s cock slide up along his inside of you is almost better than how pleased your greedy hole is.

“Oh shit, are you sure you can take it, mama? You’re already shaking over me, ‘s cute.”

“They’re doing just fine, aren’t you, peach? So good for us, our little cheerleader.” John B answers for you, you moan out a ‘yes, babe i can always take it’ to JJ as you get used to the stretch.

You don’t indulge in this often, and truth be told your boyfriends are usually hesitant to give you both of their dicks. Winning never fails to get them so horny that they’d be willing to listen to the devils on their shoulders that are their cockheads though. It’s why you always run to jump in their arms with an extra pep in your step when they break through the crowd of press and racing personnel.

You wiggle your hips to indicate that they can move, and they start fucking with gentle thrusts. They speed up their pace soon after, both of your boyfriend’s moaning at the feeling of their cocks rubbing together inside of you. Not one of you is thinking coherently, you’re all too preoccupied with panting into each other’s mouths and scratching red lines down whatever parts of your sweaty bodies you can reach.

It’s a miracle you and JJ don’t slip off of his car’s hood, there’s countless kinds of fluids all over you and you depend on John B behind you to hold you up. JJ’s too fucked out to down to earth. You suck bruises into his neck when he throws it back against the car as John B hunches over to bite down your back.

Two sets of hands toy with your fat clit, and your orgasm makes you black out so hard that you miss the questioning shouts outside.

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griffinclaw7 · 11 months ago

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So one thing that’s been living rent-free in my head since I watched the episode „The ancient art of ninja hide and seek“ is this weird hotel room where the brothers have their final showdown of the episode, you know just showing off their newly acquired skills

You know this one.

And it just could have been that the creators thought „hey, let’s just use a random hotel room for this scene“ but the thing that’s been bugging me is that this doesn’t look like a randomly chosen room at all

It doesn’t even look like a regular hotel room

It is hidden behind a secret door and the turtles only get there by pure accident and as we can see in the background that other rooms have regular doors. Heck, this room is so well hidden that even Splinter can’t find the entrance even though he was standing right in front of it.

Another thing is how the room is furnished. It is very blatant that this room isn’t meant for guests to stay in. The entire room has been personalized, there are posters on the wall, we have a car bed and a surfboard, there are vinyl records scattered across the floor and the bed isn’t made. Overall it looks very much lived in.

What I noticed, that was also kind of weird is how accessible the rest of the hotel seems to be from this room as seen with how out of every corner Big Mama‘s goons pop out of more hidden doorways.

The only use I could see in this room is if it was the room of one of the employees because that seems like the only logical answer for this kind of room since who else would need this level of accessibility.

But there is still one more thing. In this episode all of the employees we see on screen are adults and I don’t think it’s the room of any of the goons we see in this episode. Why? Well because this room looks like it belongs to a teenager. The posters, the general messiness and choice in furnishings all don’t give off the vibe of the inhabitant being an adult and look more like how a teenager would decorate and upkeep their room.

My personal headcannon (and explanation) for this room is that this is the room of Big Mama‘s Assistant, you know the person who’s been confirmed to be the turtles missing sister. It would make sense for this to be her room since she’s the only character I can think of that would fit all of the criterias for this room, since A she is employed by Big Mama and it would make sense to keep her room as such separated from the guests rooms but still central to get around the hotel quickly. And B she would be the turtles age, between early and mid- teens, at this point in the story. If this is the case and the room is in fact belonging to the sister (Frida) it would also serve as a nice foreshadowing if the turtles kind of indirectly interacted with their sister before actually meeting her

#save rottmnt #rottmnt #rottmnt frida #rottmnt big mamas assistant #rottmnt theory #rottmnt leo #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt raph #rottmnt splinter #rottmnt big mama

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inamindfarfaraway · 1 year ago

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I love how Paul's character in The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals is defined entirely by a lack of desire, or desire defined only as 'not what I don't want'. "What Do You Want, Paul?" is a big joke about what a terrible narrative protagonist he is. But it's deeper than that. Throughout the show, even in the smallest, most insignificant phrasing, this man only ever expresses wants in these negative forms, as if he's incapable of feeling attraction in itself rather than simply avoiding what he dislikes. And only avoiding! He never says that he hates anything, either! That would give him passion, drive, perhaps the goal of actively removing that thing. No, he exclusively uses the verb hate in past tense.

He doesn't like musicals, singing, dancing or public performances. He makes this very clear, to the point that it's one of his most significant character traits. At no point does he ever talk about liking any media.

He doesn't want to do social activities.

He doesn't want to give away his money. About both this and the above, he can provide no logical explanation or moral justification. He just doesn't feel like them.

He always gets black coffee because it has "no cream, no sugar, nothing in it"; that is to say, he might not necessarily love it, merely prefer it over its sweeter or more complex alternatives.

He doesn't believe that Emma should have to sing and dance at work - he doesn't want her life to be so unfair and annoying to the both of them.

He doesn't want to obstruct the workings of his office (saying "that's the last thing I want" triggers "What Do You Want, Paul?").

He says, "I wanna go home!" when Mr Davidson is singing at him, but means that he wants to be somewhere safe and not stuck in this incredibly uncomfortable situation.

He doesn't want to die.

He specifically doesn't want to die in Clivesdale, because fuck Clivesdale.

He doesn't want to join the Hive.

He doesn't want to leave Hatchetfield, even when it's the site of an alien invasion that is his personal worst nightmare. He actually says that "All things considered, I like Hatchetfield", arguably an exception to the standard. However, he's also well aware of the town's flaws and problems. He grew up one of its poorer residents, attending the inferior, underfunded Sycamore High School where he casually admits the students "hated [themselves]" and having to watch its more respectable rival Hatchetfield High's school play. He has no strong investment in his tedious middle-class office job. He doesn't get along with some of his fellow townsfolk, like his coworker Ted and all the employees of Beanies except Emma. He awkwardly evades giving to charity and the homeless every morning on his way to work. His life is decidedly not one of utter bliss, and yet it's good enough for him in that he doesn't have the energy, ambition or imagination to want anything more. Since he's "been here [his] whole life", his affection for his hometown could be more an aversion to everywhere else or the hassle of travelling. Sticking with the devil he intimately knows.

He doesn't think badly of Emma, and says so because he doesn't want her to or believe that he does after learning that she helped make a "hated" experience of his happen.

He doesn't want to let Bill die, which is why he goes with Bill to rescue Alice. His heroism and proactiveness at the turning point of the end of Act One start to notably erode his apathy, but his phrasing reaffirms his negative motivations: "Hey, it's not like you're asking me to go see Mama Mia!", "Emma, there comes a time in every man's life when he has to draw a line in the sand. And I will never be in a fucking musical."

He doesn’t want Bill to blame himself for Alice's endangerment, stay in the area once Alice is revealed to be a vessel of the Hive or kill himself.

He doesn't want to do some light reading on the universal truth of love and the strength of the human heart.

He has no positive motivation. He breaks one of the most basic rules of being a fictional character, let alone the main character the audience is supposed to root for. He isn't just an antihero, he's an anti-protagonist. Although this could easily make him boring or unsympathetic, he manages to seem relatable. Real. Human. He captures so genuinely an ordinary person living an ordinary life suddenly trapped in a horror story. How many of us can honestly articulate "one concrete goal that motivates all [our] actions"? Even if you can, you wouldn't undergo a narratively fulfilling and thematically cohesive arc related to that desire the way a fictional character would. We're all essentially just trying to survive each day. To make or keep our lives however we define 'good enough'. We may not have a crystal clear picture of our ideal life, but I bet we all have a long list of things we don't want in it. We're all Paul. He even says, “I want what anyone wants”.

What more appropriate antagonist for this man to face, then, than a force that exists to strip people of their autonomy, their individuality, their personhood, and force them to play archetypical characters in a conventional narrative? The Hive observes that Paul is an anti-protagonist and takes offence to this. It seeks to convert him into his antithesis, the "bold" "leading man" of its musical who the audience can "sympathize with". The Infected highlight this in the opening song, in which they eagerly anticipate and prepare the audience for his entrance... and he misses his cue. He isn't following their script. Perhaps that's why the audience is able to believe in this average, unassuming antihero's potential to succeed, to defeat the Hive or at the very least escape it, despite how fraught and grim the situation becomes. The story certainly proves itself to be cruel to its characters; but Paul doesn't operate like a normal character. The Hive promises to fulfil people's desires and make them happy throughout the play. Charlotte, Bill, Hidgens and Ted's deaths are connected to, by either direct causality or thematic relevance, their respective desires for Sam's love, Alice's safety, world peace (and the glory of a musical career) and Ted's own survival. Paul is uniquely immune to this pattern of death related to a core motivation.

Until:

"I can't leave without Emma”, “a friend of mine."

"Is there a chance of something more?"

"I think so. I'd like there to be. I want there to be."

He wants Emma, her life and her happiness and maybe, just maybe, her love. He wants to love her. To spend time with her. For the first time ever, he wants more out of life, not less. He's a little bit more of a character. After the Infected reprise the "Did you hear the word?" section of the opening song, building up to his appearance, this time he does enter the theatre, coming down the aisle just as he was meant to. Right on cue. Paul is now vulnerable to the narrative - the Hive's narrative. And the Hive's control.

Still he resists, even while doubting if he was ever really happy before. Not only does he use his final words, fittingly, to declare that he doesn't like musicals, but before that he firmly refutes the Hive, and the philosophy behind it and all the pressures and temptatations it might represent: "It doesn't matter what I want." What matters is the good of the world. Emma. Love. Hope. Freedom. Integrity. Humanity, which must be wonderful if we can make sacrifices like this for all the right reasons.

Rest in peace, Paul Matthews. You were the opposite of a conventional protagonist, but a true hero.

#paul matthews #the guy who didn't like musicals #tgwdlm #hatchetfield #tgwdlm hive #hatchetfield meta #tgwdlm meta #tgwdlm analysis #analysis

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cupcakeslushie · 3 months ago

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Slushie I have an important inquiry. Do Huginn and Muninn realize that something's 'wrong' with Draxum and Three, or are they just like "wow our boss just went total bitch tits and his son went insane around the same time they started doing shots of this weird glowing stuff. Weird." (I'm assuming it doesn't affect them because they're non-organic, and probably the same with Venus)

I clock Hu and Mu as…pretty stupid (they weren’t exactly very pro-active employees in the show) And when they’re not being violently obtuse, I imagine they don’t care enough to put much thought into the changes, which did happen very subtlety, over the years.

It’s not like they don’t care at all, but they don’t have much reason to suspect anything off. Draxum wasn’t exactly a Boy Scout when they first began working for him, and Three was always kinda a wild, feral child. Draxum was maybe starting to chill out for a few years, but his lab was also being rebuilt from the ground up, so perhaps that’s why he was a more attentive father for a while? He just had more free time. And Present Three is a troublemaker—he practically destroys his own lab every other week. Hu and Mu likely blame something stupid like puberty for Three, and Draxum just being an obsessive workaholic.

I think Mu is more nurturing of the two, so when Three is hurt he’ll try and help if he lets him. But it’s still the bare minimum.

Also, yeah is it ever said in the show…but I always thought they’re like…stone (they are like gargoyles)? So most toxic stuff in Draxum and Three’s labs won’t affect them. And Venus was never around enough. Pretty much as soon as Three got her fixed up, she was shipped off to Big Mama.

#rottmnt #ask slushie #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt separated au #separated au #ew au ask

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mochinomnoms · 3 months ago

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Mochi, I absolutely adore how you portray the Leech parents. They remind me low-key of Gomez and Morticia Addams from the Addams family. (or just the whole Leech family in general reminds me of the Addams family)

So I was wondering if I could ask for some more headcanons of yours about the Leech parents? Like personality or how they met and stuff.

Drop the lore, Mochi, drop the lore.

Yes! It's what I keep in mind cause I feel like it fits!

For the Leech parents, I change it up a bit cause my headcanon is that the Leech family is a matriarch, so the head is actually Mama Leech and not Papa. I think she's very good at networking and building a rapport with the people and communities around her, which is actually an important factor if we want to go with the headcanon that the Leeches are involved in organized crime. She's very sociable, but was a bit of a menace during her youth.

She got into a lot of trouble and saw doctors often because of it, which is why she's so much of a worrywart with her sons, she's worried that the same might happen to them. Still, she's highly respected by the communities she works with and it's well known that if you want protections, Mrs. Leech is the way to go.

It's up to her if she wants to send muscle, money, or any support to you if you ask, and you better be willing to offer up something in return. Usually this can mean giving the family some of your profits if you're a business, offering your services for cheap prices if you're a lawyer or doctor, or offering up your business as a center for Leech networking and meetings.

Papa Leech married into the family and took their name, but people who only look at the surface level would assume he's the head. He's big, intimidating, and has a temper. He's very fond of his wife and chased after her for ages, so he's known for being persistent, but was actually very well-behaved growing up. If you were to ask people he grew up with, they would say that he looks scary, but once you knew him it was like a switch flipped. He was fun to hang around and dependable, and rarely got into trouble.

The reality is that he never got caught, as he was very curious about the criminal underworld. He was a bit big to be sneaky, and got caught a few times following employees of the Leech family until they got sick of him and threatened him to either get in the program or scram off. He was going to mind his business, but once he caught sights of his future wife, it was love at first sight and he was caught in her claws.

When he became involved with the business, he took on the role of an enforcer, allowing his wife to focus on increasing the family's reputation among common merfolk. He tends to be the one most involved with the underworld, taking his wife's word as gospel and ensuring that people followed her rules. He gets his hands dirty so that she doesn't have to.

#mochi asks #twst #twisted wonderland #leech parents

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the-froschamethyst4 · 1 month ago

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Tree Decorating

𖤐Pairing: Husband! Soap x Wife! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: Fluff, language, children, married couple, kissing, teasing,

𖤐Summary: After picking out a tree the MacTavish’s decided to start decorating it and going down some memory lanes with certain ornaments

————

"Mama, can I have hot chocolate?" Kiara pulls on her mothers sweater sleeve.

"I don't see why not? Come on, Ryker," she takes both her children's hands and walk to the little booth. Maria wanted a peppermint hot chocolate and Ryker wanted a s'mores hot chocolate. Both kids thanked the workers and their mother for giving them the hot drink.

They went around the trees to look for their father aka Y/n's husband, John MacTavish, John and his family were here to pick out their Christmas Tree.

John has talked with 4 different employees to get the best tree for his home.

"We have-"

"A rare blue pine tree, I know, someone's already told me about it, had it last year and shedded everywhere was still finding pine needles in September, I don't want one of those again," he says.

"O-Of course."

"Are you scaring the salesmen again?" Y/n walks up to her husband wrapping her arm around her husband's waist.

"No," he says. "Where the kids?" He asked, expecting them to be behind their mother.

"They went to go play," she says motioning to them playing in the corn pit.

"Ah well...what tree speaks to you, bonnie?" He asked her, taking her hand as they walked around for a little bit. The living room where the tree will be sitting has a high enough ceiling to stick an 12ft tree, and the windows will show off their big tree once it's done being decorated.

As they walked around Y/n stood in front of one that was full, tall, and she knows would be perfect for the living room.

"This on, bonnie?"

"Yes...this one is good," she says.

"We'll take this one," Soap says to the salesman who just nods his head and gets a saw to cut the tree down.

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

Soap straps the tree to the roof of his truck and heads back home. Kiara wanted to hear Let It Go for the 40,000th time, Ryker was getting annoyed with the constant singing and the terrible song in his opinion.

"It's a Christmas song!" Kiara argues with Ryker.

"No, it's not!" Ryker yells back.

"Okay, okay, that's enough both of you," Soap says.

Pulling into the driveway, the kids got out first and ran inside the house, Soap got the tree off the roof and Y/n opened the door for him to set the tree in the living room. Y/n sees her daughter trying to pull the big Christmas decoration tub, Ryker on the other side pushing it as well.

"Thank you, you both," she says, bending down kissing their foreheads and helped her husband set up the tree. Soap had gone into the garage a found their tree stand they use for buying a real tree, he screws the pics in and Y/n made sure it was straight.

Kiara like clock work already knowing the drill on setting up the real tree, she gets the big bowl that holds the water and puts it under the tree trunk.

Getting a tree was always a tradition for Y/n and Soap when they were dating and living with each other, when they got married and had their honeymoon it was in the Alps and they celebrated their marriage and Christmas together, and now their tradition will keep going with their children.

"Mama, can we hang this one?" Kiara holds up her ornament that she made when she was a baby, only using her feet.

"No, no, mine," Ryker holds up a ornament with Ryker's face in the clear ornament and crazy glitter glue.

"We can hang up both there is enough room for both of your ornaments."

Y/n, Ryker and Kiara would go through the big box of ornaments and would hand them to Soap to put on the tree. Kiara found a few girly ones, Ryker some boyish ones and Y/n...old memories.

"Mama, what's that one?" Kiara asked, pointing to the one in her hands.

"Oh this?" It was one Soap had given her when they celebrated their 1 year of marriage, it held great memories and showed that Soap loves and cares for his wife. "It's one your, father gave to me...when we first got married," she says, Kiara with no question took the ornament and handed it to Soap.

"Make sure it's front and center, daddy!"

"You got it, honey," he says with a smile on his face.

"Mom, what about this one?" Ryker held up one that was actually Ryker's first made ornament. He made it when he was first born like Kiara's with his feet prints in blue paint with 'Baby's first Christmas'.

"Yes, baby," she says and Ryker handed it to Soap.

Picking a choosing was great, Y/n had no sort of aesthetic to make the tree, Y/n or Soap didn't grow up with blue Christmas, black Christmas, white Christmas, it was always...Tacky Christmas. Cluttering the tree with unnecessary ornaments, some with meaning, no meaning, some that confuses the kids on how it's even suppose to be hung up. That was more Christmas and nostalgic and that's what they want their kids to do when they get older, make it fun for their children.

"Mama, can we put candy canes on it?" Kiara asked.

"Sure, baby," Y/n had picked up some candy canes a while ago, just to have around for her kids to eat, but guess she can hang some up on the tree.

Y/n even opened two for Ryker and Kiara to have. For the rest of the time Y/n and Soap were decorating the tree, the kids either watching them or watching Christmas movies, they found on Disney+.

"Mama, can you turn on Frozen?"

"No, not Frozen!" Ryker groans falling back on the couch.

"Why not a movie you both can agree on?" Y/n says as Ryker took the remote and started going through all the movies they can watch.

Ryker wanted to watch Home Alone, while Kiara would rather watch Mickey Mouse,

"Home Alone!"

"No, that's boring-and it doesn't make sense," she crosses her arms.

"We watch Mickey Mouse every morning!"

"If you two don't settle on something, I'll turn the TV off," Soap threatens. Both kids started to settle down and just kept switching movies to look at.

Y/n looks up at her husband who held the star, it was a few years old and their first one broke, and Soap ended up finding a similar one so it'd seem like the old one never broke.

As Soap and Y/n were done they stepped back to admire their work, Soap smiles at his wife and brought her in for a kiss.

"Eww~" both kids said. Soap rolls his eyes as Y/n giggled.

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

The kids have gone to bed and Y/n and Soap were still getting decorations set up, Soap then pulls out some mistletoe, he forgot they even had this, he thought Y/n threw it away after the amount of kisses Y/n was getting from him and he thought she was annoyed with it, but guess not.

"Bonnie," he says, she stops and turns.

"Yes?" She asked. She then sees him lift up the mistletoe and hung it over his head.

"Oh no, I am stuck under the mistletoe, I wonder if a beautiful, gorgeous, sexy, hot mama will come and kiss me," he says in the a joking, sarcastic, bad acting sort of way.

She giggles, shaking her head and walking to him, she grabs his face and brought him close in for a kiss, he closed his eyes enjoying the kiss, moving his hands down to her waist just to hold her tightly against his body.

"I thought you threw the mistletoe away?" He asked.

"I thought about it, but just didn't, like the mistletoe, even though you drive me crazy with it," she giggles.

"What? No, way," he says, laughing.

"uh-huh, we just need the light on the roof," Y/n says.

"I'll do that tomorrow, I wanna have a night with my wife," he says, biting his bottom lip and picking Y/n up taking her to their bedroom.

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whoopsyeahokay · 6 months ago

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Alphabet Soup

summary: prompt fill. the journey of a clandestine love affair at several stages because Wally Clark craves what he can't have and refuses to keep his hands to himself. and you live for it.

(AN: this'll be a multiple-oneshots deal—out of order—with regular additions until it's complete.)

🛎️prompt - Wally Clark NSFW alphabet.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut. AU - modern setting. romanticized toxic behavior. grey!Wally Clark. cheating. egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🧿

Alphabet Soup - C

C is for Wally's competency and control on and off the field. That single-minded focus that he puts toward the task at hand. He's not a show-off, doesn't flaunt his skills unless the showmanship is called for—"And that's another touchdown assisted by 57!"—you know, those times when the crowd is chanting his name and Coach is punching the air.

It may be hard to believe, but Wally dedicates a lot of time to learning about what interests him. Does the research, collects the tools, and works himself hard until he has it mastered before he shares what he's capable of with others.

This dedication earned him employee of the month at Reggie's Auto Repair several months in a row; big hands making quick, greasy work of mistreated car parts. It's how he helped his grandfather remodel his mama's kitchen; expertly cutting pieces of wood for new cabinets; drilling in the finished product; smearing mud on the wall to set the new backsplash his mother swooned over at Home Depot.

Point is, Wally's gets really fucking good at whatever he puts his mind to. And, these days his mind is almost exclusively occupied by you. A cyclical kaleidoscope of things he's learned about you on auto-play from the moment he wakes up to the moment he passes out.

He wants to learn more—everything—about you. Your favorite food, color, season, show; your stupid star sign, fuck, e v e r y t h i n g. And he will. Because that's what Wally does. He absorbs facts like a sponge and sticks them in his arsenal to use when he needs to.

Wally wields his knowledge like a weapon in the bedroom, noting every sound you make as he tests the waters. He's draped over you, propped up on an elbow, watching your face for clues as his hand tracks down down down your side to your hip to your thigh. Squeezes hard enough to leave prints and lifts your leg to hook is around his waist.

"You want me, baby?" He asks, grinding against you, your skin and his wet with too much black cherry lube. His breathing is ragged, voice strained, hips a maddeningly slow back-and-forth as he teases those sounds out of you. "Want me inside you?"

He dips in, brushes his lips over yours once, tickle-soft, before truly pressing in with teeth and tongue. The kiss is dirty, hard, deep, but the roll of his hips remains at that too-slow pace.

"Want me to make you feel good, baby?" He pinches your nipple between thumb and index. He smirks, proud and so fucking turned on, when you grab him by his necklace and drag him into another kiss.

It's all he needs to convince him to stop teasing, line himself up, and rock into you with one hard thrust. Your mouth falls open, eyes squeezed shut, expression open and pink and so fucking beautiful it takes everything in Wally not to bust a nut right then and there. You've done quickies in the locker room, fast ones in the car, and as hot as all that is, Wally wants to see what you look like when he fucks you slow.

He can last for a while. Has made a fucking point to learn how to prolong his own pleasure so he can give you yours and he isn't going to consider coming until you're a mess beneath him. Sobbing and begging and needy for him to fill you up. And you will be. Because he's learned, hasn't he?

Reaching under the pillow beside you, he pulls out something he's been aching to play with. He shifts, up and back, sitting on his haunches as he turns you onto your side. You make such a pretty picture, hair fanned out, eyes glazed, lips bitten pink and pouty.

"Gonna be a good girl for me?" Wally presses the button. The wand starts to vibrate, low at first and then harder as he adjusts it. "Gonna let me play with you?"

Before you can respond, Wally places the head of the toy against your clit at the same time he rams into you. A choked-off moan, head thrown back, fingers clawing Wally's chest, arms, hips.

"That's it baby," He coos, rolling his hips, in and out, cock grazing every nerve-ending inside you, fat tip hitting your g-spot on every upstroke. "That's it, fuck, you're so hot, baby," Wally groans and he can't look away, has to watch you tremble apart over and over as you convulse around him.

Minutes later, "You're gonna make me come," he warns, listening to your mewls and moans and pleas for mercy, too much, please, Wally, I can't please please please, I can't.

And it's blinding; a long, flushed, thunderous feeling when Wally comes inside you, grinning like an idiot because he's learned more about your threshold for pleasure-pain and plans to use that knowledge over and over again, until you can't think of anything else but how good Wally makes you feel.

🧿___________________________

also available on AO3!

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

#Milo Manheim #Wally Clark #Wally Clark x Reader #fem!reader #Wally Clark smut #Wally Clark fanfiction #Milo Manheim fanfiction #School Spirits #zed necrodopolis #Disney Zombies #Alphabet Soup #prompt fill #alphabet challenge #ABC challenge

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