#cw nail removal

[cottoncandyringmaster]

Cecegoretober 2023 Day Twenty-Four

Gore Warning: Art below cut

[q1ngqve]

ᝰ VIP ROOM !

✶ 𓏲ּ ꩜ 𓂅 the penacony grand theater cordially invites you to V.I.P. room 2 this friday evening for a musical!

CW; fem! reader x penacony men (separated), vaginal penetration, fingering, slight degradation & voyeurism, vibrator, bondage, ‘daddy’ (only for gallagher)

𐙚 AVENTURINE

your gasps ring in his ears as he slides one of your leg onto his lap, spreading you apart effortlessly. his grip on your thigh is tight and steady, clearly having no intention of letting you go anytime soon.

snuggled next to him on the sofa, you feel his arm draped around you, holding both your wrists together, and smirking when you squirm to reach for your dress.

your eyes dart to his face, observing his furrowed brows and the angry smirk as he stares back into your eyes, clear jealousy written in those colourful irises. he leans in close, lips just inches apart from yours, and you feel his breathing turn erratic as his eyes darken, "you love teasing me, don't you?"

"I was just saying hi to an old friend..."

"did you not see the way he looked at you?"

your head shakes cautiously, nails digging softly into your own skin, "m' sorry." aventurine pecks you on your lips, the glossy lipstick staining his own in the process.

another whimper sounds as his gloved fingers slide under your thighs, the soft pads of his black gloves resting snugly against your clothed, pulsing nub. his smirk reappears when the wetness soaks through your panties and onto his gloves, soft squelching sounds reverberate in the VIP room.

your head falls against his shoulder, wrists still bound by his hand, legs spread and trembling on his lap. your boyfriend teases at your earlobes, nipping at the tender skin, sending shivers down your spine with each bite.

his deft fingers slides under your panties, and you hear him chuckle into your ear at how drenched you are for him, making it so easy for his two fingers to slip right into your warm hole.

"who do you belong to, hmm?"

he releases your wrists, the now free hand reaching up to your throat, pulling you closer to his face again.

"—you."

"good girl."

the air gets knocked out of your chest as he pushes you onto the sofa, his fingers still pumping and curling in your pussy harshly, his pace only increasing with each cry of his name you let out.

an embarrassing squelch sounds as he removes them, and you whine at the empty feeling inside you, the ring of muscle clenching at nothing as your hands reach for his nape.

"please— need you so bad..." a satisfied hum leaves him as he leans down to kiss your forehead, pushing his fingers in again without warning at the same time. your legs tense, and your toes curl, a loud moan escaping you, only to get muffled by him stuffing your dress into your mouth.

"all of this," his lips latch onto your neck as they suckle on the sensitive spots, "is for me," littering them with beautiful hickeys that he'll admire later on, "and me only." the musical on stage turning into background noise.

𐙚 BOOTHILL

boothill grunts into your dripping pussy as your fingers pull on the roots of his hair, tugging both away and towards your core, uncertain if you want more or to escape this torment.

"stay still, sweetheart."

a soft "can't—" escapes you, making him cock an eyebrow, his mouth never stopping, licking and sucking at your puffy clit. the silent command from his eyes has you tensing your thighs as his grip tightens, and you're sure his metal fingers will leave marks there tomorrow.

moans of his name fill the room as he frees on hand to slide under your dress and up to your chest, the cool metal wrapping around your boob comfortably. your body shrinks as he plays with the soft bundle of nerves, thumb and pointer finger pinching at your nipple occasionally, making your pussy clench.

his eyes roll to the back of his head the moment his tongue dips into your warm core, your juices and gummy walls sending his engine into overdrive. you swear if he were in a cartoon, there'd be smoke coming out of his back right now.

"pretty girl tastes so (fucking) good." hums when your legs clench around his head, "all this, just for me."

your eyes water as you come undone on his tongue. the sound of fans whirring before you drags you back to reality as he stands, flipping you around so that you're kneeling on the sofa with your hands on the backrest.

whines leave you as he flips your dress up and tears your panties easily. the familiar feeling of cool metal dick has you lying limp on the backrest, your hips involuntarily grinding back against him.

"eager, aren't we?"

muffled whimpers sound from you as you bury your face into the cushions, knowing that you'll be making extremely embarrassing sounds the moment he enters you.

a loud groan escapes boothill as he slides into you, the cool, hard metal of his dick a clear contrast to your soft, warm, and inviting walls, wrapping around him like a vice.

his hand slips around your mouth to cover up your obscene sounds as he pounds into you, unable to contain his hunger any longer. you're now locked in a position that allows him to manhandle and control you easily, body fully limp and putty in his arms, just the way he likes.

𐙚 DR. RATIO

a small smile adorns your lips as you stare straight ahead, looking out at the balcony and onto the stage where the musical is happening, clearly avoiding eye contact with your boyfriend who's burning holes through your head.

your hand inches up his thigh, nails scraping slightly with each movement, your own legs clench whenever you feel his muscles tense beneath the pads of your fingers.

an audible sigh could be heard from him when you palm him through his pants, a clear bulge forming under your hand, making your smile bigger. "someone's excited."

"shut up."

you giggle softly as your fingers wrap around the bulge, while your pointer finger draws slow circles on his clothed tip, a dark spot forming slowly on his pants from his arousal.

you yelp suddenly when you feel yourself stand and be placed into a forceful position. your elbows scrape on the table beneath you as you trying your best to stand steady on your legs all the while looking over your shoulder, a teasing smile on your face.

"what? can't take it already?"

ratio's eyes narrow at your comment before pushing down on the small of your back, making your body press harder onto the cold table surface.

something changes in the air when he huffs a laugh, his hands now gripping at your hips, holding you in place as he starts dry humping against you. he leans down, caging you beneath him as he slides one knee between your legs, and you know, you're in danger.

you squirm in his hold, hips inching forward, digging into the edge of the table, trying your best to run away, your fight or flight kicking in, knowing he isn't going to go easy on you for teasing him.

he pulls you back harshly, so hard you stumble back into his chest. "where do you think you're going?" this wipes the smirk off your face.

you shudder when he kisses down your nape to your shoulder blades, and all you could do was hold your breath, praying that he's not going to be too rough on you as punishment.

you could feel the smugness from the man behind you as he pulls himself out and slides into your panties, coating himself with your wetness, the tip sliding against your clit with each thrust.

now you're the one biting back moans, hands reaching backward to claw at his wrists, an indication that you want him to fuck you. ratio chuckles at your feeble attempt to command him, and he leans down again, this time nearer to your ear, never stopping his movements, sliding against your folds harshly.

"this is for fucking with me when you know you can't handle my teasing."

𐙚 GALLAGHER

as the curtains shut behind the two of you, you trip down the steps, pulling gallagher by his tie. your heels coming off with each step towards the display shelf at the side of the VIP room.

your grip on him strong, like a leash, leading the man before you to collide against your soft body as you lean on the shelf. one strap of your dress slips down your shoulder, a testament to your impatience to feel him against you.

gallagher's hands land on either side of your head, trapping you between the shelf and his body. the sheer size of this man completely envelops you, providing cover if anyone were to look for you behind him.

a giggle escapes you as he kisses your jaw and down to your collarbone. "couldn't wait till we got home?"

your head shakes as you bit your lower lip softly, head tilting upwards, silently inviting him to kiss you. he ignores your request, choosing instead to plant a sweet kiss on your forehead as he runs his hands along the curves of your body, eventually resting on your waist and hip.

you whine when he doesn't kiss you where you want him too, "just wanna feel you, daddy. please?" his smug smile widens at your plea before he pulls your lower body against his own, his bulge resting comfortably on your lower stomach.

"keep it down, okay? they're still out there."

you nod, and a soft " good girl" from him weakens your knees as you relax against his hold, allowing his hands to bunch your dress upwards, freeing himself from his restraints.

your gasps are swallowed by his hot mouth against yours, his thrusts slow and deliberate. your toes dig into the carpeted floor beneath you at the stretch. everything feels heightened knowing that the attendants outside the room could intrude any second and see this filthy scene adds to the pleasure.

gallagher pulls back, panting softly as he angles himself to your g-spot, only to kiss you harshly again, muffling your moans with his tongue. the mind-numbing sensations has you cumming around him almost instantly. you fall limp against him, but he doesn't give you a chance to rest, before propping you up and wrapping your legs around his waist, pounding into you roughly, chasing his own high this time.

"filthy little girl, moaning my name like that. you want them to catch us, don't you?"

𐙚 SUNDAY

a clear look of fear appears in your eyes as your back hits the wall next to the balcony, knowing you have nowhere else to run from the man standing before you.

sunday smiles as he approaches you, his hands reaching for the rope that controls the curtains' movements. "what're you planning to do with that?" the shakiness in your voice betrays you as you try to feign confidence, tilting your chin up slightly as your last resort to prove that you're not scared.

with a flourish, sunday twirls the golden rope in his gloved hands before yanking on it sharply, swiftly closing the balcony curtain. the dimly lit room takes on a more intimate aura as he reaches for your wrists, brushing his lips against them softly like a gentleman, although his eyes betray a predatory gleam that sends your knees weak.

"tug on it, and the whole grand theater will see you."

confusion flickers across your face at his warning, until you feel the bind of your wrists by the very rope he held.

drawing you closer by your waist, sunday twirls you around to face the deep red curtains as he slips his hand under your dress, inserting something cool into your heated core. a soft buzz sounds between your legs, causing you to instinctively lurch forward.

"sunday—!"

he silences your protest with a soft shush, his hands teasing your chest and clit while his hot mouth leaves hickeys on your neck. your arms remained raised slightly, fighting the urge to tug on the rope, knowing the consequences if the curtains do part.

soft cries leave your trembling lips as he increases the speed with a click of the remote in his pocket. leaning back against him, your body surrender fully, giving him full access to your body.

[alnilaem]

coyote head and the body of a man — (e)

ghost/fem reader There's a killer on the loose. But your logging town is small and quaint and doesn't even appear on maps, so you know you're safe. That all changes when a gruff, big, taciturn man shows up at your workplace one day. Or; Simon is a fugitive serial killer, and you're the housekeeping girl that caught his eye.

cw for explicit content, graphic violence, possessive behaviour, size difference, cunnilingus, stalking

pinterest board | ao3 | for @spidehpig <3

Sometimes, you believe you were born in the centre of a dying star. 

Born on the crest of death and fated for a bleak life. Dead, before you even had a chance.

The universe sweeps before you. Infinite. Expansive. Hungry. You float at the mouth of the galaxy and it swallows you whole, but doesn’t seem to like the taste of you—too bland, too trite—so it spits you back out and sends you tailspinning. 

You land with a lack of courtesy. Tossed between trees and dropped in a basin. You find yourself in nowhere, Oregon. In a town flecked by a lake inlet and a clement fjord, where the moose population outnumbers the people population. It has a maritime allure but strangely enough, isn’t commercial enough to be a tourist hub. It’s too hidden in the thicket. Too deep in a borehole.

Every day here is the same. It's an abyss that yawns before you with no end in sight, lacking undue entertainment and vividness and excitement. There’s no light pollution so far off the beaten track, so oftentimes, you’ll wish upon shooting stars for someone to come for your deliverance. 

There’s a reason they say be careful what you wish for.

The day isn’t even halfway over and your bone tips already ache with hard work. 

It isn’t to say your workplace is busy. In fact, it’s the exact opposite. A cut-rate motel with more vacancies than residents found far-removed from the highway, taking only cash, no card, which is good for deterring paper trails and welcoming the transient but is bad for providing records when the police come knocking. 

You’ll get the occasional trucker, the sparse backpacker. In any case, folks stay here when they don’t want to be bothered. They’ll drive past the splintery welcome sign and stop at the diner for earthy, full-bodied coffee and a slice of famous rhubarb pie. They’ll recuperate in the motel and leave before sunrise, and you’ll be there to clean up what they leave behind, scrubbing the memory out of the fibreglass bathtub for whoever’s next. 

It’s a place where time fleets away. Hallucinatory. Where people pay their due and you hang your head because after all, you’re nothing more than the housekeeping girl. Cottony pinafore and a black dress. Mary Jane flats. Fingers desquamating from years of bleach and vinegar stuck in your nail beds. You get handed dog-eared tips and in return, you don’t ask questions. But maybe you should have.

You’re sliding the window cleaner back into its compartment on the cleaning cart just as your boss scales the veranda. He’s grinning and sporting sweat stains across his armpits. A patchy beard. A loose tie. 

Your nerves lock up tight when he grasps your shoulders. His razorous fingers and the pinchbeck of his wedding band saws under your skin. The dregs of his afternoon drinking knocks into you, and you try not to let your body betray you. Despite that, your eyes water and your nose crinkles. You white-knuckle your dress and almost pop the fabric of your pinafore. 

“How’s my favourite employee?” he grins. “Is she workin’ hard?”

There’s an irreverent innuendo somewhere in his smile. You ignore it and opt for a stale smile.

“I’m working,” you eke out. “I've got to restock the bathroom, then I’m done.”

“That’s good, peach. Real good,” he watches you collect toiletry essentials, then tacks on, “there’s a man in the lobby.”

You falter. The travel-sized shampoo bottle almost slips between your forefinger and thumb. 

“An outsider.”

It’s an observation, not a question. If the man in the lobby were a local, Phillip would have given you a name because in this town, everybody knows everybody. The fact that a name was bereft tells you your new guest came from elsewhere. Maybe he’s cutting through the main road on his way to Yachats for your town’s cascade mountains and bigleaf maple, or for the diner’s famous rhubarb pie. In any case, he's in need of a rest stop. 

“Mh. I’m gonna check him in. Just wanted to let you know I’m givin’ him this room, so try to hurry it up, okay peach?”

You blink slowly. This motel holds twelve rooms—there’s never been a need for any more—and currently, nine of those are occupied. That leaves three. There’s no reason for your boss to put up the new guest in Room 11, especially when you’re still cleaning it.

Phillip reads the question in the bend of your eyebrow. He smiles knowingly and pats your head. “He requested a room on the higher level. Room 9’s aircon is busted and Room 6 shares a wall with the Pettie’s. They’re loud.”

You sigh. “Ah.”

“Sorry peach,” he smiles like he’s apologetic, but you don’t think that’s the case. “Just get it done, alright? And add some extra coffee packets."

You furrow your lips. Displeasure flutters over you but you wash it away with a smile, refusing to irk him. You nod and pivot, bones bending against your skin for an escape as his hand whispers against your bum in an encouraging caress.

Anger simmers in your marrow. Phillip simply chuckles, disparaging.

“That’s a sweet peach.”

His voice gets muted by the tinny, rattling radiator as you make it to the bathroom. You stock it up dutifully—perhaps taking extra long to ensure he's not waiting outside for you—and spritz air freshener around the room when you finish. It’s a flaky, expired bottle of Platinum Ice which barely masks the town’s deep-seated smell of old-growth forest, petrichor and woody debris. You hope the new guest doesn’t have a sharp nose. 

You make sure to stuff the coffee station with extra packets before stepping out of the room. Off the mysteriously stained carpet, onto the veranda. You putter around with your large keyring, thumbing through the nickel-brass since you also have a key to the elementary school, post office, and city hall (aptly titled shitty hall by locals, since this town isn’t much of a city and the building’s roof is held together by nothing but rusty rivets and tassels of sprig collected in the corners). You’ve got so many keys because again, everybody knows everybody, and it isn’t rare to see the housekeeping girl at the motor lodge supplementing her income as a part-time teaching aid. 

Finally, you find the master key. You lock the room and roll the cleaning cart into the utility room before locking that too. Your wrist drags across your forehead, wiping away sweat, and you tug on your dress because perspiration has pasted it onto the pert curve of your breasts, the squish of your thighs. You furtively glance down your bodice and watch how the sweat pocks your skin, knotting your nipples against your cheap bra. Lament catches you in regards to your shower after work—it’s going to be freezing since the heating system here is so fickle—and in the paroxysm of your grief, the sound of heavy breathing eludes you. 

You don’t hear his footsteps. He’s an ambush predator. Stalking and shadowing in the tall grass, waiting for the moment your hackles melt to bite into your neck like an unripe stone fruit. You don’t see him, but you feel him. His breath tickling down your neck. The erogenous zone behind your ear. 

A gasp parts your lips and you whip around, coming face-to-face with a paunchy chest plated by moth-eaten flannel. You heft your head up, exercising the hinge in your neck. Paling at the sight that greets you.

He has a Cabela’s cap on. It’s pulled over his eyes, but a few blonde curls peek out from under the crown of his hat. He has a damaged, blistered face. A cauliflower ear. Nicks on his cheeks that distend from his skin and have turned pallid with time, rippling like seafoam petticoats on waves as he flickers his jaw. He wears jeans and mud-clogged boots and holds a duffel bag. 

His gaze unties you. You slowly find words, fitting them in an orderly queue in your mind as you avert your gaze and stare at the floor. Squirming. Preening. Sweltering.

“Welcome to Sockeye Inn, mister…” 

Silence. He lets your words awkwardly trail off. Doesn’t do anything to belay the discomfort in your belly. The man simply stares at you with brown eyes. 

Humiliation crawls up your spine and settles on your cheeks. It burns through your skin, withering you away, to which you fidget with your fingers and baldly nod towards the door.

“Your room is ready,” you murmur. “Enjoy your stay, sir. Uh– if you need anything just give us a shout. Phone’s on the bedside table.” 

Foolishly, you wait for a response again. Nothing. He towers over you, owlishly blinking, one slower than the other because he seems to have a lazy eye. You clench your skirt and softly shoulder past him, heading for the stairs as you hear him putter with the keyhole. 

You’ve halfway scaled it when a rasp distorted by what seems to be years of cigarettes stops you dead in your tracks. 

“Bring me a BLT and root beer.” 

You burn up at the muscle in his voice. The drag. Just as you’re about to reply, his room door slams shut and rocks across the veranda. 

Your dress is stickier than it was before. Perhaps an ice cold shower isn’t so bad after all.

The end of your shift slowly arrogates. 

After delivering food to Simon Riley—you glinted at the logbook while waiting for his order, reading his name—you left his room as soon as possible. You set the food down and found yourself plugging your nose. The Platinum Ice you sprayed before didn’t accost you— instead, it was pomade. Lucky Strike cigarettes. Decaying heartwood. Bleach. 

You pointedly breathed through your mouth. It didn’t actually help though, since you could taste it then. The ethanol in the air drizzled over your pockmarked tongue and glided down your throat. Collected in your stomach. 

You almost retched it back up at the sight of him.

Through the foggy shower wall, the colour of his hazy contour was striking. It seemed to be a tight fit for him, hemming in his lumberjack build. The shampoo bottle looked like a damn accessory in his large hands and his chased shoulder blades pressed soap against the glass pane, sudsy. 

Your curiosity pulled your gaze lower. Down to the heavy mass between his thighs, thick and fat. Bulbous. 

His spine suddenly went erect, straightening like a chary animal. As if by the agitated pappus of his skin, his chin lifted in your direction, and that’s when the earth collapsed under your feet and you beetled for the door. 

You distract yourself in the kitchen. Emptying the dishwasher. Taking the garbage to the bear-proof receptacles. Putting the oven on steam clean. Kate, the kitchen supervisor, stares at you oddly under her hairnet but she isn’t going to reject a set of helping hands. 

You scrub at a pan hoping it will erase the image burned into your mind. Hoping that the steel wool will have the same effect on your temporal lobe as it does on the pan. You don’t realize your hands are chafing and the pan is flaking, not until Kate is passionately complaining beside you, her spit dashing onto the side of your face.

“—fuckin’ freeloaders. They drain our taxes but can’t even do their damn jobs. Wait until one of their family gets butchered, you’ll see, that’s when they’ll start taking this seriously.”

She waves a newspaper in your face. The paper stack fans in front of you, blowing you with cool air. You’re just barely able to read the big, blocky headline. 

Connection Made Between Ventura, Gilroy and Eugene Serial Killer — Aptly Coined the Ghost.

“Eugene!” Kate slaps the newspaper, frazzled. “Not even three hours from us!”

You scarcely listen to her, her voice ripening into white noise as you scrutinize the police sketch on the newspaper’s margin. The offender is drawn with an overripe balaclava and probing eyes. Dark brown, as if his corneal opacity has laid claim before death. His eyelids have no tension, but a furl of crow's feet gather at the corners. It’s uncanny. Eerie. And even though he’s pressed on paper, you can’t help the unease welling inside you. 

A part of you waits for the other shoe to drop. For him to manifest and crawl out of the paper, dripping ink and viscous tar, ruining your Mary Jane flats and the floor you’d just mopped.

Hemlock hits the back of your throat. Lemony, sedgy. Your eyes fixate on the information detailing his crimes. Spines broken and necks snapped with inhumane strength. Pieces of flesh carved with the precision of either a surgeon or a butcher. Rigour mortis locking the victims in a scream, nail beds caked with skin which implies a struggle, but leads nowhere since the Ghost’s DNA hasn’t been found on any database.

(He’s as elusive as his name suggests. Investigators say he could be foreign, or that he has a clean record. The latter seems unlikely for the violent calibre of his crimes.)

There’s also his modus operandi—slicing off his victim’s ring finger, taking it with him. A cruel reward. 

“They say he’s taking Route 101,” Kate tacks on. “That he’s a long-hauler. How the hell will they catch a long-hauler?”

You shake your head, shrugging. Your tongue is too heavy and your gums rub against the round of your cheeks when you try speaking. The sentence gets snagged on your molars, and all that comes out are sparse words, lamely falling to the floor with how out of breath you are. 

“…They’ll catch him.”

“They better,” she shortly huffs. “I don’t want this town making the paper for all the wrong reasons.” 

Death comes to you in a cornfield. 

You’re sprinting through the crop, barefoot and scantily clad and pricked by thorns. Your clothing catches on thistle and corn husk, slowing you down, but the quick-footed trampling at your tail keeps your pace steady and stable.

Your lungs burn. Your bones rasp. Your eyes well up with how fast you’re moving, with how your retinas strain to see more in the pitch black than just reflective corn silk and the crescent moon. 

The midnight sky is close to swallowing you whole, but at this point that would be an act of mercy. The whistle of his cleaver slicing through the air and the stomp of his boots are promptly catching up, heckling you, barely whispering against the flowy cotton of your dress.

By a cruel twist of fate your foot catches on a tiller and sends you flying. Your nose softens the impact, the crack of cartilage reverberating through your skull, glutinous red spurting down your chin as you try scrambling to your feet.

But true to his name, Ghost, he slips through matter and suddenly, he’s standing in front of you.

Black, sweaty tank top. Freshly sharpened meat cleaver. Stout arms. Predatory eyes. Rotting balaclava—which at this point, you’re starting to believe was grafted onto his face, fitting him like skin. 

You raise your hands for mercy. 

But you should know dead stars have exhausted all their luminosity—that after death, they hold no power. That space is a graveyard. That’s why the Ghost poises his cleaver behind him. That’s why the last thing you see is his cleaver handle swinging towards you, about to collide with and shatter your cheekbone into a million pieces—

—but daylight strikes you with no clear trajectory. 

It’s your alarm that rings, waking you up from a nightmare, telling you to brush your teeth and scrub yourself down and pop your supplements before biking to work. You do so sluggishly, standing under the shower spray as you massage your cheekbone. Burning your toast as you scour the news for developing details on the Ghost case. Ordering a cup of coffee from the local diner and gulping it down behind the motel lest Phillip catches you.  

Your nightmare—omen, prophecy, portent of death?—pursues you like the persistent stench of fish on an angler’s hands all morning. You flinch at the slightest noise while scrubbing toilets, you constantly look over your shoulder while sweeping floors.

Malaise builds in your blood vessels like creosote. It doesn’t thin into fluid, flowing in and out of your appendages and around your sex until you situate yourself in front of Room 11. Fluffing up your skirt and puffing out your chest.

You announce your presence and rap the door with your Mary Jane flat because your hands are occupied with new bed sheets. Your knuckles blanch around the linen, quivering, struggling to keep it in your grip. The sheets almost flutter to your feet when a voice penetrates the door, abrasive and husky. Rough. Grating against your spine and shaving down the vertebrae. 

“Door’s open.”

You wait a few seconds before contorting yourself against the threshold. You try the handle and lo and behold, it’s unlocked, swinging open when you press your weight onto it. 

You step inside and toe off your flats. Next to Simon’s boots, they look fit for a doll, and a dizzy spell ricochets through you at the size difference. At the stark reminder that he’s as big and packed as a thick tree stump.

You walk inside and heed the CRT television playing the news. 

It does nothing to soften the scream that rips out of you as you round the corner.

Simon is in bed, pulling on a cigarette. His pudgy tummy and bristly chest are bared, the steel wool of his happy trail disappearing into the bed sheets furled around his hips. The flat sheet is thin enough to outline something stirring. Something thick and pressed against his inner thigh. 

He stares at you, eyes of Argus. It’s so intense you’re sure he can sense the slick running down your back. The dew that settles in the gusset of your panties. 

You stutter. “I can come back later.”

Simon sits up with a groan. It rattles you. His joints must be fettered with age, or hard work, but in any case your head goes cottony with the picture of him splitting wood and hauling heavy bovine flanks. 

You swallow thick as he shakes his head. “It’s no problem, sugar. I’m not even here.”

The pet name makes you squirm. You sure do feel like it—sugar, that is—with the way you could melt on his tongue, wedge yourself between his teeth. Turn syrupy and sappy at the back of his throat.  

He takes another drag of his cigarette. You watch raptly as his jaw feathers around it, lips proffering another plume of smoke. 

He blinks. “Well?”

You eke out an apology and fiddle with your hands. 

“I’ll have to, um, change your bedsheets first.”

Simon shakes his head. He taps the ashy casualties off the tip of his cigarette and you watch as it sinks onto the bed sheet, almost burning through the floral motif. “No need.”

“Well,” you cough, forcing your eyes away from him, “if I don’t, my boss…”

Simon pricks up. The hind of his spine straightens the same way a dog would sit straight and plumb after hearing rustling in a bush. His muscles tighten, thick, and his face twists into a sneer. The bed sheet around him falls and you lock up tight lest it bare his pubic bone. 

“Is he a minger?”

“I’m sorry?”

He huffs. “‘s he a bully?”

“Oh, no,” you blandly laugh. “Mister Graves isn’t a bully. He just…”

“Makes you uncomfortable?”

There’s a lapse between acknowledging his question and spitting out an answer that makes you kick yourself. Simon already looks dubious. You hug the sheets closer to your chest and smile, your cheeks feathering like beeswax.

“He’s a kind man.”

“Not wha’ I asked,” he says. The bed creaks as he leans forward, the sheets slipping lower, scarcely covering his sex. “I asked if he does stuff he shouldn’t be doin’.”

Your heartbeat quickens. Briefly, you wonder if he can hear it. He probably can, albeit softly, due to his lumpy cauliflower ear.

“He’s a married man,” you mumble. “He doesn’t touch me if that’s what you mean. Not like that.”

“There’s only one way to touch someone,” Simon grunts. His chest starts churning a little, as if he’s agitated. “Does he put his hands on you?”

Your skin burns, remembering. A phantom scar runs through you, long and creeping, mapping all the places in which Phillip’s pinchbeck wedding ring has burned you. The suture of your spine, the pappy flesh of your neck, the rise of your hips where his palm has melted through your dress and smarted your skin.  

Your silence makes Simon grunt. 

Panic surges up your throat. You feel the need to defend Phillip, in some approximation of gratitude and fear since you’re on his payroll and you don’t want to reap the consequences should you rat on him and he find out. 

“No!” you hurry. “Mister Graves isn’t like that. He’s a good man. Honest.”

Simon’s eyes push against your skin. He scrutinizes you, tests you. Waits to see if you’ll fidget too much and flake away and sink into the carpet. 

He growls. “You fancy him, is tha’ it?”

Answering yes is the only way to shake him off your leg. You do so archly, so it seems as though the thought of your boss has you flushing when really it’s Simon. He’s fully upright, and now you can see the girthy base of his cock. Stirring, twitching. You suppress a moan.

“Yeah…” you murmur. You can feel your makeup turning blotchy, running down your cheeks. “It’s just a bit…embarrassing, is all.”

He lapses into it again. Staring at you. Razoring his way into your head and thumbing through your consciousness, searching for an Achilles’ heel. A crack he can break into a hole because he has the size for it—barrel-chested, stupidly thick fingers. 

Simon slips out of bed and disturbs the coiled aches of the mattress. He holds a washcloth over his crotch. It’s crusty and keeps shape and covers almost nothing, confirming your inkling. 

His bulbous cockhead winks at you from under the hem. It’s heavy. Leaky. Dripping precum that laves down his legs and gets caught in the wiry hair of his thigh. 

Anxiety pools in your armpits and around your groin. Or maybe that’s just arousal. Brackish and sticky, rubbing your pussy lips together, hugging your clit. 

Simon pulls on his cigarette once more and then folds it into the bedside table. You should scold him. You should tell him that he’ll have to pay for damages even though the wood is already degraded and mouldy. You should scuttle out of the room and call for Phillip, but that would be a crueler fate. Instead you stay fixed to the carpet as Simon steps forward. Cock swinging between his legs, tummy jiggling. 

You don’t know whether he’s going to pull you in for a kiss or rip off your dress or—and you’re unsure why you think of this—take you by your skull and smash it against the television stand. He has the muscle to, surely, but somehow you know he won’t. And the thought of that makes your skin hot.

You’re at his mercy.

You gird yourself for his lips or for your dress to be torn off, but your preparations flux away as Simon steps close and crowds you against the television stand. The stench of Lucky Strike cigarettes and gamey meat impair you, as he reaches behind you and increases the television volume. You want to say something but cotton fills your mouth and the news report floods your ears. It’s fragmentary—you can only heed oddments of the news anchor’s latest updates. 

The Ghost is still at large. Corpses keep popping up around California and Oregon, each with their ring fingers sliced off. The tipline has been leading investigators nowhere, shepherding them to the end of the earth and over the edge, floating, where they’ll move through molasses and will never be able to catch him. 

White male. 6’4”. 196 centimetres. Brown eyes. Heavyset. Likely military background. Likely a surgeon, or a butcher. A dangerous, ruthless individual. 

If spotted, do not approach. 

Simon’s breath fans against your neck, rousing the bristles of your warm cheeks. He turns off the television and steps back. An ether opens up in the pit of your stomach as your gaze falls on his bulging pelvis, on the purplish veins and webbing muscle, sitting like a tuft under his navel, disappearing behind the washcloth where his cock stirs. 

Simon tuts. “World’s goin’ to shite.”

You nod.

“You shouldn’t be out here anyway,” he tacks on. “Should be at home takin’ care of your man’s house. Keepin’ safe.”

You flash your naked ring finger embarrassingly fast. “I-It’s just me…and my cat.”

His eyes darken. His head tilts down at you. He purrs. 

“Better get started on mine then,” he breathes. “Put yourself to good use.”

You shyly get to cleaning his room. 

You try to ignore his hand disappearing behind the washcloth, pumping his cock. You can’t ignore the silk ruining your panties. Scarcely, you manage to ignore the caution creeping up your back. Your lower instinct that screams at you as you feel his stare tracking you across the room, burning. Smouldering. Warning. 

Daylight scissors into you.

It melts the sleep in the corners of your eyes. It clears the haze in your head. It interrupts the sultry dream you were having. Your flesh is still pocked and your clit is still peaked, as you rehash the contents of it. 

You can still feel Simon’s weight on top of you, sweat compressioning you, the sheets gathering under your slick back. Your underwear had dangled from one of your ankles, flapping and swaying as Simon pounded into you. Your head bobbed over the lip of the mattress. Your tits bounced, nipples caught between his gnashers. Your slick ran down your cunt and over your asshole, pooling onto the floral bed sheets. You just quit your job. You didn’t care about the sheets. Or the Pettie’s down the veranda. Phillip was on the other side of the door too, and he could hear everything. Your moans. Simon’s balls dragging over your furled hole. His groans—

—And the sudden tearing of cartilage and skin stretching, rubbery, as Simon shifted into something else above you. Something larger. Deadlier. His drool dripped onto your chest, and his cock was suddenly too big for your pussy, popping back out until only his tip managed to squeeze inside your puffy hole. He snarled down at you, but it got covered by a creeping balaclava. You still reached your orgasm, quivering around his cockhead. Watching him go spotty and graphite-like in your vision, as if he were a composite sketch.

You get out of bed and wash the absurd dream away under the shower. The nozzle hits your clit weakly, and you never reach your high. You show up to work pigeon-toed and sweaty. Pent-up. You scrub harder at bathtubs and almost snap at Phillip when he swats your bum. Almost. Simon is watching from the dining hall, and he makes you skittish.

The day rolls by sluggishly. There’s a Do Not Disturb sign dangling from Simon’s door, so you don’t get the chance to see him in his room. You huff and puff at the Pettie’s and give Kate attitude. It’s the peak of afternoon when you’re sent home, shoulders stiff because Phillip squeezed them and tacked on, ”I can always help out if you’re stressed, peach,” before shepherding you out the door.  

You bike into town. Indulge in the diner’s famous rhubarb pie because the motel’s cherry pie is nowhere near as good, though you’ll never tell Kate that. You polish off your treat then ride to the beach (which is more of a graveyard for birds and braided, washed ashore sea meadow), and prop your bike against the wooden bollards.

The beach is familiar with you. It sees you when you're overwhelmed by the monotonous colour of your life. You never worry about meddling kids or loud teenagers or anything, because the stench of fish usually keeps them away anyway. It's your own Shangri-La. Your little Eden. Albeit overcast and greyscale, with an ocean spray that gets into your hair and dries out your mouth.

You slip out of your Mary Jane flats and wade through the sand dunes, breathing in salt and sulfur and tasting it on your lips. You maneuver around seawrack and driftwood and eventually find yourself seated behind a tussock of seaoats, watching as the waves lazily beat against the shore.

It's easy for you to lie down and get comfortable among the scent of iodine and the feel of pillowy granules. It's also easy to let your eyes flutter shut, lulled into limbo by the ebbing tide and murmuring waves.

You stir awake with flaccid lungs.

Presentiment hangs in the air, thick, like a blanket of smog. It interrupts your breathing pattern and makes you light-headed. Vertiginous. Makes you see things that aren't there…

…Such as the off-white scleras and twists of dilated blood vessels that stare at you from the foreshore.

They approach you eerily. Two pieces of driftwood floating over the waves, jolting slightly as it hits the sand, splintery and mossy and heavy.

The man feathers toward you from the blue glow of the beach. You squint through the darkness, because maybe it's the sheriff, but you know he walks with a drunken gait and he…strides like a bear on its hind legs.

The way he lurches for you says otherwise. Perhaps he's rather a panther or a coyote, or some crude backyard breed of all three.

A large palm splits itself over your mouth. An arm lays beside you and secretes a musk of sweat and iron. A knee digs into the plush of your cunt, agitating your clit, as a warm breath fans over your pulse point.

"Waited for me, didn't you?" he rasps against your neck.

In your stupor, you brace your hands against his shoulders. A sticky substance coats his skin, too viscous to be sweat.

Nausea knots in your throat. Tremors wash over your body. You dig your nails into his flesh, and when your hands don't fall through it like you hoped, you gravely realize he's made of muscle and skin instead of your drunken, sleep-inspired imagination.

You experience a cruel loss of equilibruim. If you weren't already lying down, you'd collapse to the ground. You go limp in the sand, thawing into his hands which you unwillingly notice are caked with that sticky substance too.

"There's dangerous folk 'round here," he grunts. "What if someone else followed you? A big, bad man?"

A chord of recognition stirs in your brain at his voice. That brash accent.

"Simon…?"

He chuckles. "It's me, sugar."

You squeeze your thighs together but it's abortive. He pries them apart anyway, and cups your pussy through your panties.

He rubs you through the gauze, knuckling your soft lips. Through the darkness you barely see the misshapen silhouette of his mouth. That snarl, curling off him as if he suffers from some chronic wasting disease, slowly atrophying and turning into some vestigal cadaver.

He kisses down your sternum. Grips your hand and forces it over his crotch. Your fingers brush over the solid mass. It's hard due to both stiffened denim and his thickening cock.

"All for you," he mumbles. "Take it out, sugar."

You fumble with the metal teeth of his zipper. You pull him out with both hands and your mouth goes dry. Tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. Deadly nightshade hitting the back of your throat. Despite you, your thighs squish together, and a rumbling chuckle slips through the seam of his lips.

He's huge. Fat and heavy, so much so you need both fingers to wrap around him.

"Give it a kiss, yeah?" he coos. "Like a sweet girl."

You spread your lips against his cockhead. You pull away and a string of precum chases you, but Simon is pushing your head back down and bucking his bristly pubic bone into to your nose.

"There it is," he grumbles. "Such a big girl, aren't you?"

You look up at him with wide, wet eyes.

The stiffs of hair on his pubic bone tickle your nose. You smell sweat and iron, but you can't tilt your head away, because the stout muscle of his arms keep you in place.

Fighting is futile. His cockhead hits the back of your throat like oleander and he holds your jaw in place, dimpling your cheeks with his rough fingers, letting his balls slap against your chin.

Just as you're getting used to his size, he pulls out, breaking the strands of saliva and precum between you.

"Take off y'panties, sugar."

You pull them off and squirm at the way the gusset clings to your pussy lips a little while longer. Simon takes it against his nose and sniffs it, running his fingers through your pussy, spreading your slick.

You don't get a warning before he's curling one of his fingers into you. Massaging your walls. Scissoring you open. Thumbing your clit.

He adds another and twists them deeper—meaner—into you. He swallows your whimpers but spits them back into your mouth when he empties his saliva down your throat. He keeps stroking the inside of your pussy, your sticky walls, and rubbing your clit.

He squeezes your cheeks together and gives you a big kiss. He coos condescendingly into your lips, and licks away your fresh track of tears. "It's supposed to hurt, baby. Don't be mad, alright? It'll feel good soon."

He gets deeper and deeper. Knuckle-deep, when he curls his fingers inside you. You lock up tight and thrust your hips through the bulk of your orgasm, trembling and quivering around him.

Your lips quiver around a plea when he pulls his fingers out. It's a lapse of judgement on your part—you know it—but you can't help it anymore.

"Please what?" He grins. It's ugly. Like a truss of stitching falling off his face, mangled and chewed up.

"Can you g-go…" you squirm when he rolls his tumb over your clit, agonizingly slow. "Can you go–"

"C'mon baby," he whispers against your lips, "spit it out. Big girls use their words."

"Canyougodownonme?" you gasp and grip onto him, bucking your cunt into his palm.

He chuckles against your mouth. He kisses down your chest. He crinkles his nose against the husk of your pussy. He deeply inhales and vibrates at your scent. He darts his tongue out and flattens it against your dewy folds, licking a stripe up your slit.

You writhe but he holds you in place with those big, thickened hands of his. They're wet but at this point you can't tell if it's your arousal or that mysterious substance on him. You can't even think about it, not with your thoughts melting away, escaping you like the humming waves.

Simon's a bit too aggressive in how he eats you out. It doesn't come from a juvenile attempt influenced by sex-on-screen with undue emphasis, but rather his tongue spelling devotion into the fat of your cunt.

Your fingers flex into his blonde head of hair. It's closely cropped, but you still manage to pull him closer, grinding yourself down on the bumpy bridge his nose. You pull on his hair and he growls and sends a quake up your spine. He wraps his lips around your clit and swirls his tongue further into you, softly suckling your juices out.

The waves fold over each other, beating against the shore. They crest and crash and just as they race up the sand dune, teasing your flexing toes, your second orgasm crashes into you too. You twist and twirl Simon's hair in your grip and almost miss the feel of something cold being slipped onto your finger.

You're shaking, trembling, as you raise your hand. You're hazy and the moonlight is shrouded by clouds. It makes the mystery object look smeared across your vision, blotchy and spotty.

You hold it a little closer to your face, examining the twinkle as Simon massages your thighs to ease the quiver.

You turn your hand over and whisper your thumb over its curve.

You bristle when you realize what it is. It hangs off you a little loosely, burning your knuckle.

A pinchbeck wedding ring.

Stained with red, and still warm from the body it was pulled from.

Bile gathers in your throat and burns your mouth. Tears gather in your eyes. A small gasp parts your lips, billowing out of you like the mushroom-head of a flare just as realization fully commits itself to you.

You shiver. Both through realization, and your orgasm. "…What did you do to him?"

"Took care of him," Simon grunts, caressing your hair. "I'm supposed to handle the monsters under your bed, ain't I?"

You spare him a glance. You heed the white of his teeth and a smudge of—you know it's blood—across his cheek. His eyes, hidden in the shadowy canopy. His nose, bent out of shape and speckled with blood.

"You're not going to hurt me."

He brushes your hair back. "No."

You pant into him when he captures you for a kiss. "…Why?"

"I'm supposed to take care of ya," he grunts. "That's what couples do, no?"

He pushes something in your grasp—a folding knife. Your thumb slips over the two initials engraved into the handle—your initials.

"How do y'feel about Kate?" he asks.

Your coworker flashes into your mind. "I like her"

Simon—the Ghost—grunts. "And what about that bloke at the diner? What's his name?"

"I– Franklin?"

"Hn. Does he bother you?"

You thumb through your memory. Perhaps what you say is an embellishment, giddy of what Simon's going for.

"He did steal my bike once…" you mumble.

Simon pricks up. His chest puffs out and squishes against your arm. "He married?"

"Yeah, um," you swallow, "for about ten years."

"You want his pretty ring? Or his wife's?" Simon asks, then kisses you. "Anythin' you want."

Your lips stretch into a smile.

Simon cups your cheek, blood rubbing off on you. For the first time ever, you feel exhilarated at the thought of the future. At the thought of being taken care of. Doted on.

Suddenly the town doesn't feel so cold anymore. It doesn't feel like an invisible barricade is hemming you in. Simon is your ticket out of here, and a ticket to your new life.

You can abandon your pinafore and Mary Jane flats and maybe he'll spoil you with frilly socks and a cute sundress. Maybe he'll fuck you in his truck or in gas station bathrooms as the corpse of a man who wronged you rots in the truckbed. Maybe you'll get caught but at least you'll be together and at least your name will finally be known.

Not as the housekeeper girl, but Mrs Riley.

[fldx]

went bowling today 😃 got a strike for the first time 😄 managed somehow to injure my thumb nail and made it bleed 🙂

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. your stressed lover comes home from a long day of work and finds you asleep. he can’t help but wake you up in a rather special way.

wc. 1.6k total

tags. dom!jjk men x sub!female reader (gojo, toji, sukuna). smut. general warnings: dark content — somnophilia (consensual). size difference because im self indulgent ; reader gets referred to as small. ehm they’re kinda depicted as perverts. rest of the warnings are given before each character.

GOJO SATORU; cw. cunnilingus. fingering. he’s a bit whiny. nicknames used ‘princess, sweets’. he cums untouched lol.

“mm, fuck. look at my sweet princess,” satoru sighs under his breath. he’s welcomed home by the sight of you sleeping peacefully on the bed, your hips lifted a bit as you rest on your stomach.

satoru’s voice is shaky as he mutters something to himself. he carefully sits on the edge of the bed, trembling fingers reaching out to trace the shape of your plump ass. he can’t not touch you—especially when you present yourself so nicely to him.

it isn’t long before his fingers dip under the material of your shorts. satoru gauges your reaction to his advances and notices the corners of your lips twitching. a sign you’re unconsciously feeling his warm touch.

“fuckfuckfuck. ‘m sorry, princess — i have to.”

satoru gives up any self-control that he had left. he doesn’t waste any time pulling down your shorts and panties to your knees. his already erect cock twitches in his pants at the beautiful scene; your wet cunt in all its glory.

he clenches his fists, desperately trying not to do anything. that determination does not last long.

in just a second, satoru’s already lapping up your juices, his hands firmly holding your hips still. his nails dig into your flesh and he moans once he feels your body instinctively pushing back against his mouth.

“mm, s’rry,” the sorcerer whines in a muffled voice. he knows you’re awake by now—judging purely by the increase of your little moans of pleasure. his tongue doesn’t stop moving between your spread folds, tasting you until your thighs are spasming.

you’re confused when you’ve awoken to a tingly sensation between your legs, though you quickly put two and two together. you’re too lazy to comment on satoru’s sudden actions, only babbling a soft ‘welcome home’ between whimpers.

satoru’s breath hitches the moment you tell him those words. those sweet words. like you don’t mind that he’s dragged you out of your slumber this way. it’s such a turn on—your acceptance to what he’s doing.

“yeah? oh god,” satoru’s nose bumps against your slit each time he moves his jaw, lewdly slurping the fluid your pussy produces. he can feel his dick throbbing against his pants, begging to be released, “ngh, can’t—gonna cum, sweets.”

your lover’s desperate whines make your fingers curl around the bedsheets. the sole image of him cumming in his pants just from eating you out pushes you over the edge as well.

you reach your climax at the same time. satoru lolls his tongue out to catch your juices, moaning loudly against your puffy folds as he feels it trickling into his mouth. he can feel a wet spot forming on the fabric of his boxers, “shit.”

the white-haired man removes himself from behind you, licking his lips for any residue. you lazily look over your shoulder at him with glazed over eyes. his big hands are already working on his belt and zipper.

satoru shows you the dark spot in his underwear and pouts, “ah, look what you’ve done to me, princess—made a mess out of my favourite boxers b’cause of you.”

FUSHIGURO TOJI; cw. tiny hint of implied age gap (reader early 20’s, toji early 30’s). p in v -> unprotected. spooning position. reader gets called ‘little girl, slut, whore’. degradation / objectification.

toji kicks his shoes off and makes a beeline towards his bedroom. he’s in a shitty mood after he had met up with a rude client. despite that, his lips curl up into a faint smile the moment he sees you laying on his bed.

“heh, there’s my little girl,” his voice is raspy, hoarse and utterly exhausted. the older man climbs under the covers and wraps his strong arms around your small figure. he nuzzles his nose into your hair, breathing in the nice smell of your shampoo.

toji wouldn’t be him if his hands didn’t wander all over your skin. his rough palms squeeze everywhere and anywhere—enjoying the feeling of your soft flesh in them. you subconsciously react to his touches by pushing your body back against his.

“. .do not,” toji hisses like you can hear him. he was already half hard on his way home as the thoughts of you clouded his mind, but now that he’s actually with you, he’s fully aroused. especially with your ass pushing back at his aching bulge.

he’s too lazy to get up and get himself off in the shower. thus, he starts off by humping the fat of your ass. the friction isn’t enough for the assassin and therefore he switches to the real thing.

“such a slutty fuckin’ thing. can’t keep my hands off ya,” toji groans into your ear, half hoping you’d hear all the dirty things he’s calling you. your pants are pulled down and your panties are pushed to the side—making way for his fat cock to drill into you.

your impatient lover adjusts your legs so he could have easier access to your tight cunt. the slow strokes inside you make you squirm and tighten up around his throbbing erection. this only riles toji up more.

“hah, y’can feel it even in y’r sleep, can’t you? my cock stretching your tight pussy out—my pussy,” toji corrects himself with a low moan. his warm breath hits the nape of your neck, his hands fondling you whilst he thrusts aggressively.

he doesn’t care if you wake up or not. he’s going to use your delicious body to relieve himself. you gave him the green light when he asked you if he could fuck you in your sleep when he needs it. so, there’s no reason to stop now.

you eventually jolt awake once the continuous stimulation become too much. if it wasn’t for toji’s hand on your mouth, you’d have woken up the neighbours with your loud and lewd moans.

toji scoffs. he keeps a tight grip on your face and thigh, not stopping the rough pounding he’s giving you. he sees your eyes roll back from the unexpected pleasure and he snickers.

his lips connect with yours, muffling your moans that way;

“hah, seems like you needed this as much as i did—waking up ‘n already moaning like a whore. missed me that much, huh?”

SUKUNA RYOMEN; cw. true form!sukuna. has two cocks woops. masturbation (m). turns into blowjob. hairpulling. reader gets called ‘brat’.

sukuna returns to his chambers. finally, after dealing with some sorcerers that’ve had challenged him for a battle. he’s tense, sweaty and obviously in need to blow off some steam. he knows just where to get said relief.

sukuna’s red eyes instantly spot your sleeping form on the middle of his kingsized bed. his favourite little human—resting without a care in the world. the innocent sight is one that sets his loins on fire.

“oi, brat,” the male speaks up as he sits on his side of the bed. the mattress dips to one side due to his huge form, causing your small body to automatically manoeuvre his way. you don’t seem to stir nor wake.

you’ve gotten used to sukuna’s demanding voice to the point that it doesn’t scare you anymore. he smacks his lips in frustration. guess he’ll take care of his problem himself for now.

low grunts fill the spacious room—sukuna’s head lolls back against the headboard whilst two of his hands move swiftly on his now exposed cocks. his sharp eyes are focused on your body, shamelessly checking you out. from the cleavage of your breasts, your clothed cunt to your perfect parted lips; all of you is turning him on.

“fuck, can’t believe this. .” sukuna curses under his breath. he can’t believe how weak he is for you. how his cocks throb and leak drops of pre-cum from just the sight of you sleeping. fully clothed at that.

whilst one set of his hands is busy touching himself, the other reaches out to grope your body. one hand on your chest and one on your ass. of course, sukuna doesn’t pass on the opportunity of smacking the soft flesh.

“i said get up,” sukuna clicks his tongue and tries to wake you again. this time you do actually wake up. a short, inaudible whine leaving your lips. you take a few seconds to process the view in front of you; your lover with both his thick cocks out, pre-cum making the lengths glimmer under the light of the lamp.

it got you horny. immediately. you slowly crawl over between his legs, like you know just what to do. sukuna raises an eyebrow—surprised by your lack of questioning. he’s amused at how fast you took the hint.

“that’s it. you’re learning fast,” sukuna sighs deeply the moment your lips wrap around his upper dick. your small hand jerks off the lower one. both stimulations at once makes the man beneath you grunt in satisfaction.

you still are and look extremely drowsy, though your devotion to sukuna knows no bounds. even in your half-asleep state. the king of curses pats your head—a surprisingly appreciative and loving gesture that he rarely does.

you bob your head carefully, not wanting to gag too much. however, the pace you set is too slow for sukuna who’s waited way too long to fuck you. in any way.

he bucks his hips—thrusting upwards into your hot mouth. his strong hands yank at your hair, keeping you in place as he hears your muffled whimpers of protest. not that he cares; you choking on his fat cock only adds to his pleasure.

“keep it up like that. fuck, where do you want me to cum? in your little mouth? yeahh, you’d like that huh, filthy girl. you’d have to work harder for it if you’re so desperate.”

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR FAVORITE CREATORS !!

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Tattered

Logan Howlett/Wolverine x Mutant!Reader

Summary: Reader, Wade, and Logan decide to go out in the nearby woods to do some casual training. Once Logan and the Reader get to fight, things get heated and escalate. (Reader has a regenerative power as well)

CW: fighting, stabbing, blood, jealous!Logan, Wade being Wade, choking, biting, fingering, oral f!receiving, unprotected p in v, creampie,

a/n: this is my first time writing for Logan. I am hella excited. Reader has a regenerative power along with super strength and nails that turn into razor sharp claws. Also sorry I don’t proof read, so grammar mistakes I’m sure

~~~

“Fuck— I don’t remember you being this strong!” Wade Wilson, a close friend and teammate of yours, coughed out. You had decided to do some casual training in the nearby woods, giving you all full access to throw down to your full abilities. You pinned him down with your hips, pulling a small knife from your holster. Hovering it above his groin. “Say uncle or you’re gonna be growing Wade Jr. back,” you grinned.

Wade gasped, “Baby Knife? You wouldn’t—“

You began pressing your knife into his pants, breaking the fabric as you inched closer to his favorite asset. “Okay- Okay! Jesus Christ and Mary— UNCLE! There I said it,” Wade held his hands up in between you showing mercy.

A deep chuckle was heard behind you.

Logan Howlett, The Wolverine, stood behind leaned against a tree. Watching as you and Wade fought back and forth for the last thirty minutes. You had taken a liking to Wade’s new roommate. Gruff and stubborn in nature, distant and aloof, but somehow still alluring.

You rolled off Wade, standing and wiping the dirt off your clothes. “When I said I wanted you in my pants, that wasn’t what I had in mind,” Wade stood up behind you. You threw the knife into his thigh, pulling a disapproving groan of agony from him. Silent curse words pouring from his mouth as he pulled the knife out, “I’m keeping this.”

“If you two are done flirting, I think it’s my turn to fight,” Logan smirked at you. He was incredibly handsome. Ever since Wade had came back from the Void with Logan, you had been infatuated. His dark hair, deep voice, everything about him was admirable. Especially right now as you watched him remove his flannel, sporting a white tank top underneath. The veins on his arms popped against the strong muscle. You felt your cheeks heat up.

“Aren’t you a little old to be fighting someone?” You teased as the new 200-year-old from another universe stood before you.

“Oh no, no, no. Me and this guy went at it all night the first time we met,” Wade chimed in. Logan gritted his teeth at him, warning him to watch what he says next.

“All night you say? Sounds like my kind of party,” you stretched your body, preparing to face off with the new guy. You watched Logan roll and pop his neck, stretching out his arms. Admiring his muscular physique.

“He’s got the stamina of a college freshman wired on Redbull and pure sex drive,” Wade patted Logan on the shoulder. Logan held up a fist to Wade’s face, claws extending mere inches from his eyes. “Shut the fuck up. You had your chance to fight, now leave,” he growled at Wade. Wade stomped his foot like a toddler, whining as he spoke, “Whaaaat!? No fair! You got to watch me fight Sexy Mutant Mamma, why don’t I get to watch the two hottest people in our building go at it!” You chuckled at his minor temper tantrum.

“Because you make everything weird! Now get outta here,” Logan held his claws under Wade’s chin pulling a small drop of blood from him. Wade spun on his heal, fists bundled up at his sides as he stomped away into the woods. Grumbling the entire way, “Not fucking fair. Wanted to see their clothes ripped off. Fucking fuck…”

You placed your hands on your hips, standing straight and firm before Logan. “So are we gonna do this or—“ Logan lunged forward at you, catching you off guard slightly. “Holy shit—“ you jumped before he could tackle you to the ground with his first attack. He dug his claws into the ground as he spun around to face where you were now. You opted out of grabbing one of your weapons. Deciding to go in with brute strength instead. You ran towards Logan, fist pulled back preparing to punch him. He grabbed your hand mid punch, twisting your arm. You kicked a leg up hitting him in the ribs. Logan’s claws extended, stabbing you in forearm. You widened your eyes at the three blades puncturing your skin, glaring up at him. You scratched up at him with your razor sharp nails, gashing his tank top and skin. He chuckled out, looking at his blood momentarily. You pushed him away, pulling his blades from your arm.

Your jaw hung open as you stared at him. A shit eating grin on his face. “Wade may be scared of you, but I’m not. I will kick your geriatric ASS,” you dove toward him, cutting at his legs with your hands. Ripping and tearing his jeans as you slashed at his flesh. Logan growled in pain before stabbing you in the back and picking you up over his head. Throwing you onto the ground. You were quick to hop back up to your feet. You caught your breath shaking off the pain you felt. Writhing slightly.

You darted back over to him, kicking at his leg causing him to fall to his knee. You then jumped and kicked him with both feet, throwing him onto his back. “Fuck!” He cursed at you. You climbed on top of him, straddling his waist as you began punching him. You watched as his nose broke just to heal right in front of you. A cocky grin written on your face as Logan’s eyes stared into yours. Almost as if he was enjoying you on top of him. His arm flexed as he stabbed his claws into your thigh. You bared your teeth at him screaming in pain, “Motherfucker!” He lifted his other fist, releasing the claws right in front of your nose. “I’d hate to mess up that pretty face of yours, doll,” he teased. Your cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. Unable to deny how quickly his pet name went to your core. He slashed his claws down your chest, ripping your shirt.

You crawled off him, attempting to get away. “If you wanted to see my boobs that bad you could’ve just asked!” you playfully called back to him. He chased after you on all fours. You threw one of your small knives into his shoulder attempting to slow him down. He grabbed you by the ankle. Falling forward and smashing your jaw into the dirt. You tussled with him, kicking and swatting with claws. Cutting up his arms and shoulders as he tried to pull you back. Bruising strength as his fingers dug into your skin. His eyes were black as he stared at you, a lustful grin on his lips. He jumped forward pinning your body underneath his.

You shared in your panting. His claws dug into the dirt beside your head, the necklace he wore dangling in your face. Sweat beamed on both your bodies. Both of you bearing your teeth at each other. Your panting mouth slowly morphing into a grin, throwing your head back against the dirt stretching out your neck with a sigh. He cocked an eyebrow at you, your eyes darting back to meet his. He leaned down planting a feverish kiss on your lips. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you deepened it. He pulled his claws from the dirt, wrapping his arms around your back and pulling your fronts flush. Sloppy kisses being exchanged between you, teeth clanking together.

Logan leaned back on his knees, holding you in his arms. “You sure do know how to fight, doll,” he cooed as his eyes stared at your chest. “Yeah? You ain’t too bad for a 200-year-old geezer,” you smirked. Logan grinned, raising an eyebrow at your mockery. One of his hands wrapped around your neck, squeezing at it as pushed you back slightly, “You and Wade sure do have one thing in common. Never knowing how to shut your fucking mouths.” You gasped with his hand on your jugular, smiling widely at him. “I definitely like your mouth a lot better,” he leaned in planting a kiss on your lips. Releasing his grip and pushing your hair out of your face. You caught your breath, hooded eyes staring into his hazel ones. His fingers petted through your hair, “Couldn’t stand to see you on top of him like that. Him having his little fucking hands on you.”

You had no idea Logan had felt this way about you. Sure there was flirting, but that was in your nature. You flirted with everyone, you assumed Logan was playing along. Catching him staring at you from time to time. Him lingering in your doorway before you headed into your apartment. Occasional pet names.

“Ooo, Mr. Jealousy,” you teased. He smirked above you. Leaning down and pressing his lips to your throat, sharp canines grazing as he lapped and sucked your skin. You tangled one of your hands in his hair, holding his head in place as he kissed your skin. Gentle moans falling from your lips. His lips trailed to your ear, “Sounds so pretty.” He pulled your lobe between his teeth. He had marked up your entire neck with hickeys and bite marks.

“Gotta make sure when we get back, Fucko knows to keep his hands off you,” Logan purred in your ear. Every inch of your skin was red hot. Arousal decorating your senses as you stared at the man before you. His hardening cock pressing into you through his jeans. You ran your hands down his chest, pulling a softness from him you had not yet seen. Hooking your fingers under his tattered shirt, lifting it over his head and leaving his chest exposed. Glistening torso with some of the firmest abs you had ever seen, hair on every inch. Admiring his body, fingers dancing delicately on the hair on him. Trailing down to his v-line, fingertips finding the cold metal of his large belt buckle.

Logan pulled your lips to his, kissing you like a touch starved man. Hunger painting his movements, teeth grazing your lip. His fingers tangled in your hair holding you so that your lips would not leave his. One hand ghosting down your side, going up under your shirt. Loving how your soft skin contrasted his corse fingers. Finding their place on your breasts, massaging them with his large hands. Pinching at the thin material of your bra, feeling your hardening nipples. You moaned into his mouth with his touch.

Your lips moved down to his neck, nipping at his flesh. Pulling a deep chuckle from him. A soft moan fell from his lips as yours worked down to his clavicle. His hand guided your chin upward, pulling your lips back to his. Fingers finding the button on your pants, undoing them and placing his hand down the front. Fingers massaging your lips, feeling your arousal glisten on his fingers. “Mmm, you’re so wet, baby doll,” he grinned widely. Your body rutted when he dipped his fingers into you. His name a moan from your throat. Thick fingers curled and massaged your insides, his thumb circling your clit.

You dug your fingers into his back as he continued edging you closer and closer. The tips of your claws penetrating his skin, a wince falling from him. “Easy, sweetheart,” Logan cooed. You mumbled sorry, focusing to retract your claws. One of your hands found its way to his bulge. Palming at his hard cock. Logan moaned at your touch, eyes black with lust as his heavy brow stared at you. You smirked, still a complete mess with his fingers inside you. You tugged at the waist of his pants. Pulling a smile from him.

“You wanna see my cock that bad?”

Electricity flooded every inch of your body with his words. “If I say yes will you fuck me?” You smirked at him. A wide grin painted his face. Raising an eyebrow with your words, leaning in to plant a kiss on you. “Mouth,” he jokingly called you between kisses.

Abruptly pulling his hand from your core and pushing you onto your back. You huffed when you hit the hard dirt. Eyes widening at him. Large hands finding the waist of your pants, pulling them down your legs. Ripping your panties off with them leaving your soaked core bare to the air. Legs shaking with anticipation for him. Logan stared at your core, tongue darting out to wet his lips at the sight. Unable to control himself, delving down and immediately flattening his tongue against your core. You arched your back at the sudden sensation. Grinding your hips against his tongue. Lapping at your entrance like it was his last meal.

Climax building its way through every inch of you as his tongue pressed into you. Heavy fingers digging into your thighs. Deep hazel eyes looking up at you from your hips. The look of him pushing you over the edge. Orgasm washing over you. Your body convulsing and heaving as waves of ecstasy engulfed you. Shouting Logan’s name to the sky.

“There ya go, good girl,” Logan encouraged pulling away from your sensitive opening. You leaned your head back, squinting your eyes shut as waves of aftershock washed over you. The sound of a belt buckle hitting the ground pulling your attention back to him. And what a sight it was. Logan’s large cock curved upward right in front of you. A large vein popping out on the underside, the tip swollen and red and leaking with pre-cum, a bundle of hair decorating the area around it. A mouth watering image.

Logan snickered seeing you slack jawed staring at him. Fucking him with your eyes. Hands finding their place on the ground next to either side of your head, cock pressing at your entrance. All that was left of his clothes was that damn necklace. Chain dangling in your face as you admired the handsome, sweat soaked man.

Large hand positioning himself at your entrance, head delving into your walls slightly. Pulling a moan from you. Swirling the tip around causing your body to quiver, pussy still sensitive from your prior orgasm. Even just the tip stretched you as he pressed into you slowly. Soft groans falling from you.

“C‘Mon, I know you can take it,” Logan purred easing himself into you. You squinted your eyes as his cock begged to pry you open. The girth making you fear he’d rip you open. Fully sheathing himself inside your tight walls. His face contorting in absolute pleasure. Adjusting around his girth, thick cock stretching you perfectly. Logan eased his way back before thrusting back in. With each snap of his hips you moaned. Finding a fast pace in you, panting heavy above you.

You leaned forward placing your lips back to his. Tongues exploring each other’s mouths. Exchanging spit as you licked into each other. Teeth hitting as you deepened the kiss. Hands exploring up his chest, dancing up his toned body. Resting on his cheeks. Lust filled eyes staring into each other as he continued inside you. Slack jawed and breathing heavy.

“Perfect pussy,” Logan growled above you. Thumbs caressing his cheeks. A knot building up inside you that begged to come undone around his large cock. Feeling your walls constrict around him as he thrusted. Each movement pushing you closer to the edge.

“Gonna fill you up, doll. Gonna be so full of me,” Logan panted into your ear. His back straightened as one of his hands found its place on your throat. A minor squeeze of flesh between rough fingers. Eyes rolling back into your head as you felt yourself preparing to finish. Thrusts grew sloppy and harsh, sounds of skin smacking together filled the air. Balls smacking into you with each heavy movement. His name spilled from you as you climaxed around him. Logan moaned loudly feeling how you squeezed him. Milking his cum from him. Shooting hot ropes of himself inside you. Hips rutting as he filled you full of his seed.

He remained inside you, feeling the way your pussy still wrapped around him. Occasional squeeze of walls from aftershock. Feeling him go soft inside you. Both of you wincing at the loss of sensation when he pulled out. Catching your breath as Logan helped with your pants. You sat up, admiring him as he got dressed. Logan looked over his shoulder, grinning as he caught you staring. Extending a hand to you and helping you to your feet, pulling you flush against his chest. Hand petting your hair as he leaned in and gave you a kiss. Silently smiling back and forth.

“So who won?” You joked. Logan rolled his eyes, “Don’t push your luck, doll.” You giggled at his response. Logan wrapped an arm around you as you both headed out of the woods. Loving the warmth of his body next to yours.

“Next time I won’t be leaving,” Wade’s cocky grin met you between the trees. Logan gritted his teeth. He stood with both hands on his hips watching the two of you walk toward him in your ripped and blood stained clothes. “Sounded like you guys were really going at it on the ground there. Sounded just like when I’d catch mommy and daddy having their weekly wrestling matches,” Wade raised his eyebrows. Your eyes darted up at his. Wade caught sight of the purple marks on your neck, laughing. “I didn’t know X-Men training gave you bruises on your neck too!” Wade cackled to himself. Wiping a fake tear from his eye as he sucked in a breath. “When’s it my turn for that kind of training, Y/N?”

You both ignored him, walking past him. You gave a good punch to his stomach, knocking the breath out of him. Wade hunched over coughing. Logan leaned down whispering in Wade’s ear, “Jealousy looks good on you, bub.” Dropping a heavy elbow onto his head knocking him to the ground.

Logan hurried his steps to catch up with you, walking beside you as you headed out of the forest. Exchanging smiles as you walked home together.

~~~

[END]

// Thank you so much for reading! I really love the response people had to the idea of this Fic so I’m more than happy to write it! If anyone has requests for Logan or any other characters, send them my way! If you are interested in being tagged in any future Fics, let me know! //

[tags]

@toogaytofunctiondangit ~ @megangovier ~ @darklover06 ~ @castle-of-ruin ~ @akumazwrld ~ @ravenn-darkholme ~ @laweona510 ~ @ivyinthesun ~ @eddiesguitarskills ~ @amandarobertsboyce ~ @urmom02 ~ @ilove-sexydilfsnmilfs ~ @yesi22 ~ @orangehairedbrat ~ @l0sercat ~ @introvertreader20 ~ @shoxji ~ @gingerplague ~ @porflenet

[crimsonbubble]

Saddle Up

cw. nsfw, afab!reader, kinda subby cowboy hongjoong, real men whimper and cry, dacryphilia, praise, overstimulation, creampie, handjob, oral, cum play, cum eating *not proofread, just pure horny

[IM SAVING SO MANY FUCKING HORSES RN DAWG]

His eyes are rolling back into his head as you rode him. His hands grab at your hips, his thighs tensing under you. His shirt once neat was now crumpled and hastily unbuttoned. His chest was now littered with soft red lines, as you drug your nails over his skin.

The cowboy hat on his head sat unsteadily as your hips only bounced with more vigour. Hongjoong stared up at you as he bucked his hips up from under you. The rough fabric of his jeans against your thighs is sure to leave your thighs sore. “Baby, fuck- Just like that,” His moans are slowly getting breathier and more pitched as you clenched around him.

Hongjoong’s nails dug into your hips, letting his hands loosely follow your movements. You stopped for a moment, steadying your hands behind you, on his thighs. You watched his mouth fall open as you roughly fucked yourself on his cock. “Fuck, make me cum- Baby, please make me cum-!”

Hongjoon’s mouth fell open as he whined through his release. You didn’t stop for a second, splitting yourself open on his cock rapidly. His grip on your hips tightened as you rode him through his orgasm. You pulled off of him, straddling his thighs. You stroked his cock swiftly, using his own cum to make the slide easier.

You leaned down, keeping your eyes on him as you pressed a kiss to his leaking tip. Hongjoong let out a string of curses, thrashing as you brought him to another orgasm so quickly. He wrapped his hand over yours, forcing you to get him through his next one. Hongjoong looked at you with tears in his eyes, the sensitivity no doubt catching up to him, “Aah- Your mouth, please baby-”

Hongjoong arched his back off the bed, his hand squeezing around yours. “I need- Fuck- Need your mouth ‘round me, please baby-!” You couldn’t help but coo at how he whined for you, locking your eyes on his as you swirled your tongue around his mushroom tip. Hongjoong is biting so hard at his lip, his hips shaking as your mouth sinks down on him.

There’s a mess of cum, spit, and your arousal soaked into his jeans. But the mess only spurs you on, wanting, no, needing to see Hongjoong fall apart again. You sank deep on his cock, taking in as much of him as you could. Hongjoong bucked his hips when the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat. You choked and sputtered around him, more drool pooling out of your mouth.

Hongjoong carefully held the back of your head as he shakily fucked your face. His moans were now full blown whimpers, tears streaking down his cheeks as he used your mouth. His movements grow sloppy every time he hits the back of your throat. All it takes is you looking up at him with teary eyes for him to blow another load. Hongjoong held your mouth down on his cock, coating your throat with his cum.

He removes his hands from you, his chest heaving as he watches you swallow his load. You moved up to straddle his hips again, grinding your wet, messy pussy against his aching cock, cooing at his twitches weakly. Hongjoong looks up at you with bleary eyes, cheeks and lips flushed a rosy pink and his chest heaving with every inhale. You nearly moan at his expression alone, watching his eyebrows furrow as you grind your hips on his.

Your eyes shift to the hat that sat on his head. Putting a hand on his shoulder, you lean over to take it, putting it on your own head. Hongjoong knows what this implies; it was the sole reason you dragged him to the bed as soon as he got back to his hotel room, but Hongjoong moans nonetheless. You lean back away from him, pushing the hat down onto your head as you grinned down at him.

Save a horse, ride a cowboy indeed.

[misserabella]

pls i love your work 😭 can you write an abby x reader where reader is on her period and she’s been irritated at everything and gets an attitude with abby and she puts reader in her place, like soft dom abby because she doesn’t wanna hurt you bc you’re extra sensitive on your period but she’s not gonna let you talk to her like that

bloody heaven

abby anderson x fem! reader

cw; +18 content! minors dni!, period sex!!, soft dom! abby x sub! reader, oral (r receiving) (IF YOU DON’T FW IT DON’T READ!!), fingering (r receiving), punishment, spanking, begging, slight teasing, praising, praise kink, abby being a perfect girlfriend, cum eating…

“keep counting baby.”

“five…” you whimper.

your ass was reddish below her hand, aching and on fire. a fire that warmed your bones and made you shiver, a fire that made you soak your thighs, made you impossibly wetter by how sensitive your period made you.

“you’re doing well baby. doing so well for me…” she caressed your abused skin, soothing it before another slap made your ass giggle and a moan fall from your lips.

your eyes were swelled with tears, your bottom lip swollen by your constant biting.

“six…” her touch trailed from your ass down in between your soaked thighs and onto your exposed core. you were on your middle of your period, your blood staining her fingertips. but your amazing and gorgeous girlfriend didn’t care about the mess. it was something natural. and just a little bit of blood didn’t make you less beautiful, or desirable.

“so wet for me already… this what you needed, baby? needed my attention? that why you got an attitude with me?” you nodded, making her coo. “but you know that’s not how we ask for things, do you princess.”

“i’m sorry…” you sobbed.

“i know baby, i know…” she muttered, circling your throbbing and sensitive puffy clit, making you whimper and shake on her lap. “but good girls like you know that punishments are important too, hm?” you nodded once again. “words, baby. use your pretty voice for me, come on.”

“yes. yes.” you moaned, thrashing and whining when she removed her touch from your soaked cunt.

“just four more, okay? just four more for me, baby.” she went back to your ass, giving you a little caress before her hand was raising and giving you a harsh slap. you let out a small whine, your nails digging on the sheets. “now, keep counting for me.” she softly said.

“seven.” another slap. “eight…” you whimpered out in a sob.

“two more baby. two more and i’ll take good care of this pretty pussy of yours, hm?” she promised. and you sighed, your ass rising against your touch. her eyebrows rose. “don’t tell me you’re enjoying this, angel.” your cheeks blushed, and she chuckled. “is this making my pretty girl wet, hm?” you nodded.

“please…” you begged, and she cursed.

“fuck it.” you squealed when abby suddenly and easily manhandled you so you’d be resting on your fours, your chest against the sheets as your ass stood up in the air, your soaked and throbbing pussy showing for her hungry eyes.

“abby!” you screamed her name when her mouth found you, her strong and warm hands spreading your ass checks as her tongue made a fat long strip from your clit to your hole, humming, never minding the metallic taste of your blood. you were not bleeding much, but it was still enough to make a mess of her lips and chin. “abby don’t!! i’m-!”

“you’re what?” she asked, licking at your clit and making you shudder. “you think a little bit of blood is gonna keep me away from this pussy? no fucking way.” your eyes rolled back when she sucked on that little bundle of nerves, making you whimper as you held on tight to the sheets, moaning when her palm came down onto your ass, making your hips thrust back against her touch and mouth. “so needy…” she groaned, kissing at your folds, licking up and down, moving her face side to side… she was devouring you, driving you insane.

“abby…” you whimpered her name as one of her fingers plunged inside of you, the squelching of your warm walls taking it making you flush.

her hungry eyes took in the way your gaping hole swallowed her in. “thaaat’s it. taking it so good for me, baby. such a good girl for me.” your back arched as another smack came down onto your ass, her mouth back at your clit as she started to thrust in and out of you, her finger stained in your pre cum and blood.

you whimpered, fucking yourself against it, gasping in pleasure when she pushed a second in. “i’m- i’m not gonna last. feels ‘s good…” you slurred, babbling, completely lost in your pleasure as abby fucked you dumb on her fingers and tongue.

“so sensitive…” she hummed. “bet it feels so good to get fucked like this, doesn’t it?” she thrusted harder, deeper, making you scream. “want you to cum for me, pretty girl. want you to make a mess out of my face.” she muttered against your pussy, flicking your clit with her tongue.

“yes, yes… im going to, im cumming! fuckfuckfuck!!” you cried out, feeling the band on your lower stomach snap, your orgasm hitting you so hard your whole world went quiet for a second. abby moaned against you when the tangy and creamy cum hit her tongue and filled her mouth, slurping up every last drop that dripped from your hole down your folds as she shallowly fucked you through it, overstimulating you to the point in which you had to push on her head so she would get away from your cunt.

you hissed at the feeling of her fingers pulling out and the last lick she made up your folds, slurping all your juices with a pleased hum. you kept your back arched, completely boneless as you tried to pace your breath. abby smiled, taking you in and slowly pulling you into her arms, staring at your dazed and pleased expression. “feeling better?” she asked, and you nodded, before you took in the sticky and bloody mess you’d made out of her cheeks, chin and mouth.

“abby… look at you.” you pouted, your hands cracking her pretty bloody face. the red only made her blue beautiful eyes shine more. she hummed, leaving a soft peck on your lips to take away that pout.

“anything for my baby.”

-

a/n; ty for your support angel <3

[hiddenlife-manager]

Lando Norris x FemReader

cw... oral, female recieving, creamy pussy, jealousy, jealous sex, Oscar being a flirt, Lando being mad, nail stabbing, dirty talk, orgasming, reasurrance, etc

notepad... You see a pattern of what I am most interested in writing about? DING DING DING oral sex, i have no clue why. I have been thinking of doing a F1 driver doing anal and I have no clue who would do anal, female recieving. I have Lewis, maybe Carlos, and maybe Charles

Part Two

You moaned out loud as Lando was right underneath your legs, his hands pushing up your thighs while his mouth harshly licked at your clit. Lando was filled with rage; it happened a few hours ago. You were calmly speaking to Oscar, his partner. It was no secret that Oscar was becoming a problem for Lando; people spoke about how Oscar was made to replace Lando and his potential. Lando began to fear for his future due to Oscar, and restment began to grow, and the last straw of his was when you were speaking to Oscar and hugging him. It was clear he was trying to take what was his. 

“He can’t make you feel as good as I do.” He growled under his breath, and all he could hear were your exacerbated moans as your legs were getting sore, but the pleasure made it all worth it. His mouth was on your clit sucking at it, causing you to rip a loud moan out of your lips, your head falling back. 

Lando's nails began to slowly dig into your thighs as he pushed them back. It was clear Lando was enraged, and you were the only thing he cared about. Sometimes he believed that if he couldn’t race anymore, the one thing he wanted was you—not the money, not the racing. Oscar crossed a line that he would never be able to take back; you were his, no one else's.

“Tell me you’re mine.” He demanded removing his lips from your pussy as you were breathing heavily; whines and complaints could be heard above him. You needed him; he made you feel so good. 

“I’m yours.” You cried out in almost a desperate whimper. His lips once more attached themselves to your pussy and there he placed his hands right at your lips and spread them apart. There he shoved his middle finger in you, and the sudden sensation caused your back to arch as you cried in pleasure. 

“Good girl.” His fingers began to curl, hitting the right spot slowly as he vigorously ate your pussy out. He had you where he wanted. You were his, no one else's, and if Oscar tried his tactics again, he wouldn’t hesitate for once to punch the bugger. He cared for Oscar at the start, and yet his distaste grew. 

You pushed yourself to his fingers, begging him to go faster with his fingers, and he did so to please the one only in his life. He shoved a second finger and continued to curl it as he went in and out of your pussy. He knew you were close to how much you were clenching. Your pussy sounded heavenly to him—the way it would squelch as he went in and out, and the white cream that came out of you. 

“Beg me, princess.” He continued to lick at your clit yet very slowly, his tongue went up and down, waiting for your whimpers and begs. As you do, he smirked and began to hurry his movement. He went in and out at a quicker pace, and his tongue flicked at your clit rapidly. There, he saw you arch your back so much that you moaned so loudly and began to shake from the pleasure. Your pussy clenching and unclenching as he kept it in you. “Don’t leave me for that bastard.” He finally let out his anger, which was subsiding. 

“Never…” You breathed out as you were exhausted from the feeling. But he knew well; Lando meant well and was simply worried.

[artinvain]

abby and pillow princess reader??

fuck I know I said I couldn’t write but I needed to stay up to write this — it reminded me too much of my wonderful butch so here we fucking go <3

cw: daddy term, strap use, oral and fingering. men minors blank blogs dni or follow!

abby’s mouth is warm and wet as she kisses and sucks at your neck, her hands gripping you as she presses herself against your plush body. abby’s hands feel so good gripping your pillowy hips as she encourages you to move your hips against her thigh.

“abby wait,” you sigh as she starts to bite a mark into your neck, “it’s fuck -“ you gulp - “please let me do something, I never give you anything-“

abby pulls back as if offended, watching you pant under is making her fucking throb for you. but she needs to understand what you mean first, she lays herself gently over you and strokes your face gingerly.

“baby, what are you saying?” she asks so softly, so wholeheartedly it makes you ache.

“I just -“ you reach for her hand and kiss the palm of it, taking a deep breath, “I don’t - I can’t really give you what what I feel like I should be when we fuck because -“

“you’re a pillow princess,” abby finishes as if it’s obvious, she’s still staring at you quizzically, “did you l think I didn’t know? what you think I thought you were just shy with the way you were jumping my bones baby?”

abby chuckles as she starts to kiss your neck again, and you gasp, back arching when she bites down - “you see that is what you give me,” abby moans, kissing you and bringing her fingers down to rub your clit gently. the way you start to pant instead of kiss, mouth opening in a whine, your body melting into her touch.

“hearing you make these pretty fucking sounds, makes me so fucking hot.” abby chuckles as you buck your hips against her fingers that are prodding your soft cunt and sinking her fingers in deep inside you, curling them. you groan, eyes rolling back as abby fucks her fingers into you, hitting your gspot over and over. your mind turning fuzzy with the feeling of her fingers stretching you.

“yeah baby fuck — seeing you get all dizzy like this,” abby squeezes you tits and rubs at your clit until your thighs are shaking, “giving you pleasure, gives me pleasure, princess,”

abby moans as you cum, grunting as she pulls your pants and panties down to mouth at your cunt and moans at the taste, pulling you close and handling your legs over her shoulders.

“oh god daddy, fuck feels so good,” you whine, your hands knotting in her hair. abby slides her fingers back into your clenching pussy, “taste so good honey,” abby drunkenly slurs, grunting at the taste of you as she licks around her fingers inside you and sucking your clit.

“please, shit daddy m’gonna cum,” you yelp near riding her face until abby holds you down with her forearm and curls her fingers into you until your leaking down her wrist.

you gasp shaking and swallowing for air as abby kisses your thighs, “fuck, th-thank you,” you whine out as abby rubs her hands over you body. “no - thank you sweetheart, but daddy wants to be inside you again-“ abby presses a kiss to your mouth, removing your hoodie and immediately latching her mouth to your tits.

you scratch your nails down abby’s back as she nips and licks on your nipples, “wanna fuck you with my cock - can I?” abby moans kissing your mouth and you nod eagerly.

“look so pretty,” abby smiles kissing down your torso and then moving around her room as you kick the sheets off the bed. then the bulky blonde is clambering back on the bed, biting her lip and pulling your thighs open.

“fuck,” abby moans at the sight of your wet cunt swollen and throbbing as she slides her lubed cock into you. her brows furrowed and moaning as she sinks in.

you yelp loudly when abby starts to buck her hips and “god you take me so well” she groans, grabbing your belly and pressing your thigh into you gently so she can fuck you deep and hard, buck and roll her hips so she can see you getting all fucked out and dizzy. “fuck, daddy!” you groan trying to grab hold of anything.

“oh you’re daddy’s good girl,” abby moans lowly, her hand reaching up to encircle your neck.

abby groans, intertwining your fingers, “my sweet princess - fuck you feel so good,” she moans, snapping her hips against you until you’re cumming.

“fuck - my god I love seeing you cum,”

you huff, bucking your hips up against abby and she gently pulls out to handle you onto your belly, you roll your neck, head fuzzy as she eases her tip in and you push yourself back against her cock. your pussy still clenching and twitching.

🫵🏾🏷️ @lesbian-useless @sexysapphicshopowner @iamaboringrattat @lavendersgirl @bimboprincezz @emiliabby

[ellecdc]

There are not nearly enough ffs on here where reader sucks Sirius off.

I just know he would sound so GOOOOD!

And he'd look so pretty with his head tilted back hshsbsknshsjsbsjshsbsjshshsjsnen! THIS MAN IS A WORK OF ART!

(If you take requests rn, I'd appreciate it if you solved my problem <3, if not, thanks for listening to me whine.)

mmmmmmmmmmm, I agree

Sirius Black x fem!reader who's very good with her mouth [848 words]

CW: oral (m receiving), nsfw/18+, swearing, no plot...sort of

Sirius only managed to open his eyes and point his face back towards you after you had nearly pierced through the skin of his thighs with your nails.

“Fuck!” He hissed as he raised a shaky hand to push some hair away from your eyes; his face beautifully flushed and chest heaving as he watched you pull off his cock.

“You have to be quiet, Sirius.” You chided gently as you continued stroking him, letting him cool down for a moment as you languidly licked up the underside of his shaft. “You’re going to alert the entire house of what we’re up to here.”

Here being the guest bathroom in James and Lily’s house as you sucked off your slightly tetchy boyfriend. 

Though, you had to admit he seemed far less tetchy now that he was sitting against the edge of the tub with your face hovering around his groin and your hand stroking him slowly. 

“Gotta stop being so bloody good at that then.” He shot back, though his usual haughtiness was significantly dimmed by the fact that his eyes were mostly pupil and he was looking down at you as if you had just completely torn him apart.

How wrong he was though.

“Good at what?” You asked innocently, before taking him back in your mouth and sinking low enough to feel the hairs that trailed down his stomach tickle your nose.

“Ugh, fuck, that! That!” He moaned above you, words melting into a sound bordering a moan and a sob as he placed his hand over yours in apology when you dug your nails back into his thigh at his volume. 

You removed your punishing grip from his thigh and brought your hand to his balls, relishing when they tightened in your grasp and his dick twitched in your mouth. 

“Shit, baby, I-”

You hummed as you carried on in your ministrations, the hand you currently had on his cock speeding up as you removed your mouth and brought it to join that first hand, making sure to give both equal attention before returning to his shaft. 

You watched in wonder as Sirius threw his head back again; his mouth hanging open as puffs of air and the occasional whine escaped his lips, the ones you couldn’t hear punctuated by the bobbing of his throat. 

He was gorgeous, always, but he was so ethereally beautiful like this; unreserved in his pleasure, carefully undone, and completely yours. 

You gave one last tug on his sack before moving both hands to his cock with renewed vigour, both of you ready to finish; you for your now aching jaw and burning knees, and him for having been edged on by you for the past however long you’d been hiding in the loo. 

“Fuck me, baby; holy shit.” He let out breathily, leaning forward and resting his hand on the top of your head. “Jesus Christ, yes.”

His hips started meeting you part way and you let him fuck into your mouth, having to keep yourself from getting too loud at the moans he was eliciting every time his tip hit the back of your throat.

“Fuck, I- I’m gonna-”

So you grabbed both of his wrists and held his hands in their place at the back of your head and relaxed your throat, sinking as far down onto Sirius’ cock as you could and swallowing as he came with a cry.

As quiet a cry as he could muster, at least, which you tried to be thankful for as you finally pulled off of your boyfriend and sat back on your heels, taking a moment to catch your breath. 

“I’m dead, I think I actually died. You killed me, gorgeous, you and that beautiful mouth.” He panted, words teasing but expression screaming torn apart and put back together again. 

Perfect.

“Feeling better?” You asked eventually as you stood - now on shaky legs - and fussed in the mirror, hoping to step out of this bathroom looking as little like your-face-was-just-fucked as possible. 

“I should bloody think so, Christ.” Sirius agreed as he stood - also on shaky legs - and righted the zip and belt on his black washed jeans. 

“Good. Be nice to your brother, then.” You ordered, earning you an indignant groan from Sirius that was all for show as he let his forehead fall against your shoulder.

“But he’s such a tosser.” 

You gave him a warning squeeze of his crotch - still sensitive if his hiss in reaction was anything to go by - and he pretended to relent.

“Fine, fine. I’ll play nice.” He agreed as he smacked a kiss to your cheek.  “Say, you have any siblings you want to squabble with? You know, so I can return the favour?” 

You gave him a sultry look as you helped fix his hair - still pretty well perfect after all that - and stepped back towards the door. “Oh, I have many ways that you can return the favour later, handsome.”

And with a matching smirk, he followed you out of the bathroom to return to the rest of the party.

[innerfare]

Going Down On You - Part 4

Summary: how they go down on you

Characters: Katakuri, Marco, Kaidou, Killer, Heat

Genre: pure smut

CW: NSFW // oral sex, shameless dirty talk, Kaidou is drunk (as usual)

——— 

Katakuri: 

There are two versions of this man: the brutal, serious, and fearsome general who never shows his face, and your husband. Though it took a long while for his walls to come down, they didn’t come down slowly. Rather, they crashed and burned, and the first time you saw his face, you also learned he had a voracious appetite, his desire to taste your cunt stronger even than his craving for his favorite donuts. 

“The tastiest treat in all of Totto Land, and it’s all mine.”  

You quickly become his merienda. He’ll create a mochi shrine to hide the two of you away and pull your bare cunt onto his face, lapping happily at your folds, humming as he does. He fully expects you to be available to him, particularly in trying times, as he needs the taste of you to fully recharge. He becomes extremely annoyed if anyone interrupts the two of you during his afternoon, resorting to brute force if anyone disturbs him. 

He prefers to lay on his back, thus the need for such privacy, as he would rather die than allow anyone to know how vulnerable he is at this time. Worse still, he’s sweet, kissing your cunt between licks, only tongue fucking you for a few seconds at a time before he’s licking up your juices and kissing your clit, every pet name and sweet nothing in the book spilling from his lips as he indulges in you. 

“Better than donuts, my sweet little wife’s pussy.” 

Marco: 

He’s normally so relaxed and calm, always in control without having to assert dominance as it rolls off him so naturally. He doesn’t want to be a Warlord, doesn’t want to be an Emperor, just wants to go with the flow and have some adventures with his family. But when he gets your panties off, he goes a little feral. Sure, he’s methodical in the way he starts with your lips, spends time on your nipples, and kisses his way down your body until he’s lapping at your cunt, but he’s also an animal about it. 

His nails dig into your thighs as he pries them apart. He grips you so hard you’ll have bruises in a few hours. And he’s merciless in tonguing you, working as many orgasms out of you until you’re begging him to stop, and when he does stop, it’s only to fuck you because tasting you makes him rock hard, the sort of hard that won’t simply go away unless you’re there to do something about it. 

He’s been known to tie you up so he can work in peace without having to hold your legs and arms down, freeing up his fingers to twist your nipples or massage your precious g-spot, but the thing is, he almost never ties you up in bed. If he ties you up, it’s going to be in his office or another location that’s private but where you run the risk of being discovered. The guys all know what that bundle of rope in his office is for, but none of them are brave enough to say anything. 

Kaidou: 

Kaidou often gets drunk and demands your presence, ordering you to strip down for him while he watches in begrudging approval. When you’re naked, he’ll tell you to do things like turn around and bend over so he can enjoy the view, sometimes making you stay that way for several minutes. When he’s especially drunk, though, he doesn’t bother going through all of that, just ripping the kimono straight from your body. 

“Do you wear clothes just to inconvenience me?” 

And when he’s decided he can’t hold back his appetite any longer, he’ll grab you in both of his massive hands and hold you where he wants you, burying his face in your cunt while he grunts like the beast he is. He enjoys the size difference, gets off to the sight of his massive tongue running through your folds. 

“This is worth living for, my favorite girl’s pussy.” 

Sometimes, he gets so drunk he forgets to dismiss his men and attendants. Sure, they all scurry off once you either remove or he rips your kimono off, scampering out of the room for fear of retribution should their emperor realize they’ve seen his favorite girl naked, but everyone knows what he does to you on those drunken nights. If they haven’t seen him strip you without warning, they’ve at least heard your whimpers and whines echoing from his chambers while he growls at you to stay still. 

Killer: 

It’s not often that the mask comes off, but when it does, it’s always in the dark of night, usually in his cabin when it’s just the two of you, and he always goes down on you. He doesn’t ever give you any warning, saying aloud that he’s going to take the mask off putting pressure on his shoulders to perform a certain way, so it always comes as a surprise when you feel his bare cheek pressed against your abdomen as he kisses his way down your body. 

“Our secret,” he mutters, turned on by just how much the two of you know about each other that nobody else does. 

He goes slow, savoring every last second of the intimate moment. He spends so much time sucking on your nipples you almost cum from that alone, whimpering as he refuses to finger you while he works. He moves slowly down your abdomen and nuzzles your thighs for a long few moments, so taken by the feel of your soft skin against his cheek he considers leaving his mask off permanently. 

“That’s my girl, so fucking soft.” 

When he finally starts prodding your hole with his tongue, working it inside you, he’s moaning as loud as you are. He always starts by tongue fucking you, eager to taste you while stretching you, and when he thinks you’re ready for his big fingers, he moves his tongue to your clit, going back to your hole every thirty seconds or so to lick up your juices. He’ll work several orgasms out of you that way. 

Heat: 

Actually so gentle when you finally reach a point where you trust him enough to let him between your legs. He takes this privilege very seriously and is worried he might do something to mess it up. After all, everyone has always told him what a monster he is, and sometimes, he really is a monster, so gaining access to your most sensitive area truly does make him a little fearful he’ll upset and even hurt you. 

“You won’t regret it,” he says in your ear, voice almost a whisper. “I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good.” 

He lays you down and gingerly pushes your legs apart, slowly but surely, and it takes him a minute to lean in because he’s so overwhelmed that you trusted him enough to let him do this to you. And that’s all while your panties are still on. He can see the wet spot, can see the outline of your cunt- he just knows your pussy is so perfect- and his mouth waters as he realizes he’s the one who gets to taste it. 

Something about pulling your panties off feels a little overwhelming, so he gently pushes them to the side, breathless at the sight of your glistening pussy. His tongue slithers from between his lips and pokes nervously at your folds. You end up reaching down and holding your panties to the side and your outer lips apart for him as he gently tongues your cunt. He slowly increases the pressure until he’s devouring you, the most lewd sounds surely drifting under the door and into the hallway. After you’re finished, he’ll nuzzle your inner thigh a bit. You two wind up staying in that position for a while as he basks in your presence. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[sturniqlo]

Payment in Kisses- C.S

summary: where y/n has trouble painting her left hand and chris comes to the rescue. short blurb

cw: a bit of cursing, FLUFF

an: WOAHH thank you guys so much for 1.4K!! here's a little something i cooked up💋

masterlist | join my taglist

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

"Ugh!" Y/n groans on the bed, wiping away the nail polish that smeared outside her nail. She looks at her right hand and the painting was horrible, she always had trouble painting her right with her left. She capped her light pink nail polish and placed it on Chris' nightstand.

She pours some nail polish remover onto a cotton pad and wipes off the polish off her right hand nails. Sighing, she grabs her phone and scrolls on her phone for a while.

"Chris, baby. I'm bored." She comes up behind him and wraps her arms around his neck. "Hi, babe. You finished painting your nails?" He takes his headset off and looks down at her painted left hand, then to her bare right one. "What happened to this one?" Chris grabs her right hand and turns to face her. "I couldn't paint it nicely, it ended up messy so I took it off." She shrugged.

"Want me to paint it for you?" He stares at her lips that wore his favorite lipstick of hers. A bright shade of dark pink. "You would do that for me?" She gasps. "Of course! C'mon let's go." He lets go of her hand and turns off his computer. Y/n walks to his bed and grabs the light pink polish and plops on his bed.

"Let me see that." Chris sits in front of her and grabs the small bottle from her. "Your hand, please." He brings his palm out. Y/n giggles and places her hand into his palm. "Thank you, beautiful." He kisses her knuckles and puts her hand on his knee so he can open the nail polish. "Here, I'll hold it." Y/n holds out her free hand to hold the bottle while Chris has a hold of the wand.

"Welcome to Chris' nail salon." He puts on a serious voice. Y/n only giggles. "You are my very first customer," Chris swipes the polish filled bristles "And might I say, you are very pretty." He smiles, breaking character. "You're so silly, babe."

On the third nail, they were both in a random conversation. "When're you filming again?" She brings the bottle to him so he can re-dip the brush. "Sunday, we're filming a car video. Oh- that reminds me," He goes to paint her nail, and Y/n waits for his answer. "What does it remind you of?" She giggles.

"Shit, sorry." He laughs. "Me, Nick and Matt want you to film another video with us, if you're up for it." Y/n had filmed about three videos with them and she's made an appearance in some of their vlogs here and there. "Sure, I'll film another video with you guys- just as long as it's not a baking challenge. You guys are crazy when filming those."

Chris smiles. "I promise you it's not. It's a parent challenge." Y/n furrows her eyebrows. "Where are you guys going to get a baby?" He laughs again. "No, not with a real baby. With eggs, if we break it we lose." "Ohh!" She says. "M' almost done here." He paints her pinky. "You're quick with it, babe."

He smirks, "Don't even think about it, you animal." Y/n already knew that he was going to make a dirty joke out of it. "Okay, okay. I won't, but it would've been a good one."

"Thank you, so much Mr. Chris." She looks at her perfectly painted left hand. "You are very welcome." He says, placing the little bottle back on the nightstand. "How can I ever pay you?" Y/n giggles. "You can pay me with lots of face kisses. I want your lipstick marks all over me." He throws himself down on the bed and brings her along. "Chris!" She giggles and starts kissing him all over his face. "I just love you so so much!" He mumbles through a kiss. She gasps. "My nails." She frowns but smiles when she sees Chris' face covered in her lipstick marks."

"Looks like I'll have to repaint it. You can just give me my next payment now." He brings her lips back to his face.

[kissedsuns]

needy, oscar piastri.

cw: SMUT, p in v, hair pulling, & more . . .

"be gentle, oscar," you warn as he swiftly pulls you onto his lap, straddling him.

his fingers toy with the waistband of your pants before removing them entirely, causing you to emit a high-pitched whine.

"i know, i know," he murmurs, running his hands up and down your thighs while pressing kisses along your collarbone. he moves to your ear, nibbling softly on your earlobe. "i'll take care of you."

an amused smirk plays on his lips as you squirm in his lap. "just can't keep still for me, can you?" he says, tracing patterns on your skin.

"alright, big stretch," he slowly lowers you onto him, watching as you take him in, bit by bit, until half of his dick is inside you. "there we go."

"oscar!" you cry out, your hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

"shh, shhh..." he whispers. "such a needy little thing, aren't you?"

"wait, oscar," you tap his shoulder gently. "need to adjust," you pant, feeling his grip on your body loosen for a moment. "you can move now." you swallow thickly, nodding.

"okay, baby, we're gonna go up.." he lifts your body up, "aaand down." then he lowers you back onto his dick, causing you to let out a breathy moan.

"oh my g-oood!" you gasp, squeezing your eyes tightly shut. you lean forward and bury your head in the crook of his neck, trying to muffle the sounds escaping your lips.

"aww, tryna be quiet, are we?" his lips curl into a cocky grin as he gives your hips another quick pinch.

he takes one hand off your hip and threads his fingers through your hair. "gonna keep you like this all night long," he coos, "keep you right on the edge, baby."

this went on for hours until he finally brought you to four orgasms. four. you didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

© kissedsuns

[gilverrwrites]

Something cute and smutty with either Tim Drake or Roy ?

AND: What about a one bed trope for Tim pls??

Dream a little dream of me

Tim Drake/Reader, ≈1.8K AN: I don't know if theres such a phrases as 'porn first, questions later' but thats what this is lmao. I'm glad theres an audience for Tim, cause as much as I love the other Robins (wink wink Dick), as a bisexual 90s kid, Tim really is my Robin, ya know? CWs: Somnophilia (but not really), dry humping, intercrural sex/thigh job, hand job, Petnames: Baby, sweetheart Tropes: One bed, friends to lovers, porn with feelings. GN!Reader

Sleeping beside you is neither new nor unusual for Tim. You’d been close friends for years, he’d crashed in your bed after many a patrol, you’d had film or study nights at the manor which always ended with you hogging his bed sheets, and in more recent years you’d huddled together on the cramped mattress he called a bed in the lower deck of his boat on multiple occasions. It had always been so natural and innocent, so why was this hotel bed any different? Well, because his budding, inappropriate crush on you had grown in the time since you’d last shared a comforter; Tim had been having not-so-innocent dreams about you.

Dreams where he got to touch, tease, and taste every inch of your exposed skin until you’re a babbling, pleading mess. Dreams where he silenced your breathy cries and begs by telling you to “be good baby”, spreading your legs, and running the tip of his cock along your entrance. Where you look at him with those big, dreamy eyes of yours right up until it’s too much, until he’s bottomed out inside of you and you can’t help but throw your head back, calling out his name as you dig your nails into his back.

“That feels... so… good.” The sound of your voice calls out to him, but your dream self is in no position to be speaking so coherently.

Wait, dream?

His mind is fuzzy as he wakes, still heavy with sleep, part of his brain tries desperately to clutch onto the fleeting imagery in his head until he realises two very important things;  

1. Your body is pressed against his. You’re turned away from him, but he can still feel your warmth, the pressure of your back to his chest, your ass to his… crotch. 2. His ‘crotch’ is rock hard.

Despite all instinct telling him to immediately pull away, he waits. Concerned his sudden movement might cause you to stir, he slows himself. Forcing his body to hold back so he can remove himself in increments. Just a little bit, and then a bit more, and more? He swears he’s doing it, swears he’s at least half a foot away from where he’d been upon waking, but you’re still pushing against him, still rolling your hips.

“Tim~”

It’s at this moment Tim has a third, pivotal realisation.

3. You’re grinding on him.

The sound of Tim’s low voice whispering your name against the shell of your ear slowly coaxs you awake. Every warm breath against your skin sends a rush of heat to your already aching sex. You’d been having such a peaceful, steamy dream in which your best friend, and secret crush; Tim had been tenderly rocking his cock into you from behind. As you take in the hotel room and the hotness of Tim’s body spooning into you, you can’t tell if you’re awake or still dreaming.

“Can you feel that?” His hushed voice pierces the quietness of the room and you’re not sure what he’s talking about until he surges forward, further pressing the hardness of his clothes cock into the curve of your ass.

“Yes.” You murmur, only intending to answer his question but your sleeply lust-ridden psyche keeps talking. “Don’t stop, I like it.”

“Yeah?” He’s so grateful you’re not looking at him in that moment, otherwise, you’d see the undeniable redness currently rushing to his cheeks. Even in the dark of the night, he’s sure it’s glowing through. “I think we’ve been humping each other in our sleep.”

“I’m sorry.” The fear of his rejection is immediately thrown out when you feel his lips on your pulse point, but you have to ask anyway. “Do you want to stop?”

“No, no, god no.” He trails soft kisses along the side of your neck, each one growing sloppier until he finds and fixates on your jaw for far too short a time. “You have no idea how many times I’ve fantasised about this. About you. I want you so bad.”

“I want you too, Tim.” A million and one thoughts run through his head in that moment. How much time had the two of you wasted skirting around the subject? What does this mean for your future and your friendship? The only thing he doesn’t think of as he absent-mindedly ruts against you is the one you ask. “Do you have any protection?”

“I have my Red Robin suit in my case.” It’s a dumb joke he can’t help but make, you laugh anyway and he thinks he might love you for it.

“No, but that’s okay. We can make this work.” You hear the snap of your waistband hitting your hip before you feel it. Tim had playfully pulled it taught before letting go to pull down his boxers. Getting the point, you take his cue, shimmying out of your own underwear just in time for Tim to reattach himself to your back and press his open mouth to your shoulder. “Spread your legs baby.”

As you do, Tim slides his cock between them. You wish you’d turned the light on so you could get a better look, but no force on earth could pry you away from him now. Understanding his plan, you don’t wait to be told to close your legs again, engulfing his length with the soft skin of your inner thighs and slowly beginning to rock your hips.

Tim reached over your body, grazing his deft fingers around your waist and across your stomach. A whine escapes your lips as he dips lower to rub along the length of your arousal, his cock twitches between your legs. Knowing it's so close makes you feel empty, makes you ache to feel him deep inside you, makes the tension in your core coil even more.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re dripping.” He can hear the wonderment in his own voice as he glides his thumb around you. In response you clench your thighs even harder around his cock, making him groan into your neck.

It isn’t long before your grinding hard and fast around his dick, gripping his arm as you get lost in the moment. The combined sensations feels so good, and you can’t get enough.

Neither can Tim. He could never have dreamed that the reality would feel so good. He’s in awe of the way your body moves, of the pornographic noises you’re making for him. He can barely focus. He wants to hold on longer, wants to bask in your warmth and scent for as long as possible but your merciless rhythm and the feel of your thighs around his throbbing cock has him chasing his climax way too soon.

“Are you close?” He sputters. You answer with a string of incomprehensible whimpers and a weak nod. He isn’t even in you, and you’re already drunk on your best friend. You’d be ashamed if you had the capacity to care in that moment. “Come with me?”

It’s a question, not a command. This is a partnership, he wants you to feel connected, not controlled and that has your toes curling.

Simultaneously your thrusting becomes strained, and more erratic as his pumping grows faster, and sloppier, both of you getting lost in your highs but still determined to ride out the other, filling the room with deep, ragged breaths until you’re shuddering in his arms, savouring every last remnants of pleasure. The way his strong hands cup your body has you feeling safe in your post-orgasm euphoria.

It isn’t until you feel the moisture of your combined cum seeping into the fabric below you that you remember there’s a world outside of you and him. You sit up simultaneously, Tim reaches for the bedside lamp and is stunned by the sight of your sweat-sheened skin and heavy eyes when he turns back. Completely unaware that you’re thinking the same thing about his flushed cheeks and fluffy bedhead.

You gesture to the puddle you’re currently half-sat in and joke; “The hotel cleaners are going to hate us.”

Before you can exit the bed, Tim is on his feet and rushing to the ensuite. He returns a moment later with a roll of tissues and a damp cloth. You’ve rolled over, face down on his side of the bed in an attempt not to spread the fluids even more and he gets to work wiping the cum from your leg in slow, circular motions. It shouldn’t take this long, you both know it, he’s just enjoying the moment.

“That was really…” You’d wanted to fill the silence, but now you’re not sure how to finish, you don’t want to scare him away with your excitement, but you want him to know how good he made you feel. “Really wow.”

“Really wow.” He repeats with a teasing snicker, dodging when you reach out to playfully smack his shoulder. “What? What? It was wow.”

He’s teasing. With a 147 IQ, he knows a better word than wow, but he’s choosing to repeat yours, tone and all. It’s not like he hasn’t messed with you before, and you’ve always been able to dish it back, but now feels different. Now is different.

“So, I take it we’re not just friends anymore?” You ask as he climbs over you to work on the wet patch. Eventually, he finds a position kneeling at the bottom of the bed, and you roll over once more, now seated and positioned to watch him.

“Um, no.” He coughs, not to clear his throat but to prolong his time to think of an answer. Your gaze is making him nervous. He doesn’t know what you want him to say, doesn’t want to come on too strong and ruin your friendship, but he also doesn’t want to seem too lax, to make you think he’s just using you or that he’s not interested in something more than friendship. “Friends definitely don’t do that.”

“So, what are we?” You push, not missing the way his adams-apple bobs as he swallows back his nerves.

“I don’t know.” His chest immediately grows tight at the hurt look that spreads across your face. Fuck it, now or never. “But whatever we are, I’m yours.”

Your expression doesn’t immediately change, and he worries he’s misread your reaction. Assumed that you want him the way he wants you.

“If you want me that is.” He continues, trying to save face.

“Of course, I want you, Tim.” He hadn’t realised how tense the conversation was making him until he heard those magic words. In seconds you’re face to face with him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him close to offer your body as comfort. You’ve always been able to read and react to him so well, like you were programmed for him. “You can be mine, if I can be yours.”

Then he feels your lips pucker against his hairline, and despite having climaxed between your legs only minutes earlier, he’s suddenly more nervous than he’s ever been. Gently, you drag your lips down his face, leaving kisses along his brow line, his cheekbones, and his jowls until you're inches from his own lips.

Your eyes dart back and forth between his own eyes and his mouth, he licks his lips in preparation for yours and then you’re on him, lips locked, tangled in each other’s arms.

There’s a drying stain waiting to be cleaned, and a long day ahead of you both tomorrow, but right now none of that matters.

[wriothesleysgf]

wonderland— wriothesley.

★ : wriothesley is tired of your phone ringing. he's not going to let something like that stop him having fun.

cw : riding, teasing, exhibitionism, praise, m. m-sturb-tion, spit, fem reader.

"fucking angelic," wriothesley growled, punctuating the phrase with a slap to your ass. the sound echoed around the room, combining with the grunts and groans emanating from the two colliding bodies.

you continued to ride him as best as you could, though the pace that he was attempting to set was becoming too much; the man was essentially using you like a toy at this point. what had begun as you slowly grinding on his thigh whilst he finished up some paperwork had lead to his thick cock kissing your cervix as he gripped your hips tight enough that the indents of his blunt nails were visible.

"is my pretty girl struggling? why don't i take—" he began, but was cut off by the sound of your phone ringing. he ignored it initially, letting it go to voicemail. the caller didn't leave a message, so certainly it couldn't be important, right?

wrong. after the third call, wriothesley grabbed your phone from his desk and checked the caller id. he turned the screen to face you, and before even a syllable could pass your lips he had hit the answer button. he put the phone to your ear, hinting for you to take it and answer the call.

"y- yes, monseiur neuvillette? is everything okay?" you spoke in the most professional voice that you could muster, given that wriothesley's cock was still nestled within you.

"stay quiet, princess. you don't want your boss knowing how you really spend your lunch breaks, do you?"

your raised eyebrows soon turned into a warning glare, as wriothesley picked you up from his lap and put you onto his desk. with your back flat against the hard wood, he took a moment to see exactly how messy he'd already made your sweet cunt. even just with one finger traced through your sensitive folds, and you were forced to bite your bottom lip.

"is everything okay? are you feeling unwell?" the iudex queried.

you had to use every last ounce of strength to maintain your composure. "i'm perfectly fine, it's just a little cold, that's all."

wriothesley's smirk gave you the urge to slap it off of his face. he knew precisely how to drive you crazy, and it worried you. whilst trying to maintain the conversation with your boss, he continued to tease you.

he bent down to place a kiss to your swollen clit, and the short whine that fell from your lips was almost certainly audible on the other end of this call. if he did notice, however, he didn't mention it. nor did he mention any noises you made from the subsequent kitten licks to the sensitive bud.

wriothesley was enjoying this a little too much. he decided to go all out, lining his cock up with your puffy cunt despite the wide eyes from you— it wasn't a plea not to do this, no, but rather a look of shock that he'd go so far. in fact, it was turning you on even more. the risk of being caught was exhilarating, and had your slick dripping onto the desk below you.

"oh, baby," wriothesley cooes as he slowly pushes into you. "always take me so well, 's like your cunt was made for me," he punctates the sentence by collecting a fat glob of saliva in his mouth and spitting directly onto your clit. the combination of such a lewd action with his praise filled words never failed to make you weak.

with a few more harsh thrusts into you, your phone lay forgotten about on the desk. your whimpers became more prominent, and from the look in your eyes you were bordering on overstimulation.

wriothesley removed his left glove with his teeth, throwing it aside before putting two fingers to your lips. he didn't gag you, instead slowly allowing you to suck on his digits as a way to stay quieter— how considerate. you swirled your tongue around his digits, your hands both on his wrist. soft pleas came out distorted, though from the way that your cunt intensely pulsed, wriothesley knew you were close to cumming.

"think you can stay quiet, princess?" he chuckles. you nodded sheepishly, and he removes his fingers from your mouth. "good girl."

however, that trademark smirk start to appear again.

instead of going easy on you, he immediately targets your pretty clit. a couple of taps followed by a few strokes had you writhing around. wriothesley tutted a few times, unimpressed. "he can probably hear you thrashing around on my desk, darling," he reminds you, nodding towards your phone. you assumed he'd hung up, though the quieted calls of your name made it clear that neuvillette was still on the line.

wriothesley moved you around a little, pushing your legs up into somewhat of a mating press. his goal was to keep you still enough that you couldn't shift out of his reach as your highs approached. your ankles were at his shoulders, his body pressed against your thighs. the hard, powerful thrusts continued, and you were a blubbering mess. the man took a moment to slap your tits, always finding the way that your flesh jiggled incredibly attractive. with a pinch of your stiff nipple for good measure, he returned to his attack on your swollen clit.

"go on, baby," wriothesley cooed. "you know you wanna cum for me, yeah? let me hear it, princess,"

there were tears in your eyes from the overstimulation. with his thick cock consistently grazing over all the spots that made your back arch and the gentle touches to your cunt, it didn't take too long before your nails dragged down wriothesley's back and your thighs to begin to shake. you babbled something incoherent again and before you knew it, your orgasm came crashing down on you. it triggered the man's own high, and he shot his load deep inside of you.

he leaned over you, allowing you both to be close to one another as you caught your breath. wriothesley mumbled gentle praises into your ear and carressed your cheek, wanting you to feel as safe and loved as ever.

what the two of you were unaware of, was the absolute bliss being experienced on the other end of the line too. if one were to listen closely, they would hear the esteemed iudex's heavy pants.