#cw: crude language

[salubri-outcast]

If you think a ship is "problematic" because one of the ADULT participants of a relationship between consenting ADULTS is Autistic or Nuerodivergent. You need my size 6.5 in your rectal cavity at high speed post haste.

[allcaplock]

[helluva-hazbins]

cosmicxxxlight asked:

@radiodemon77 [ to Husk. could be when he was down on their luck and came to Al * eyes emojj* ] ❛ sorry, very busy today. no time to help you– ❜

"The hell you are, I know you enough to know you don't have anything else more important than helping out an old friend on your plate, but you know what! If you can't come right out and say that then maybe I was wrong considering you anything other than just a business associate!" a man of dignity, he isn't about to ask this jackass for help more than twice. not only was the radio demon willing to lie to him but he was also showing disloyalty, all in one go.

"Go fuck yourself!"

[aozui]

DON’T PROVE I’M RIGHT jjk masterlist

JUST SOME TEXTS BETWEEN MULTIPLE JJK MEN + WOMEN and their partners: trying the hardest to beat those ‘for the streets’ allegations .. we’re loyal don’t fret! CWs language, crude humor, suggestive, some left unresolved, toji’s a dick BANNERS by ianrkives ᡣ𐭩 . ° … gojo, geto (f!reader), toji, sukuna, shoko

this started as a playboy/playgirl esque fic but i lost the narrative sort of ? it turned into shits and giggles lmao

[tawnfawn]

intoxicated | könig

summary: you get along with everyone on your team, except for könig. you think he hates you, but his perceived distaste for you only makes you want him more. you're able to keep your composure until you're partnered up for a mission, where everything seems to go wrong...

tags: könig x fem!reader smut. cod. pure filthy, shameless smut. sex pollen. proofread. MDNI. 5,000+ words

cw: dubcon (due to sex pollen but there's clear consent before and after). unprotected sex (reader IS on birth control, wrap it before you tap it), p in v, oral m!receiving, fingering, accidental drug use (sex pollen), dom!könig and sub!reader, light humiliation kink, heavy praise, size kink if you squint, overstimulation, mutual pining, violence, killing.

MDNI. NSFW BELOW THE CUT

You crept around the corner of the warehouse with your rifle, watching König’s six as you progressed. The other KorTac members were stationed on site as well, giving quick updates through comms as you progressed. Details were scarce, except that in the warehouse, a Russian terrorist group was producing a bioweapon capable of mass destruction—and anyone inside was KOS.

Of course, the bioweapon in question was…dubious, to say the least. A strong aphrodisiac, the contractor had explained, much to the astonishment of your team. During the briefing, you’d managed to keep a straight face, but not all of your teammates were as courteous.

“So let me get this straight—you want us to risk our lives for…Viagra?” Horangi had questioned, exasperated. Your lips pursed at his crudeness, but it was exactly what you were thinking too.

The scientist’s face flushed. “N-no, this is much different,” he snapped. As one of the architects of the bioweapon, he was clearly offended. “It is much, much stronger. Exposure to just one dose will cause severe arousal: heart palpitations, excessive sweating, overheating. Imagine…” He seemed to be struggling to find the words. “Imagine a brain overload, yes? Rational thinking…disappears. Victims may lose all motor control. Too long without treatment can result in heart failure, aneurysms, seizures, stroke, and sometimes death.”

“So what is the treatment?” you interrupted, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Sex,” the scientist answered, shifting uncomfortably on his heels. “It was designed to be, ah… difficult.”

Your jaw clenched, and your eyes darted to König. He was staring down the scientist, narrowed eyes betraying no emotion. While everyone else struggled to keep their bafflement hidden, his sniper hood obscured any hope of reading him. Just my fucking luck, you thought when you were partnered with him.

It wasn’t that you disliked König; it was just that you found it so much more difficult to talk to him. With the rest of your teammates, you were fine. A natural people reader, you were comfortable with the rest of them, relying on body language and the details they let slip to learn more about them. In fact, you considered yourself to be pretty close with them—unsurprising, given that in your line of work, your life rested in their hands and vice versa. But König was… different. You didn’t distrust him, per say, but outside of the battlefield, he was quiet. Reclusive. No matter how many times you’d tried to get him to open up, he barely interacted with you, despite talking to the others. You’d chalked it down to being the newest on the team at first, but now that you’d served over a year and a half together, you were frustrated. Shouldn’t that be well enough time to open up at least a little bit?

You knew your thinking was illogical. Your job was to hunt targets and invade bases, not deep dive into your coworker’s soul, but you couldn’t help the way it took over your mind. Your need to understand him had become a bit of an obsession. You constantly found yourself looking at him, trying to discern any emotion his eyes betrayed. You listened intently for any of his input in person or on comms, no matter how menial it was. You studied his body language, taken note of any habits or gestures. You’d even memorized the way he reloaded his guns.

It was…embarrassing, to say the least. But could you blame yourself? He was so tall and strong and imposing that even just standing next to him made you, a normally very confident and intimidating woman, feel small. Such was the reason that you pushed yourself extra harder whenever you were paired up with him, making sure he knew you were valuable, a force to be reckoned with. Your excellent performance had made you two quite the duo, often clearing out legions of enemies in mere minutes. And you had to admit, seeing him absolutely obliterate enemy lines made you feel some type of way…

But not like that, of course. You were just…curious. When he finally opened up to you (and not if, but when), your obsession would stop, and everything would be fine. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Today, however, there were a lot less enemies than you’d expected. Sure, there were quite a few soldiers stationed around the warehouse (which your team had incapacitated quickly), but inside, save for some scientists and the occasional guard, it was eerily empty and quiet.

“It’s fucking cold,” Horangi’s voice rang out from your radio. You sighed and brought the device to your lips.

“It’s fucking Russia,” you stated. “What did you think it’d be? Beachy?”

König’s quiet chuckle sounded from in front of you, and you couldn’t help the pride that swarmed in your heart. Heat burst in your cheeks, but you tried to brush it off.

“Fuck off,” Horangi replied. “East side clear.”

“West unknown,” you said. “Standby.” You tucked the radio back into your pocket, following your teammate.

You both peeked around the corner to the last room. It was filled to the brim with lab equipment—beakers, bunsen burners, flasks, microscopes—all sitting atop of large resin tables. Bright, fluorescent lights bounced off the sterile grey walls and ceiling, creating a dull glare that was almost depressing. Neat racks of tightly sealed vials and test tubes peeked through glass cabinets on the walls, parallel to the large sinks below. Across the room was a row of unfamiliar-looking equipment, and next to that, an enormous whiteboard boasting messily scrawled notes, diagrams, and equations. A bag of what looked like takeout sat on a nearby desk next to a crumpled napkin and a perspiring styrofoam cup. It was almost exactly what you’d imagined a stereotypical laboratory to look like, albeit a bit messier and more lived in. A singular man stood working at one of the tables, frantically scribbling on a notepad with his back facing toward you. König motioned for you to stay put as he crept forward. You complied.

Then the man dropped his pen.

“Xyй,” he cursed and turned around to pick it up. Of course, when he turned around, he saw König’s gigantic form pointing a gun at him, and he screamed. You fired your suppressed pistol, but not before the scientist hurled a glass vial at König. It shattered against his tactical vest as the dead scientist crumpled to the ground, releasing a burst of lavender-colored smoke that curled into the air and quickly dissipated.

König ripped off his tactical vest, coughing violently, but it was too late—the substance had already entered his lungs, likely reaching his bloodstream by now. He stared at you, blue eyes wide with—for the first time you’d ever seen—fear. 

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, and he staggered to the wall, crashing down to the floor.

“König?” You stared at him, stricken. His eyes were closed, and he was stock still—stiller than you’d ever seen him—and for a long, hard moment, you thought he might be dead. 

Then his eyes snapped open. His pupils were dilated and blown, a sea of black barely tinged by blue irises. He stared at you, unmoving, before letting out a groan and bringing his hand over his face.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered. You grabbed your radio. “M-man down!” you stammered into it. “König’s been exposed. West side clear. Requesting med evac in thirty minutes. Going dark.” You turned it off, not bothering to listen to any input. The rest of your team knew what this meant. As did you.

In the time you’d been on the radio, König had torn off all of his other gear, leaving himself in just his shirt, pants, and boots. He was panting, his chest heaving with each breath, ungloved hand still hiding his masked face as he cursed in German.

You crossed the room in seconds and kneeled at his side. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay, König, just breathe—”

“No,” he breathed. His voice was deeper, raspier than normal, and the unbridled heat in it sent a shiver down your spine. His hands were clenched into fists, body tensed as he fought the invisible infection. “Go. Now.”

“You know I can’t leave—”

His hand fell to his side, letting his eyes meeting yours for a split second. “Please,” he groaned, starting to tremble as you drew closer. “I—I can’t—”

His gaze strayed lower, and you followed it to the growing bulge in his pants. You gulped, unmoving, and he grabbed your arm. The force of it was enough to make you still.

“Go,” he insisted, his accent even thicker than usual. “I’m not—I cannot control myself.”

“I’m not gonna leave you here!” you argued, swatting his hand away. “You’re my teammate. You could die.”

“I will hurt you,” he retorted. All the muscles in his body were tensed, clearly on overdrive. Even his eyes were watering. “Please, maus. I am not gentle.”

Something inside about his statement made your thighs clench together, but you tried to ignore it. Tentatively, you brought your hand to his chin, pulling his face towards you. His skin was feverish, and your heart twisted in sympathy. “Let me help you,” you pleaded, and he inhaled sharply.

“It feels like I’m burning,” he hissed, and you frowned. His black compression shirt was nearly soaked with sweat, and you grabbed the fabric, pulling it up. He pawed at your arm weakly, but you shushed him.

“You’re overheating. Take it off,” you ordered, and finally, he let you pull it over his head, sagging back against the wall as you threw it to the side.

You’d seen him without a shirt before—it was hard not to with this kind of job, what with donning injuries all the time—but this was different. His head was thrown back as he panted, toned chest heaving with each breath, and you could see all of the muscles in his chiseled abdomen clenched, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. It was… erotic. Just looking at him made you feel dirty. You felt the thrum of something other than worry in your abdomen, and you swallowed.

“Leave me,” König growled, but it sounded more desperate than commanding. You shook your head at him.

“Not letting you die, König.” You began to rip off your gear, tugging off your tactical vest and discarding your weapons. 

König grabbed your wrist. “What are you…?”

“Wanna help you, okay?” you said softly, trying to catch his eyes as they darted over your face. “Are you gonna let me?”

He took in a deep breath, his other hand in a death grip on his thigh. “I-I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeated, but it was starting to lose its original harshness. He was fading, and fast.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. You placed your hand on his bare chest, feeling the way his heartbeat stuttered and stammered under your touch. He cursed in response, the hand on your wrist twitching, clearly fighting the urge to touch you. In a split-second decision, you swung your right leg over his lap and straddled him, careful not to grind against him, waiting for an answer first. He let out a choked noise and grabbed you by the hips, his tight grip making you gasp. “Yes or no?” you breathed.

“Ahhh, maus.” The low groan he let out was nearly animalistic. “Yes,” he begged, and that was all you needed to hear.

You started grinding on his lap gently, trying to restrain yourself from going further. You wanted to be mindful of his sensitivity, but König simply huffed in annoyance and used his tight grip on your hips to tug you all the way down into his lap—allowing you to feel everything. The imprint of his hard, throbbing cock made you dizzy; you couldn’t resist pressing against it, moaning softly at the delicious friction it granted your clit.

“Scheiße,” König murmured, his thighs twitching underneath you. You felt bad, knowing he was probably dying for some real contact, so you decided to give it to him.

Your heart raced as you reached for his waistband, unbuckling his belt and sliding his pants to his knees. His cock was straining against his briefs, a wet patch forming from precum, and you quickly removed those as well, watching his hardened cock spring up and then fall slightly, its weight making it unable to reach his stomach. Your mouth went dry. Fuck, he was huge. You supposed it made sense: as an exceptionally large man, it was logical to have a proportionally large cock, but the sight of it still shocked you.

“Maus,” he whispered, breaking you out of your trance. He stared at you apprehensively, and you wrapped your much smaller hands around his cock, hearing him suck in a breath. You took a moment to marvel at the sheer size of him—your normally average-sized fingers looked miniature in contrast, unable to even fully wrap around his length. You felt your own arousal seep into your underwear, and you leaned down to kiss his tip.

The moan he let out turned you on even more than before, and you wasted no time teasing him, spitting into your hand and pumping his cock a few times before bringing the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue over the slit before pushing him further down your throat. His cock was so large that you had to fight not to scrape your teeth against it, flattening your tongue under the base of it.

His hand fisted into your hair, pulling slightly every time you moved your lips up and down his shaft, twisting your hand in tandem. Your other hand gripped onto one of his thick thighs, feeling his leg twitch as he struggled not to buck his hips up into your mouth. Each strained noise and curse you coaxed from him only encouraged you more, your own whimpers muffled against his cock as you did your best to fit him down your throat.

After only a few minutes, you felt him twitching in your hand and sped up your pace, determined to pleasure him as much as possible. Curses fell from his lips as he finished, hot spurts of his release shooting down your throat. You swallowed it quickly, continuing to pump your hand up and down his still rock-hard shaft.

König, however, pulled you off quickly, eyes wide and dark with an almost fearful desperation as he stared at you. “The poison. It’s still…”

You looked back down to see his cock still twitching in your hand. “It’s okay,” you said, starting to lean back down, “I’ll just—”

“No!” He pulled you back up by the neck. You blinked at him in shock, and he stared back, pupils blown wide like black moons. There was a fiery hunger in his eyes as he looked at you, one you’d never seen before. The sheer want in his gaze sent a cold shiver down your spine. No one had ever looked at you like this before—like you were prey.

“König?” you asked nervously.

Instead of answering, he began to unbuckle your belt, and you gasped as his hand reached under your waistband to cup your clothed core, index finger tracing lightly over your clit. You fought back a mewl, chest seizing as you shut your eyes from the pleasure.

“So wet,” he marveled. He pushed your underwear to the side, smearing your arousal over your soaked folds as you whimpered, bucking your hips into his hand. “Just from sucking my cock?”

His switch in demeanor startled you, and you moaned as one of his large fingers pressed into your weeping hole, curling inside you with precision. His hands were so much bigger than yours; the stretch was making your knees weak. He quickly found your G-spot, taking care to press against it as you arched into him. “Oh, oh, fuck, König,” you whimpered, coaxing a dark chuckle from him that made you clench around him.

Your thighs clenched around his hand, but he pried them apart with ease, forcing you to straddle him and rendering you helpless to his ministrations as he slowly dragged another finger in and out of you. With each achingly slow push into your dripping hole, he made sure to curl them just right, long fingers able to reach that sensitive spongy spot inside you effortlessly. His palm laid flat against your clit as he stroked your walls, letting you sloppily grind into his hand as he murmured praise into your ear.

“Does that feel good, liebling?” he asked, drinking in each of your breathy, pleasured noises with satisfaction. “You like making a mess on my fingers, mm?”

You simply whimpered, too embarrassed of your flustered state to form a real response. He seemed to pick up the hint, giving you a cocky smirk through his mask. “Ohh, it’s okay, maus,” he cooed, but his soft words were laced with a smug condescension that made your cheeks burn. “You look so pretty like this, all dumb on my fingers. I wish I could’ve seen it earlier.”

You whined again, desperately grinding down on his palm for more friction. His slow pace was torturous, giving you just enough to feel pleasure but not enough to build it. It was mean. It was twisted. It was agonizing. You were eating it up.

“Please,” you tried, teary eyes boring into his. “Can you—can you please—”

“Can I what, maus?” He cocked his head, darkened eyes twinkling with mirth. “Tell me, or I can’t help you.”

You know what I want, you wanted to shout at him, but you knew that wouldn’t work. “Please,” you begged, “I need more."

“What more do you need, maus?” he asked again. “You have a mouth. Use it.”

“Need you to—” You whimpered pitifully, dropping your head into his shoulder. “Please, need you to go—go harder.” You nearly sobbed out the words, desperation winning out over your embarrassment. You were mortified at your teary, shaking voice, but he seemed to revel in it, squeezing your thigh in appreciation.

“Oh, is that what you wanted?” he teased, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “You could have just said so.”

He set a steady pace with his fingers, bullying them inside of you hard enough to make you squirm against him. With each thrust, he curled them just right, sending your eyes rolling back and mouth falling open in heavy pants as you mewled into his shoulder. You were grateful to be spared of his intense gaze; you didn’t think you could look at him in the state you were in. It was mortifying just hearing the sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of your gushing cunt.

“Oh, maus,” he cooed into your ear as you trembled, keening at the stretch of his fingers. “You’re just so beautiful like this, you know. So fucking desperate and pathetic. I wish I could see you like this all the time.”

Would I like him to finger me like this all the time? Hell yes, you thought to yourself, but you couldn’t find the words to tell him, only able to whine and nod vigorously into his shoulder, lost in the feeling of his fingers inside you. You could feel yourself starting to reach the edge of your climax, grinding harder and harder into his palm and gasping with each spark of pleasure it gave your throbbing clit. You were so wet that you were starting to wonder if you’d been infected, too; each time he hit your g-spot just right, you felt more and more slick dribbling out of you and down your thighs. It was driving you insane.

“K-König!” You managed a cry of his name right before you came, clenching around his fingers as you bucked your hips into his hand. Breathy whines fell from your lips, your thighs shaking and seizing as you squirmed in his hold, feeling an almost overwhelming wave of pleasure wash over your body. The feeling was so intense it was almost painful; you hadn’t had an orgasm in so long, and the effect was palpable. His arms held you tight, keeping you grounded while you shuddered in his grasp, his big fingers determined to prolong your ecstasy.

When you finally came down from your high, you couldn’t look at him, mortified at your messy state. His fingers were still knuckle-deep in your arousal, and you could feel more of your slick dripping down your thighs, wet and uncomfortable. You kept your head buried in his chest shyly while your happy cunt stayed spasming in his hand.

“Okay, schatz?” he asked softly, using his free hand to tilt your head towards him. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You stared up at him, mouth open. There were practically hearts in your eyes; your adoration was clear to him, and he laughed at your expression, cradling your cheek with his hand. “Aww, schatz.” He clicked his tongue, a smile audible in his voice. “You’re so sweet.”

Your cheeks burned red at the words, and you blinked rapidly, unable to look away. His piercing blue eyes stayed trained on yours, but there was a warmth in them that soothed you. He petted your cheek, lifting his hood to press a kiss to your forehead.

Your mind felt fuzzy. All you could think about was your need to be filled by him, and you pawed at his hard cock, wrapping your fingers around the base of it. A hiss of pleasure escaped him, and you kept your eyes on his, wide and pleading. “Please fuck me,” you whispered, still trembling in his grasp.

König’s eyes darkened, and he tugged off the rest of your bottoms quickly. His strong hands lifted you to hover you over his cock, and you shuddered with anticipation, head spinning. He rubbed the tip through your dripping folds, coaxing out a gasp as it brushed over your swollen clit. You tried to push him inside, squirming, but his tight grip on the bottoms of your thighs kept you in place, and you whined his name, hoping he would take pity on you.

“Bitte, König,” you begged, and he practically growled at the words, mercifully allowing you to sink onto the tip of his cock and drawing out a desperate mewl. Even with how wet you were, he was so, so big that he was practically tearing you in half.

“K-König—”

“Hush, liebling,” he soothed, and you moaned as your core clenched around him, beacons of pleasure ripping through you from just the feel of him. He waited for you to relax and then pushed in farther as you gasped at his length.

“Mmph! König—” You keened as he continued to push himself into you, waiting each time to make sure you were okay. You could feel his hard cock twitch with each thrust, and you knew it must be difficult for him not to go straight into fucking you, that he was holding himself back to be more gentle. The thought only made you moan louder.

Tears slipped down your cheeks when he finally bottomed out, and he wiped them away with his thumb. “I’m sorry, maus,” he groaned, no doubt feeling the way you clenched around him. “You’re just—so tight—”

You wanted to tell him to it was okay, but from your already fucked out mind, all that came out was a dumb whimper of his name. In response, he pulled up his sniper hood to kiss your forehead, to which you whined and chased his lips with your mouth. This made him chuckle, and he guided your lips to his, coaxing out a soft moan as his tongue met yours. He tasted wonderful, and you mewled into his mouth, feeling even more worked up from the way he kissed you: hot and desperate and sweet, like the world was ending and you were the last ones in it.

“Mein maus,” he growled, suddenly thrusting up into you and making your eyes roll back. His hips snapped against yours, setting a pace that sent your thoughts reeling. “Taking me so well, doing so good for me, hm? Du bist mein schatz, ja?”

“Yes, fuck—yes,” you babbled, barely able to understand what he was saying. His unusually rough tone was fogging up your dumbed-out mind, the contrast between his sweet words and punishing pace reducing you to nothing but a crying, creaming mess. You’d never been this wet for someone before. “Yes, yes, yes, I’m yours, please—”

“Good girl,” he moaned, pushing you up and down his cock with dizzying strength. Your legs tightened around his waist as he thrust up into you, high-pitched and pitiful noises falling from your lips at a shameful volume. He was using you like a toy, you thought, and the notion of it made your pleasured cries even louder.

“Mmm, yeah? Mmm?” He mimicked your breathy moans, and you could hear the grin in his voice. Normally, you’d be mortified, likely retorting with some witty insult, but now? Now with the way he was fucking you, all you could do was whine in pitiful response.

“So needy for me,” he groaned, punctuating each word with a deep thrust. The sheer force of him made your eyes roll back, and you felt that tight coil in your belly close to snapping.

“Fuck, König—” You panted heavily, your legs starting to give out. “K-König, oh my God, I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he cooed, pulling you closer to his chest so your clit could find purchase on his toned abs. “Doing so good for me, schatz. Such a good girl, getting off on me like this. Like the way I feel, mm?”

His sweet praise became your tipping point, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. You cried his name, mouth falling open in shock as your legs kicked out, your cunt weeping and convulsing around him as you keened. You gasped for air as your orgasm rocked through you, the pleasure suddenly becoming all too much as he continued to drill himself into your gushing cunt.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed from the overstimulation, but he didn’t let up his pace, pressing chaste kisses to your lips to soothe you. “Wonder how many orgasms I can get from you,” he murmured. You could hear the smile in his voice as he panted. “How many more, mein schatz?”

“I—I don’t know!” you cried as his pelvis dragged against your clit, sending shocks of electricity through you. “I don’t—I can’t—”

He groaned as you trembled in his hold, pretty blue eyes boring into yours. “You can do it for me,” he replied. “I know you can. Isn’t that right, liebling?”

“Ahh—König—” The juxtaposition of his soft kisses and brutal pace was making your head spin. Too overwhelmed to answer, you just clutched onto his shoulders tighter, crying out every time his skin brushed against your puffy, overstimulated clit. It was painful. It was overwhelming. It felt so fucking good.

“Hush, mein schatz,” he coaxed, holding you closer as you clenched around his cock, babbling incoherently as he fucked up into you. “You’re doing so good, I promise.”

The answer was two. Two more earth-shattering orgasms before he finally went soft, coming inside of you twice before either (1), his dick just gave out, or (2), the poison wore off. Either way, by the end of it, you were exhausted and fucked out, still recovering from your cock-drunk state as he cleaned you up.

“I’m sorry, maus,” he apologized, sounding genuinely remorseful as he gently wiped your soaked thighs with a clean cloth he had found in the room. “I’m so sorry, I don’t—I don’t know what came over me.”

“Drugs,” you supplied, staring at the ceiling in exhaustion. “Really bad drugs.”

“Yes, drugs,” he agreed, carefully mopping your folds as you sighed. “But still—I am sorry. I was…overzealous. I hope I did not hurt you too bad.”

“I’ll be a little sore,” you admitted, glancing at the bruises his fingers had left on your waist and hips. “But I’ll be fine, trust me.”

He sighed, somehow managing to look resigned even with the sniper hood. “I should not have been so hard on you. I’m sorry.”

“Honestly?” you murmured, blinking at him sleepily. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

He froze for a moment. “What?” 

“Not that I’ve had a lot of sex,” you said quickly. “But still, that was the best I’ve ever had. Probably will ever have, now that I think about it. You must be very experienced. Oh God, I should not have said that out loud. I am—I am so sorry.”

Even with his sniper hood on, you could tell he was blushing. “Oh, um—it’s okay, maus.” You could hear the shyness in his voice. “I do not consider that to be my best performance, but I will take it as a compliment.”

“Your best performance?” You stared at him, mind running through everything that had just happened. You’d had sex before, but that—that was a whole ass experience. You’d never even dreamed about anything that good. “Christ, what’s your best performance, then?”

“Well,” he replied, sliding your soaked underwear back up your legs for you, “I would have taken you out on a date first, at the very least. That would be the proper way to court you.”

“Court me?” you repeated, sitting up straight. “I didn’t know you were so well-mannered, König.”

He looked away from you, shifting awkwardly from his spot on the floor. “I try to be courteous before sticking my dick in people.”

It took you a moment to realize he was joking, and you laughed—actually really laughed out loud. His awkward humor was charming you, and you felt warmth swell in your chest as you listened to him speak. You grinned at him, his eyes crinkling in a smile back.

König still smiled, but a hint of sadness pervaded his gaze. “Ah, schatz.” He hesitated. “I would have liked to make love to you,” he sighed, “but I did not imagine these would be the circumstances. I was hoping to take you on a date first, get to know you better.”

“You wanted to what?” Your eyes widened, and you blinked in confusion. “But…I thought you didn’t like me.”

König practically jolted in place. It was like you’d electrocuted him. He stared at you. “Why would you ever think that?”

“You talk to everyone but me,” you said softly. “I thought you didn’t trust me. Thought you hated me.”

“Hated—?” He shook his head vigorously. “No, I wanted to speak to you. You just…made me nervous. The others do not.”

“I made you nervous?” The words fell from your lips with shock, your eyebrows furrowing. “How would I—how did I ever make you nervous? You’re like three times the size of me!”

König shrugged, sheepish. “You’re very pretty. And you seemed…kind, and well-connected with the others. I have trouble finding that connection. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing to you and fuck it up.”

“So you said nothing at all.” You were quiet for a moment, turning over the information in your mind. “Wow. I was way off.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “but it is okay. I’m sorry for making you think I disliked you, schatz.”

“It’s okay,” you chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. You ran a hand through your hair, beyond shocked at everything happening. You couldn’t believe you’d fucked your colleague, the one you’d had a crush on for who knows long, and also discovered that he didn’t, in fact, hate you. “At least I know now.”

“Next time, I will be better,” König vowed, helping you tug on your pants. “More gentle. I will do things right, I promise.”

“Next time?” You hesitated, biting your lip. “There will be a next time?”

“Of course there will,” he answered, adjusting his tactical gloves. “Did you not hear what I said earlier?”

“Um…which one?” He’d said a lot of things earlier.

He helped you to your feet, towering over you as he cupped his large hand under your jaw. Your heart stopped in your chest as you looked up into his eyes, his large frame dwarfing yours beyond comparison. “Du bist mein schatz, ja?” he repeated, gloved thumb tracing over your bottom lip. His very soul seemed to ooze confidence. “That’s what I said, no?’

With the way he was making you feel right now, you didn’t think it was even possible to say the word no. “Y-yes,” you stammered, adoration clear in your eyes as you gazed up at him.

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “So there will be a next time. Unless, of course, you don’t want to.”

“N-no, no, no, I definitely want!” you said quickly. You stumbled over your words in your eagerness, and your cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “I would like that a lot.”

“Good,” he said, patting the top of your head. Normally, you’d be furious at such an action, but considering his height, it seemed more practical than condescending. “Now come, schatz,” he said, adjusting his vest. “Time to deny everything to the rest of the team.”

Oh, fuck. You sighed. “Yeah…I forgot about that.”

[sandwhitches]

༘⋆ THE SPINS | SUGURU GETO x READER

CHAPTER 1: NIGHTTIMING cw: crude humor, language, mentions of financial struggles

<- prologue + masterlist + chapter two ->

𖦹 suguru beefs like a teenage girl he's so ?! your honor, i love him.

𖦹 satoru, as a mexican, i knight you an honorary latina.

𖦹 gojo always gives the barista a different name even though he goes to the same place nearly every day

𖦹 y/n needs to get her money up bad hmmm hm hmm wonder what she could go

𖦹 satoru got his mango of course <3 if the people in your life won't get you gas station fruit at 1 am, do they really love u??

𖦹 suguru likes to quote "all i wanted was a pepsi, just one pepsi!" from institutionalized it's one of his favorite songs to sing along to because of that; satoru caroline polachek truther ; shoko. i love you.

taglist: @aozui @chososcamgirl @qingpunk @kameyyy @definitelynotanalien @solaqes @gigiiiiislife @jelliblue @starmapz @creamflix @brideads @san-it-is-i-guess @rriwyu @poopooindamouf (blogs in bold couldn’t be tagged, pls check settings!) taglist status: open! (13/50) please send an ask to be added!

[anxietylord]

Spooky Salem Capricorn Daddy ACQUIRED 😎😎😎

Do u know what? I do deserve a Spooky Salem Capricorn Daddy(tm) this winter, I shall fret no more about it

[daydreams-after-dark]

Free Use Jail Cell, Part 6

MDNI // 18+ content

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Police Officer Skz ot8 x female reader

Premise: you're arrested and held for 24 hours by 8 police officers at the local police station / reader has her fantasy play out.

Word Count: 3.8k approx (part 6)

Chapter Summary: You are at the mercy of Chief Chan and Officer Felix.

A/n: The time has come! Finally the Aussies have their way with y/n. I know so many of you have been hanging out for this chapter, sending messages and comments, and I'm so excited to share it with you. I know it was a long time coming.

Two things I need to mention, though. The first, I forgot Minho was a detective in the last chapter and called him 'officer' (do you think he'd be a dear and punish me for my mistake?), and two, I mentioned his clothes got soaked in the shower, but nothing about him changing into dry clothes. Let’s just pretend he did.

CW below the cut.

CW: where do I start? Frisking innapropriately, vaginal and anal fingering, photographing of injuries, pinching a nipple, spanking with a belt, handcuffs, bloody lip, hole inspection, crude language about how swollen and how much it's going to hurt, spit roasting, oral sex (m rec), cum eating, cream pie, size kink, name calling (cockslut, whore, babygirl, good girl etc, multiple orgasms, brief breeding kink, rough sex, soft dom moments from Chan and Felix, double vaginal penetration, color system (all green for go ahead), aftercare, angst (you'll see why).

>>>>>>>>

The time arrives for you to finally visit the chief and one his officers, Felix.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Minho says as he does up the last button on the oversized shirt he’d helped you into.

You nod. You’re ready, but nervous.

“Now, remember your color system, your safe word. You don’t have to do anything you don—“ he stops abruptly, coughing awkwardly as he realizes he sounds far too concerned than he should.

Flustered, he clenches his hands into fists and steps back from you.

Again, just like earlier, your heart flutters for just a brief moment, and you swallow hard. You can’t understand it. This is definitely not the context to be feeling things.

Detective Minho walks close to your side as you make your way to the Chief’s office, a protective hand on your lower back.

“Just knock and wait for them to answer.” He says stopping at the door. “Make sure you’re a good girl for them, okay?” He leans in to your ear. “I can’t wait to feel you again later.” Your eyes widen and your cunt clenches, but he walks away like he said nothing at all.

Knock knock.

You tap on the door and wait.

You only have to wait a brief moment before the door opens and you see Office Lee. Felix. He gives you a big, beautiful smile and ushers you into the office.

You’re taken by surprise when you’re immediately spun around and your chest is pressed against the wall beside the door.

“Gotta frisk you, love.” Officer Felix says sweetly. His hands are firm and deliberate as he pats over your shoulders and arms, the down the sides of your body.

“You’ll need to step a little wider, please.” He whispers in your ear.

You part your legs and his hand immediately drags up your inner thigh to cup your pussy, sending tingles through your body. You lean your head against the wall and let out a shaky breath.

“Need to do the internal now.” He says low and slips a finger deep into your heat. You squeak at the intrusion, but it turns to a low moan when he slowly drags his finger in and out of you. His fingers are expert, knowing exactly where that sweet spot is inside you. You rock back against his fingers and moan again.

“Hmm,” he says, “looks like you’re hiding a lot of creaminess here.” He reaches around, offering his cream-coated finger to your mouth. You open and let him slip it inside, pressing it against your tongue, and you suck it willingly.

“Now for the other pretty hole.” There’s a strain in his voice as he snakes his other hand underneath your shirt to find your ass. You whimper around the finger in your mouth as he presses his other against your hole.

The ring of muscle offers little resistance, and the tip of his finger pushes past the rim. Your eyes squeeze tight and your hands press into the wall to steady yourself as he begins to press his finger in further. Although your ass has already had plenty of things done to it in the last twenty four hours, the stretch still feels like a sweet mix of pleasure and pain.

With two fingers scissoring your ass, and a few shoved into your mouth, you’re on the brink of coming. You know that somewhere in the room Chief Chan is watching, even though you didn’t get a chance to see where he was.

Your moans are muffled from Felix’s fingers, and your cunt is leaking arousal down your inner thighs. You feel like a mess and they haven’t even started yet.

Your legs tremble as your pussy clenches around nothing, and you come, pathetically, just like that.

Felix removes all his fingers from your ass and your mouth, and wipes them on your shirt. “Good girl. Now we need to take photos. Come.” He grabs your arm and guides you to turn around.

This is the first time you see the room. It really does look like a Police Chief’s office, with a long, low coffee table surrounded by armchair couches.

At the far end of the room is a large timber desk, and sitting on the edge of the desk is the Chief. Chief Chan.

“Y/n.” He smiles, his eyes crinkling, his expression devilish. “Now you’re going to be a good little prisoner for us, yeah?” He stands up only to take a seat in the couch at the head of the coffee table. “Gonna let Officer Lee here take some good photos of your injuries?”

He settles into his chair. “Strip.” He commands.

Your hands tremble as you unbutton your shirt and let it fall to the floor, leaving you bare for them.

“Fuck.” Chan mutters under his breath. “So perfect.” He swallows hard. “Felix, get started.”

Felix pulls a set of handcuffs from his belt and secures them around your wrists in front of you. “I need you on all fours on the coffee table. Ass towards the Chief. He needs to see all of you.”

You climb onto the table, positioning yourself so Chan can see everything. He lets out a low hum, when he sees the red welts on your ass cheeks.

Felix retrieves a camera from a drawer to the side of the room, and begins to photograph and take note of your injuries.

“Those red welts would be from the paddling she received in the interrogation.” Felix says. Click. Click. “And this cut on her neck, was from Jeongin in the shower.” Click. Click. “Note, there’s also some minor marks on her wrists from various restraints.

“What about her nipples?” Chief Chan interrupts.

“Up on your knees, I need to check.” You rise to your knees and Felix reaches out to stroke your nipple, causing you to shudder under his touch.

“They’re a little bruised.” He tweaks the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, then pulls away to take a photograph.

You look down at your nipples to see they are in fact bruised. You hadn’t realized how hard Minho and Seungmin had those clamps attached.

Felix continues to examine your body, photographing any marks or bruises he finds along the way.

“Chief. Would you like to do the honors? Y/n, back on your hands and knees. Its time for your ‘hole inspection’.”

Fuck! The words ‘hole inspection’ hit you straight in the pussy.

“Of course. Pass me your torch. Spread her ass wide for me.” Chan says gruffly, his tone laced with arousal.

You sense Chief Chan moving behind you, and the click of the torch. With a hand on each of your cheeks, Felix spreads you wide so you’re on display. You feel a surge of heat wash over you. You’re excited, aroused, and so fucking nervous. You’re loving being vulnerable like this.

You feel a pad of a thumb on your clit, rubbing harsh circles on it. You lean your head on the table, trying your hardest not to whimper. It’s difficult though. Especially how they’re talking about you like you’re nothing but a fuck toy.

“Fucking hell, Felix. Look at how used her cunt looks.” Felix leans in for a closer look, while Chan jams a finger inside your pussy. “Her lips are swollen. So red. Rubbed raw.” He says incredulously. “Chief? How’s she gonna take both our cocks. She looks too swollen.”

“Don’t worry, Lixie. We’ll make them fit. Every inch of us both.” Chan laughs like a crazed man as he tries to spread your hole wide so can try and see inside. “Look at that! She likes the idea of it being a struggle, she’s dripping wet.”

Chan runs a finger along your wet folds, gathering your creaminess. He’s not wrong. This is one of your fantasies. Taking two huge, throbbing cocks in your tight, abused little cunt.

You bite your bottom lip, willing the intrusive thoughts about how sick you must be away, and instead try to remember Detective Minho’s words. “You’re not a sick freak”.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when a loud harsh slap of a belt lands on your skin, hitting you where you were still tender from the paddling.

The sting is almost unbearable, and you bite down on your lip so hard you taste blood.

Another hit with the belt has you crying out, and the third strike has you sobbing loudly.

The fourth lands on your swollen pussy lips, and your knees buckle, causing you slip and land on your stomach.

Chief Chan doesn’t care, and he keeps landing more hits with the belt on your ass.

Felix gently pushes your hair off the side of you face and leans in, kissing your cheek gently.

“Remember you can use your safe word. What color are we on?” He stokes your back awaiting your answer.

Chan pauses his ministrations.

“G-g-green.” You sob. “P-please….need to c-come.” You begin to bawl your eyes out.

“Shh… it’s okay. We’ll take care of you.” Felix reassures you, continuing to stoke your back, and Chan rubs your cheeks gently, before landing three more strikes to your sore ass.

“Time to make the Chief feel good.” Says Felix. “Then we can make you feel good, yeah”. He helps you up but doesn’t uncuff you.

He turns you to face Chan who has resumed his seat in the armchair. He appears to like what he sees. You with tear streaks all down your face, and a bloody lip that’s beginning to drip down your chin, it seems to have an effect on him.

He exhales sharply, his jaw clenched and fists in tight balls on the chair arms. You know he’s going to absolutely enjoy this.

“Come. Down on your knees for the Chief.”

You kneel between Chan’s widespread legs and look up it him through your eyelashes. He leans down and wipes your lip, smearing blood across your face.

“You seem to enjoy pain.” He says low, cupping your cheek. You stare at him wide eyed, holding your breath. “Which is lucky, cos you should have seen your cunt just now. I promised Officer Felix we’d make it fit, but I’m not so sure you’re gonna be able to take it without it hurting.”

You gulp.

“Now,” His grip on your jaw tightens. “I need you to put this pretty little mouth to good use while Felix tries to pry you open a bit, yeah?”

He leans back in the chair waiting for you to begin.

You can already see he is big just from the bulge in his trousers, and when you release it from its confines you can’t help but gasp at the sight.

Enormous. So many thick, pulsing veins, and it's heavy. So fucking heavy looking.

You hold it tentatively in your still cuffed hands, giving it an experimental pump. He hisses loudly when you lean down and lick the slit of his cock head.

“I think you can do better than that.” He growls and grabs a fist full of hair on the back of your head, pushing you down over his length.

He pushes you too deep and you gag loudly around him. But he simply chuckles at your struggle and holds you there.

Felix positions himself behind you, kneeling and pressing his cock to your entrance. He holds your hips steady with one hand and pushes into you. Chan was right, you are swollen, and it is a big stretch just to accept the tip.

Chan loosens his grip on your hair, giving you the opportunity to show him what a good little girl you can be.

You sink back over his shaft, relaxing your throat to take him just that little bit more. He groans in approval and rests his head back on the couch.

Felix fills you inch by inch. It stings, yet it feels so satisfying to be stretched open. You groan, the vibrations from your mouth making Chan shudder.

Felix slams the last of his length inside you, taking you by surprise and making you choke on Chan’s cock.

He then thrusts slowly, allowing you to concentrate on pleasing Chan, but every drag of his cock inside you is bringing you closer and closer to another orgasm.

“I wish all pussies were this compliant.” Felix laughs. “This one’s opening up perfectly.”

He rolls his hips a few times, grinding against you deliciously, then snaps his hips hard, hitting your cervix brutally. He alternates between these actions, driving you crazy, sending you closer and closer to the edge.

Chan lets you do all the work on his cock, watching you drool all over it sloppily. Sucking, licking, gagging. You take as much as you possibly can into your throat. You use your hands where you can’t reach with your mouth. Every now and then he pushes your head down a little more, testing your limits.

“Fuck! She’s so tight, Chief. You wanna feel her? I’d love to come in her mouth if I’m allowed?” He thrusts into you hard. “I’m so close.”

“Mmm, yes, let me fill her little cunt with my cum, you fill her mouth.” Chan agrees.

You’re abruptly emptied of both penises and directed to straddle Chan on the couch with one foot on either side of him, and your back against his chest. He hooks his arms under your thighs and with Felix guiding Chan’s cock to your entrance, you’re lowered onto his length.

You whimper as your body stretches to accommodate him as he continues to fill you bit by bit.

You’re too full. There’s no way in hell you’re going to fit both of them at once.

Eventually, your ass meets his hips and you’re fully impaled on him.

“Fuck, yes. Such a good, tight, filthy cunt.” Growls Chan and he rolls his hips up against you while pulling you down as hard as he can.

You cry out.

“Shh now. Here.” Felix rubs the tip of his leaking cock against your check. You turn your head and open up to take him. He fucks your mouth a lot rougher than he fucked your cunt, pushing himself deeper and deeper into your throat on every thrust. It only takes a few minutes for him to cum down your throat with a pretty moan, his head thrown back.

It makes you clench hard around Chan. “Babygirl likes a belly full of cum? Good, cos she’s gonna be fed a whole lot when all the officers take her at once.” He says, pounding into you from below.

“Open up, love. Show me your empty mouth. That’s it. Good girl.” Felix is pleased when you stick out your tongue and show him just how hungry you are.

He removes the the remainder of his clothes and starts to fist his cock, working on getting it hard again.

Chan stands up, pushing you off his cock and laying you onto the coffee table unceremoniously. He folds you in half, pushing your legs up and then absolutely rams himself into you over and over.

The cold hard wood underneath you is uncomfortable on your back as you’re being fucked into it.

“You like this? You fucking little whore? Hmm? Love having a fat cock filling you up like this?” He leans down and kisses you. It’s unexpected, but you welcome it. It’s rough and harsh, just like his cock, and the pressure inside you becomes too much.

He pulls away and you look down to see just how thick and long he is, and how much he stretches and fills you. Your engorged, pink lips enveloping him as your cunt sucks him in. You whimper as your body starts to shake, and with a loud cry, you drench his cock, clenching around it, coming hard.

“That’s our girl. Yeah milk me. Milk Channie’s huge cock!” He demands as his eyes scrunch tight and he lets out an animalistic growl as he coats your insides.

He pulls away, panting, sweating, exhausted, and removes his clothes hastily.

Felix is quick to photograph the cum leaking out of you and you hold your legs up to ensure he gets a good view.

“So perfect.” He approves and sets the camera aside. “Y/n. It’s time. Let’s change positions.” He smiles and uncuffs your hands and helping you to your feet.

Chan produces a blanket from a drawer and spreads it out on the coffee table. He lays down on it and instructs you to straddle him.

Holding his cock steady, he pushes inside your still leaking cunt once again. It’s an impossibly tight squeeze, especially after your orgasm, but somehow he manages to fill you to the hilt. You both exhale sharply when he lifts you slightly and pulls you back down again.

“Come here, lean on me.” He invites you to lay against his chest and he wraps his arms around you. “You’re already choking me. I’m not sure I’m going to survive this.” He whispers against your ear.

He fucks you slowly for a few minutes, grinding up into you over and over. Meanwhile, Felix caresses your body, stroking your back, your ass and presses kisses along your back. He spreads your cheeks and curses low at what he sees.

You’re melting under their softer approach, which you know is all part of them relaxing you for what’s about to come.

“That’s it. Good girl.” Cooes Chan.

“Feels s'good.” You mumble.

“Yeah? You ready to take Officer Felix? Think you can do that for us?” He purrs.

You nod against his shoulder. “Wanna be a good girl.” You whimper.

Chan chuckles. “Yeah? I know you’re gonna be. You’re gonna take Felix like a good little cockslut.”

You feel Felix behind you, positioning himself. “Fuck, Chan.” Felix says uncertainly. “She looks so full already.”

“She’s okay, Lix. She’ll take you no matter what. Let’s fuck her brains out. Tear up her pussy.”

You moan and clench around Chan. You’re certain this man could make you come just with his filthy mouth.

You let out a low groan as Felix presses the tip of his cock at your entrance alongside Chan.

“F-fuck!” You cry when his tip pushes past the opening. “S’too much.” You pant.

“Color?” Chan says sternly.

“G-green. J-just slow, please! Slow.”

Chan holds you with one hand around your back, the other gently holding your ass, pulling the cheek aside to help give Felix access. “You guide us, yeah?”

“You ready to try for more?” Felix asks, a kindness in his voice. The man seems so kind, so considerate. You want to have him inside you too.

“Yes…more.” You pant.

Slowly, and under your direction, Felix squeezes in next to Chan. “So tight. Chan, how are you holding up?”

Chan’s voice is shaky when he answers. “M’not gonna last, mate. Pussy’s too good.”

“More…please…make me take it. Wannabe a good girl! Wanna come on two cocks. Just fuck me!” You ramble and nuzzle against Chan.

The stretch is nothing like you’ve ever felt before. Your walls are stretched further than they have ever been, and they’re so deep inside you, owning you, making you theirs.

You begin to drool, as they take turns withdrawing and thrusting in a beautiful rhythm.

The men growl and grunt as they work together, eventually deciding that instead of one thrust in while the other withdraws, they are going to thrust in at the same time.

“Oh god! Fuck!” You wail.

The both laugh at your reaction, pleased with themselves.

“Harder! More!” You demand. You need them to really give it to you like they promised.

“Make it hurt!”

Their reaction tells you it is music to their ears to hear that.

“Ready, Lix? You heard her. Babygirl wants it to hurt.”

You almost regret it straight away. Felix’s fingers dig into your hips hard, and Chan digs his feet into the table for leverage.

Together they don’t hold back, fucking you brutally. You feel like your cunt is about to split into two. It’s stretched to its limits, yet it craves more. Frantically, you seek more friction, more depth and your body automatically pushes back down against them seeking more.

Lewd sounds fill the office. Sweaty skin slapping skin. Moans, whimpers and curses of ‘fuck’. Then there’s the wet sounds of your pussy. It’s all so dirty and filthy.

You feel yourself so close to your another orgasm, and when both men move a finger to your ass, you know you’re a goner.

“Think you can take both our fingers?”

“Ngh…y-yes…give it to me.” You sob.

The moment you feel your rim give way, and their fingers slip inside slightly and pulling in opposite directions, stretching your hole wide, your body shakes uncontrollably, and you come hard with a sound that can only be described something raw, something primal.

“Fuck! You feel that?” Cries Felix, slamming into you as hard as he can.

“Y-yeah! Fuck, she’s gonna suck us dry. So tight…. Fuuuuck!!” He groans as he cums, releasing himself deep in you. “That's it, let us breed you like a bitch in heat. Gonna take Lixie’s cum too? Mmm yeah? Gonna suck the cum out of him with your tight, hungry little cunt?”

“Mmhmm… yess…need his cum too.”

“Wanna be bred, yeah?”

“Y-yes….please. Please. Need it.” You’re dribbling all over Chan’s chest, mumbling in confusion. It all feels so overwhelmingly incredible. So good you’re going to -

“I’m fucking coming again!” You cry, clamping down around the the two men.

“Oh fuck! Gonna give you my cum. Gonna-”

Felix’s hips falter as he cums, filling you so much that it begins to seep out around both cocks.

He slips out of your tired pussy, and you already feel far too empty, and then Chan pulls out too making you sob at the loss.

“You okay?” Felix wraps a blanket around you and Chan produces warm towels to clean you up.

You nod and smile, although you’re also bawling your eyes out from how euphoric the experience felt. “It was so good. Thank you for being so…considerate. You know, letting me set the pace. As you know, that was my first time.”

“Of course.” Chan kneels down in front of you. “We take our roles very seriously. Our client’s needs are our top priority.” He wipes a tear away. “Now. You need to stay here and rest. Felix will bring you food. And if you are still up for it, we will commence the final request of yours as soon as you're good to go."

>>>>

Minho listens from the other side of the door. That’s right, you’re a client. Nothing more.

He sighs.

Then why did he listen to that entire interaction? Why did he feel like he needed to make sure they didn’t take things too far with you? Or that they would honor your safe word?

He knows Chan and Felix wouldn’t do anything you weren’t comfortable with, yet he stood there, fists clenched, listening to you whimpering? Waiting for an excuse to barge in there.

Fuck! He cards his fingers through his hair.

Why did he feel jealous when he heard the sounds that your sweet cunt made when they were inside you? Why did he want to burst in there and rip them from your body and sink himself inside you?

Why the fuck does he care so much?

He settles his mouth into a thin line. He know why, and it's absolutely not ideal. Not to mention it's against the rules of the job.

He sighs again and forces himself to walk away. He needs to figure out a way that he's going to handle watching you get gang banged, and quick.

>>>>

a/n: Oopies, someone is struggling with some feelings it seems. How did you enjoy this chapter? I really wanted to make it a longish one and really give the the Aussie their moment. Please, if you enjoyed, consider a reblog or leave a comment. I love hearing your thoughts on this series.

>>>>

@jeonginsleftcheek @meilix @itgirlalisaa @linocz @boi-bi-ahaha @frozenpeasworld @grandma143 @milkypinkmimi @bangchansbbgirl @leefelixsslut @privhace @justforreaders @galaxycatdrawz @melochacco @jiwoos-babygirl @lunearta @kavifornia @chuuyaobsessed @iadorethemskz @hyun-hwanj @courtnort455 @brimarie0512 @dwaekkicidal @kibs-and-bits @txa-r @minh0scat @the-sweet-rose @chrizzztopherbang @velvetmoonlght @youcanstayyeah @skzswife @stephanieeeyang @withnia @kibs-and-bits @kayleefriedchicken @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @ihrtlino

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin@weareapackofstrays @3rachasdomesticbanana @palindrome969 @xxkissesforchanniexx @fun-fanfics @rhonnie23 @jisunglyricist @strayywayy @armystay89 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @mylittleponeypinkrosieposie @melochacco @scenuniverse @oddracha @jiminssluttyminx @dool-set-net @redstayrosie @mintymintmint251 @katsukis1wife @delulustardust @eastjonowhere

[nymphomatique]

special affair

dbf!miguel o’hara x fem!reader

art credit: _insomniac_red_ on ig. pictures are for mood setting, reader has no specific race or physical descriptions.

cw: a lil angsty, this is just shameless smut im sorry guys i don’t know what came over me, daddy kink, dbf!miguel <3, unspecified age gap but reader is legal, rough sex, squirting, unprotected sex, miguel is not a good man, conflicted reader, creampie, lowkey breeding kink, degrading language, choking/breath play, face slapping, spitting, mentions of oral (m), overstimulation, crying/dacryphillia, pubic hair grinding? lmao idk, reader is alluded to being in sub space. not proofread lol. 18+ only.

wc: ~1.5k

❤︎ an: hi my loves!! this is a sorta part two to this drabble, but can be read as a stand alone one shot. tbh i wrote this w my pussy.. i’m ovulating rn i’m so ashamed of myself 😔 nevertheless, enjoy! if you guys want more don’t hesitate to lmk!!

from that first night he fucked you from behind, you knew you strayed too far from the status quo in your life, you’re at the point of no return. that night, when he finished pounding you from behind and defiling you further with his seed all over your back and ass, you had laid in that position— spent and on your stomach- for the rest of the night, silently sobbing. you had betrayed your father, that much you were aware of the day you started rubbing at yourself meekly in the dead of the night thinking about his best friend.

you had long come to terms with that guilt, accepting whatever image of a burning inferno there is in the afterlife. what you cannot come to terms with, is the fact that he- miguel- had actually fucked you, indulged in what you considered your own taboo thoughts, ripping them from page and making your crude thoughts a sick reality. the worst part of this all is that amidst it all, the mental beratement, the nights you spent crying, the sick feeling the memories of miguel’s cock stretching you absolutely thin, showing you a climax like no other— you want to hate yourself for it, for being weak. for being such a bad girl. but you didn’t know why your body decided to betray your brain, the physical craving for the older man’s body possessing you whole. you can’t bear this feeling, holding it up inside you and trying to keep it at bay. fuck- you needed to talk to someone, you had to, even if it’s the last person you want to speak to.

nevertheless, you end up two houses down, sniffling and heaving in the dead of the night, knocking the door as hard as your trembling hands would let you. the door swings open and at the sight of him you keen, your body aching at the sight of the burly muscles covered in sun kissed skin. dark brown hair streaked with grey at the temples. a slight five o’clock shadow, he must not have shaved this morning. and then you look into those eyes, swallowing you up whole and you begin to tear up again. miguel is silent, leaning against the door with messy hair, glazed eyes and clad in boxers, and boxers only. fuck, you shouldn’t have come here.

“I-.. Miguel, it hurts,” you sob quietly, aflame with shame and embarrassment at how little resolve you had. He grabs your face with his warm hands and you’re trembling now, ready for him. your lips ghost for a moment before he breathes out. “i’m not a good man, sweetheart. if you don’t say no, i’m gonna break you.” he sounds sincere with his words and his eyes go stern. you wish you had some self of self control, or maybe having better discernment. but the only thing you say to him only confirms what you already knew about yourself; you’re a terrible fucking person. 

“violate me.”

your lips are smashed against each other, tongues dancing and it feels so good to be in his embrace again. your tears fall down your cheeks, meeting at the junction of your mouths in a pool of saliva. miguel groans and you know why, remembering what he had said to you the last time.

“i like when you cry.”

you’re grabbed up at the hips, legs wrapped around a thick torso, pressed up against a firm chest and a heavy cock. the moments up to the bedroom are cloudy, drunk off his lips against yours. you come to slightly when cold plush sheets hit your back and a pair of lips leave yours. you whine, yearning for his touch again. he looks down at you, bringing your right foot to his mouth, he licks lightly up the sole- kissing the ball of your foot before he leans down, caging your between his elbows, face to face.

“you gonna be good for your daddy?” he asks softly, kissing between the bridge of your nose once. 

“y-yes,” you breathe out with a slow nod. 

“mmm. gonna let me violate this tight little body too?” he asks, still soft in tone and you think you’re gonna go crazy by the end of the night. “yes, daddy,” you murmur, lost in his eyes. 

“sick fucking little girl. but that’s how i like it,” he chuckles, kissing you softly before getting up stripping you bare.

“letting your daddy undress you like a good girl. so obedient f’me,” he coos at you, touching you softly and you’re almost in tears. you need him. and you let it be known. a lone tear falls down your cheek and you mewl, “n-need you to make it better down there, daddy.”

his large hand engulfs you cheek, thumb wiping your tear softly before squishing your face, putting his tear stained thumb in your mouth. “you think you’re a big girl now, hmm? telling your daddy what to do?” you look up at him teary eyed, suckling his thick finger.

“you take what i give you, when i give it to you.” he squeezes you cheek a little harder before softly slapping your cheek and you squeak at the contact. a rough laugh leaves miguel’s mouth at your reaction. “you have no idea how bad i’m gonna treat you, baby.”

you’re non verbal at this point, mouth agape and leaking saliva down your jaw seeping into the sheets and the junction of your neck and chest. a hand slaps your cheek again, you’ve lost how many that is now. “i fucked you stupid already?” miguel laughs, hard thrusts sending you flying up the bed. his hands on your hips bring you down back to him each time, poking you right in that sweet spot in your pussy. you’ve lost count of how many orgasms you’ve head, body wracked and numb with pleasure. throat hoarse from the near-violent throat fuck he gave you.

a glob of spit hits your forehead and you groan a bit. the one thing you’re sure of is that you look a goddamned mess. a crude picture of the activity you’ve been partaking in for the past two hours. a hand leaves your hip to wrap around your neck and squeeze roughly, making you gasp for air, your body finally moving.

“there we go, got you moving now. thought i fucked you to sleep for a second.” 

your eyes are glossy, at the lack of air and building pressure. your hand meekly wraps around his wrist as he fucks into you. you know you shouldn’t like the way he toys with you like this, waking the line of torment and pleasure with no care in the world. but you do. and you can’t deny it anymore.

“you’re tightening up on me again. you gonna cum for me again?” miguel asks you, and he laughs after knowing you can’t even answer him. “sick little girl. you like it when i choke you? make you feel weak? worthless?” 

it’s barely audible, but the moan you let out vibrates in your neck and miguel can feel it with the hand pressed against your throat. he throws his head back with a groan. “nasty, naughty girl. fuck baby, gonna cum in that little pussy.”

you’re almost there, and quite frankly impressed that you haven’t fully passed out yet. your head feels light, and you begin to tremble violently, gushing out spurts of liquid as your head falls to the side. if this is hell, you’re not so sure you could give this up for heaven. your eyes close and you feel so close to falling asleep when he removes his hand from your neck, grabbing your head by the nape of your neck, craning you up to where you can see his thick cock slip and slide between your thighs. you groan at the image. 

“need you awake to see me cum in you, don’t i?” miguel groans. “you like watching me fuck you, like letting me dirty you.”

 his tuft of black pubic hair rubs against yours as his thrusts become increasingly sporadic and intense, and it has you trembling at the stimulation it gives your clit. you weakly squirt each time his pelvis brushes against your clit, your body letting you know you have only so much left in you before you’re drained empty.

“fuck, love it when you wet the bed. my pissy little girl. daddy loves the messes you make.” he’s nearly breathless and you pray he’s going to cum in the next minute, the ache in your neck and dull sensation in your pussy building slowly.

“c-cum in me. wanna give you a baby,” you moan, looking up from the fast thrusts and into miguel’s eyes. 

“fuck! so n-naughty, baby. gonna give me another one, huh? fucking take it, then.” with a final thrust, you feel the warmth of his cum shoot and blossom somewhere deep within you. you moan weakly, one final weak spurt of squirt coming out of you. miguel pulls out and you watch him look at the mess he made of you and your pussy, covered in spit, cum and the beginnings of handprint bruises blossoming on your hips and ass from how hard he gripped and spanked you. 

you can feel his cum slowly trickle out of you, and your body feels like it’s no longer your own. after so many orgasms, your limbs are on fire, and you can do nothing but breathe and weakly murmur a “d-daddy..” while your eyes close.

tags: @realhotgirlshitah @obsessed-with-miguels-ass @maxiethestrange

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[tropes-and-tales]

The Coolness of the Shade

(Oberyn Martell x F!Reader)

CW:  Fluff, non-smutty smooching, references to past smutty times, language, mention of pregnancy, a mention of Ellaria. 18+ to be safe.

Word Count:  1312

AN:  This was originally requested from a "gentle prompt list" ("lazy kisses that don't even count as kisses but you could live in that moment forever because LOVE") by @elegantmusicdragon!

Tales of Prince Oberyn Martell precede him through Westeros, into Essos, and likely beyond.  You wonder sometimes if there’s some giant in his cave in the Frostfangs, swaddled in fur and coated in a rime of ice that has heard of the Red Viper and his prodigious appetites in love.

If that’s so, the giant would likely miss the hidden truth of your prince and lover:  that yes, of course many of the stories are true because Oberyn is without shame and without prejudice in who he loves…but that his outsized love extends beyond the salacious moments in the bedchamber or brothel. 

To put it crudely (which Oberyn would love, because he so loves to hear the filthiest words falling from your ladylike mouth):  the Red Viper’s cock may be large, but his heart is larger.

To put it more delicately (which your dearly departed septa would love, because she toiled so tirelessly to mold your wild person into a semblance of a lady):  Oberyn may love a person with his body, but the love he grants them from his heart is a far more precious thing.

-----

It is the custom of the Dornish to retire during the noon hour, when the sun is at its peak and the heat shimmers across the city and desert.  They laze by fountains or in the shade of the lemon or olive groves, they drowse in their beds with the curtains drawn.  They take a small meal, then relax behind the thick stone walls of their homes, the shutters fast across their windows to keep the sun and heat from penetrating.

You and Oberyn retire too; his rooms at Sunspear are cool, and even the balcony that overlooks the royal garden is deep and shaded.  The two of you lie across a wide divan heaped with silken pillows on his balcony, and a nearby table holds an ewer of water infused with lemon and mint.  There are little bowls of snacks—dates, berries, almonds dusted with ginger—but you work at a ruby-red pomegranate, separating the juicy arils from the bitter white flesh.

“You look like someone out of a myth,” Oberyn says from where he’s sprawled against the divan.  “Some temptress with her fruit, ready to cause an innocent boy to sin.”

You laugh lightly.  “I’m less a temptress and more the tempted.”

“Is that so?”

“I seem to recall a certain feast in Honeyholt.  A certain celebration of a Beesbury daughter’s betrothal to a Karstark.  There was wine, jousting, mummers—”

“Sounds festive.”

You nod, and you free another aril to pop it in your mouth, the tart juice bursting on your tongue as you bite down.  “I also seem to recall a certain man, temptation himself, slipping between the silk panels of the Beesbury daughter’s tent, slipping past her dozing septa, and offering her a glimpse of what her married life might hold.”

“Temptation himself,” Oberyn muses.  “Sounds wicked.”

Another nod.  “Oh, he was.  Wicked with his tongue and his fingers and then finally his cock.  Before the sun rose over Honeyholt the next morning, both the Beesbury daughter and Temptation were long gone, leaving only a broken betrothal and a furious father behind.”

Oberyn hums at that, and he reaches out and grasps your wrist lightly, tugs you down to where he lays. 

“And a shattered reputation,” he adds.  “And more pleasure and love than the Beesbury daughter could have ever received from dour old Karstark.”  He pauses, then adds, “and I love it when you say cock, my love.  Such a blunt word in such a pretty mouth.”

You dip your head and kiss him gently.  “I think, on the balance, the Beesbury daughter is quite happy with her choice.”

“And Temptation is glad to hear it, because he is quite happy with her choice too.”  He waits until you start to draw away from him, then tugs you back, kisses you again.  He opens your mouth with his, but his tongue slips against yours lazily, like he’s tasting you but happy to do little else.

“Come, my disgraced Lady Beesbury.  Lie down with me.”  He pulls you down, helps you stretch alongside him, but he doesn’t press his advantage in the heavy noon heat.  In the coolness of the shade of his balcony, he only kisses you:  gentle presses of his lips on yours, the sweet, slow slide of his mouth on your jaw, your neck. 

You kiss him back:  the crown of his head, his forehead, the slope of his nose.  His temples, the rough stubble on his cheeks.  You don’t press your advantage either; you still are not used to the heat of Dorne, the necessity of pausing a productive workday.  In Honeyholt, your noon hour was when the commoners would petition your Lord Father, when Cook began preparing for the evening meal, when the servants hung wet linen to dry in the breeze.  You often took strolls through the gardens, the heavy buzzing of the hives an accompanying melody.

This is different, but it’s not unwelcome.  A daily moment to spend time with Oberyn, to relish each other’s company, to wrap yourself in each other’s arms and exchange kisses without heat but with plenty of love.

Oberyn kisses you again on your mouth, then breaks away.  He lays a gentle palm on the back of your head and guides you to lie against his chest.  He’s in a light linen robe, but it’s open, and your cheek brushes against the smattering of hair there.  You can hear his heart, strong and steady, under your ear. 

The two of you lay in silence for a long moment.  There’s little sound other than a breeze stirring the leaves in the lemon trees below, a bird chirruping nearby. 

“I may have been Temptation,” Oberyn finally says, his voice a low rumble.  “But who could resist you?  The sweetest flower about to be torn out at the root and taken to the cold North.  You would have never flourished there.”

You feel the tiniest stab of loyalty for your would-be husband, now dead since the past year.  “Lord Karstark was a kind enough man.  Only gruff.”

“Northern men never treat their women well.  Little more than broodmares to continue their paltry bloodlines.”

You laugh, turn your head enough to press a kiss to his bare chest.  “Ah, so says Prince Oberyn, father to…how many is it, now?”

“Eight.  Eight daughters.”   His arm that holds you tightens around your shoulders, but his free hand reaches up and cups your breast lightly, then slides lower, under the edge of your gown.  He lays his palm gently against your belly that has only begun to round with his child.  “And perhaps a ninth daughter.”

You smile.  It is too early, but you imagine the child turning towards Oberyn’s hand, sensing him, feeling the love the Red Viper already has for this unknown child—the same love he bears all his children.

“Or perhaps a son,” you reply.

“And then afterwards, perhaps a tenth child…and an eleventh…”  His palm caresses you.  You know he loves the making of his children, but he also loves watching them grow in their mothers.  Ellaria had warned you with a knowing smile, but you had not quite believed her until you experienced it for yourself.  The moment you told Oberyn that you had missed your monthly courses, he was insatiable:  keeping you abed for days, as if he hadn’t already planted his seed, as if more love-making could somehow fix the growing babe firmer into you.

But he doesn’t press his luck now.  He only holds you in the cool shade, drowses with you, kisses you from time to time.  Just you, the Beesbury daughter and your tempting prince, and the child you made together…all three resting in the noon hour in Dorne.

[wcrfcres]

hands skillful in seizing , snaring without remorse for the life and breath taken to his own . same hands kept to himself while the sapphire dragoness circled him like a hunter to its prey . lord tarth is anything but , yet if his beloved wife deemed him so , then so shall he be . knuckles slipping white , jaw tightening from the ungodly amount of restraint being exercised , to ensure all that he is remains so and not meshing with that of his wife . only the blue hues given permission to stir , to follow and soak itself in the impending pain and pleasure that awaits him . thrilling enough to invite exhilaration , tenting in his trousers as the distance between them grew shorter and shorter , and shorter . she draws from him a breath , a gasp that rolls in his throat when steps away . delight mixes with umbrage when she spoke . yet it does not bring from him the aggression any other slight would have . ❝ she is not as ... creative as you are , and neither is her lord husband as ... sturdy as i am . ❞

heavy steps were taken to follow her , like the leashed dog that he is . each one thick with tension . each one with claws and teeth . lord heir walks up to his wife , not without his eyes feasting on her silhouette . valyrian tresses pushed away by scarred fingers , revealing translucent shoulder . lush scent of amber and lavender pulling him in . wet suckle more than a gentle kiss planted on the sliver of skin , tongue drawing circles and shapes as he whispers , ❝ i'm fairly certain however hard you strike , my knees will not buckle , my love . ❞ he is not so much bated as he is pleased . palm moving reaching for the hem of her dress , clutching onto the fabric until her own skin touches his . fingers slipping further to stroke forward and back . ❝ so what shall it be , lady tarth ? will i be ordered to devour your cunt or shall i be a wild dog and dine as i please ? ❞

  small  ,  fine  hairs  rise  upon  arms  and  aback  the  neck  .  it  is  not  the  first  time  she's  listened  to  baris'  expression  of  violence  ,  far  from  it  ,  and  it  certainly  won't  be  the  last .  she  remains  unperturbed  ,  agreeing  whole  heartily  that  the  weasel  ought  to  be  extremely  grateful  that  he  merely  suffered  a  dislocation ,  though  she  does  not  voice  said  support .  such  unseemly  rhetoric  should  not  fall  from  the  lips  of  one  so  fair  ,  though  more  often  than  not  it  does  all  the  same .   her  support  for  his  acts  of  brutish  revenge  as  resolute  as  her  love  for  him .  it  was  why  they  complimented  each  other  so  well  ,  she  loved  the  monster  within  as  much  as  the  man  and  vice  versa .  hands  smoothed  over  bare  arms  ,  the  slight  chill  in  the  air  prickling  flesh  ;  slow  steps  closed  the  distance  between  them ,  there  were  more  pleasurable  ways  to  warm .  ❛   i  am  glad  to  hear  it .  ❜  deft  digits  rise  to  trace  the  outline  of  his  jaw  ,  the  pad  of  fingertips  a  hairsbreadth  from  flesh .  lilac  orbs  flicker  from  cerulean  pools  to  lips  ;  thoughts  aflame  with  what  she  could  possibly  do  with  him .  moon  pale  beauty  inches  closer  ,  the  temptation  to  kiss  him  sees  her  lips  over  above  his  own  –  punishment  it  was  to  be  ,  however  and  to  draw  from  the  fountain  of  her  lips  seemed  too  much  like  a  reward .  a  breathy  moan  trails  when  she  peels  away  from  his  warmth ,  steps  circling  as  nails  rake  along  torso  and  then  across  shoulders ,  all  too  quickly  withdrawn  completely  to  take  perch  upon  the  trunk  against  canvas  wall .  shoulders  brace  whilst  hands  press  down  upon  oaken  panels ,  the  rhythmic  drumming  of  nails  lightly  sounding .  ❛   what  punishment  do  you  believe  lady  arryn  prepares  for  her  lord  husband  ?  ❜  head  canted  ,  a  smirk  plays  upon  her  lips ,  knowing  the  mere  mention  will  see  his  hackles  raised . 

[hunnysahara]

˗ˏˋ 𝒲𝒽𝓎’𝒹 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒪𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝒞𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝑀𝑒 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝒴𝑜𝓊’𝓇𝑒 𝐻𝒾𝑔𝒽? ˎˊ˗

Hamzah x fem!reader

It's harder and harder to get you to listen, more I get through the gears. Incapable of making alright decisions and having bad ideas.

Premise: Your ex friends with benefits calls you in the middle of the night and you know before you answer why he’s ringing you.

CW: cannabis usage / suggestive / crude + sexual language

WC: 2.6k

The soft glow of your phone screen fractures the darkness like a sliver of unwelcome light, casting long shadows across the room. It's the dead of night when the world holds its breath in a hush, yet here you are, wide-eyed, heart knocking gently against your ribs. You had been unpleasantly woken from your sleep by the sound of your phone vibrating itself off your bedside table.

Hamzah's name lingers on your screen. The messages spill one after another, frantic and garbled, like a stream you can't dam—misspelled words, scattered thoughts like he had thrown scrabble tiles together to form texts.

You aren't even able to fully read one message before it's replaced with another. You throw your phone down beside you on your bed, running your hands down your face and grumbling. It had been months since you heard from Hamzah.

The two of you had a very casual friend-with-benefits relationship though you took the initiative to end it when there was a landslide shift and the unceremonious hookups turned into mumbled confessions against your neck. It was too intimate, it breached the contract the two of you initially agreed on.

Though here he was, blowing up your phone like he would die without another word from you.

The phone buzzes again, his caller ID taking over the screen of your phone. You groan, your thumb hovering over the screen, debating whether to answer just to tell him to stop, to leave you alone. Maybe then, maybe if you hear the slur in his voice, the edge of something broken and far away, he'll finally understand that you're not his to call anymore.

The phone lights up again, and this time, you answer.

"Hamzah, stop."

"I knew you'd pick up," His words are thick like velvet, his voice groggy and coarse.

"Why are you calling me?" You ask, voice sharp like a bullet through skin.

"I just wanna hear your voice," On the other end, you can practically hear the smile in his voice. The way the words drowsily fall from his lips brings you to one conclusion.

"You're high?"

"Perchance," He takes a sharp inhale. After a moment of virtual silence, he giggles and coughs eventually settling down "Fine, you caught me. I'm very high."

"What do you want?"

"Why are you being so mean? I just wanted to say hi," There's a hint of playfulness in his voice and you can imagine him sprawled out in bed, hair a mess and glassy eyes half drawn.

Your head throbs as he jumps from one half-finished thought to another, rambling through memories like they're fresh scabs he needs to pick at, unravelling every thread you've tried so hard to tie up neatly. "Maybe I'm being mean because you called me at three AM."

"Yeah, that's kinda annoying," He laughs to himself. His voice filters through the phone, slick with an edge of playfulness that sends a ripple of irritation through you. "It's been too long since I've seen you," Hamzah says, drawing out the word in a lazy, teasing way that always used to make you laugh. But tonight, it feels grating like sand paper against your skull.

"Not long enough." You press the phone tighter to your ear, walking barefoot across the cold floor to the kitchen. The hardwood creaks under your steps, and the cool air feels sharp against your skin.

"Oh, how you hurt me," He adds a tinge of melodrama to his sarcasm.

"Hamzah," you sigh, but he barely gives you a second to speak.

"Did I wake you up?" He pauses to take a breath and you can hear the blunt crackling, and paper shuffling in the background.

"Yeah, you did."

"My bad, my bad-" He coughs again "What are you wearing? Is it that Grateful Dead shirt that hangs off your shoulder?"

You look down at your pyjamas, you were in fact wearing the Grateful Dead that hung off your shoulder and draped past your hips. "No." You lie through your teeth.

"Damn," He mutters before his brain hooks on another ramble "Remember that time—God, you were wearing that little white sundress, you remember?—and we went to that park with the swings? You kept pretending you were too good to be on a swing, but you ended up laughing like a kid when I pushed you too high."

You roll your eyes, frustration simmering beneath the surface. His tone is light, and flirtatious, like he's trying to conjure up a nostalgia that never quite sat right with you. The kitchen light flickers to life as you reach for a glass, the soft hum of the fridge barely audible over his rambling.

"Hamzah," you cut in, more firmly this time, holding the phone between your ear and shoulder as you twist the tap open. The sound of water hitting the glass is oddly soothing, something real and grounded amidst the chaos of his voice. "You're not making any sense."

"No, I think I'm making sense. You just don't wanna admit it." There's a slurred chuckle on the other end. "Come on, don't be like that. I know you're smiling right now. You miss this."

You can practically hear the smirk in his voice, and it makes your skin crawl. You take a sip of water, trying to quench the heat building in your chest. He always does this—twisting every conversation into something flirtatious, something playful.

"I'm not smiling, I’m frowning if anything," you reply flatly, setting the glass down with a little more force than necessary. "And you really need to stop calling me in the middle of the night. This isn't funny."

"But it's not the same during the day," he says with a laugh that feels too close, too familiar. "Night's that thing in that one song- made for saying things you can't say another day," He paraphrases poorly. His voice lowers, taking on that soft, honeyed tone he used to use when he wanted to get his way. 

Your jaw tightens as you lean against the counter, fingers tapping impatiently against the cold surface. He's pushing, and it's infuriating how easily he slips back into this—this game of his, like he can flirt his way out of the chaos he's caused.

"Hamzah, I don't have time for this. You're high. Again."

"And you're still talking to me, aren't you?" he teases, his voice laced with a kind of smug satisfaction. "You didn't have to answer. Y'know there's this magical button on your phone that makes it so I can't message you? I think that you want to talk to me."

The audacity in his tone sends a spark of anger through you, your fingers curling around the edge of the counter. He always knows how to toe the line, to keep you teetering between frustration and the pull of something that's sweet on your tongue but now feels like quicksand.

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm. "Hamzah, I'm not doing this. You need to hang up and sleep this off."

There's a pause, and for a second, you think he's going to listen. But then he chuckles softly, voice dripping with mischief.

"You're so hot when you're mad at me."

You nearly groan aloud, the exhaustion catching up with you in waves. This is pointless. You've been here before, hearing the same lines, feeling the same tired tug of emotions you've long since buried. But there's a part of you—a small, quiet part—that almost misses this, misses the ease with which he used to reel you in. And that's what makes it worse.

"Hamzah," you start, your voice sharper now, "go to sleep. Seriously."

"What if I told you that I really missed you?" He adds like it sweetens the deal. 

"I would tell you that I don't care."

"When did you turn so cold on me?" 

You pause, the phone still pressed against your ear. "Hamzah," you mutter, exasperation thick in your voice. The glass of water in your hand feels heavy, like a tether pulling you back into his orbit, even as you stand there in the dim kitchen, staring out at the quiet darkness outside the window.

"Just hear me out," he says, voice too smooth for someone who's supposed to be slurring. "I think me and you should do something together."

You don't answer, your hand moving on autopilot as you rinse the glass and set it down in the sink. There was always a certain ease between you and Hamzah, but that was before it got complicated, before the lines blurred. You clench your jaw, stepping away from the kitchen and into the hall, eyes scanning the house for some chore to distract you, to keep your mind from wandering back to those nights.

"Come on," he continues, undeterred. "I know you heard me."

You sigh, frustration buzzing beneath your skin, but your feet carry you to the living room where a few stray magazines and an old blanket still sit crumpled on the couch. Might as well tidy up while he babbles. Maybe if you let him talk himself out, he'll fall asleep or something. You grab the blanket, folding it with quick, jerky movements as he keeps talking.

"Can I come over?" He asks abruptly.

"No?" You furrow your eyebrows "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Damn, I really thought that would work."

As you sit down at the kitchen table, leaning your head into your hand, you notice the faint hum of traffic coming through the phone—tires on wet pavement, the distant growl of an engine passing by. Your brow furrows and a flicker of concern sparks through your irritation.

"Where are you, Hamzah?" you ask, voice sharper than you intended. It's late, and the sound of traffic at this hour doesn't fit into the picture of him sprawled out in bed, half-asleep and rambling, like you'd assumed.

"Why do you want to know?"

"So you don't show up at my house."

He chuckles to himself "Why on earth would I do that?"

"Maybe because you're obsessed with me?"

"I'm not- no, yeah. I am obsessed with you." There it was, the confidence that he so lacked when he was sober. With the help of cannabis, his tongue was as loose as his morals.

You press your lips together, gaze flicking toward the window, though the night outside your house is still and quiet, completely unlike the soundscape on the other end of the line. You disregard his admission "So, where are you?"

"I'm... walking. Clearing my head or whatever."

Your chest tightens, frustration mixing with a flicker of something you wish wasn't there—worry. "Walking where?" you press, though part of you already knows he's not going to give you a straight answer.

"Just around. Nowhere dangerous, alright? You don't have to freak out." He tries to sound nonchalant, but there's an edge to his voice that betrays him. 

"Hamzah, you shouldn't be out right now. It's late, and you're—" You pause, choosing your words carefully. "You're not in the best headspace to be wandering around." You're caught between the urge to scream at him or call Martin to pick him up and haul him home.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine," he cuts in, that cocky smile returning to his voice. "I'm always fine, babe. You worry too much."

You want to hang up, to cut the thread between you and the mess that is Hamzah, but the thought of him alone, on some random street at this hour, makes it hard to press the button. "Go home," you say softly, barely above a whisper.

"Stay on the phone with me a little longer, alright? I'm almost home anyway," Hamzah pleads, voice taking on that boyish, playful tone you've heard too many times.

You rub your temples, eyes drifting toward the clock on the wall. It's well into the night, and here you are, listening to him stumble through whatever story he's trying to spin. "You always say that," you mutter. "But somehow, you're always ten minutes from home."

"Hey, it's not my fault time slows down when I'm talking to you," he says with a sly grin you can practically hear. "Like, relativity or something. I saw that in the Spider-Verse movie."

You roll your eyes, walking back toward the kitchen to grab another glass of water, your mouth feeling particularly dry. "You would know."

"Didn't we see that together when it came out?" He asks to no answer. "We should watch it again."

"I don't think so," You lean against the counter, cradling your glass as his words wash over you.

"I want to see you, I like the way you laugh," He humbles "That's why I was such a goof around you. I didn't mind embarrassing myself because it made you smile and god- that smile..."

 "I don't really care what you want."

Hamzah lets out a low whistle "And yet, here you are," he shoots back quickly. "Still on the phone. Ah- I got you there."

You lean back against the counter, the weight of his words sinking in. He's right, of course. You're still here, still wrapped up in this bizarre late-night conversation, still listening as he spirals through his endless stream of nonsense. There's an odd comfort in the banter, as much as you hate yourself for it, there's safety in the familiarity.

"Yeah, yeah," you say finally, shaking your head. "You know how to run your mouth. That's about the only thing you're good at."

"Hey, don't forget I'm a man of many talents," Hamzah quips, the humour softening just a little. "And one of them is keeping you on the line way longer than you should be."

"Trust me, I'm very aware," you mutter, though there's a strange warmth behind your words now.

"Yeah, but you still picked up," he says, almost gently this time, his voice losing some of that playful edge. "That's gotta mean something, right?"

"I wouldn't bet on it."

"Do you miss me? Like at all?" He asks, the words falling from his lips with ease "You can be honest." 

You roll your eyes, though there's a slight warmth blooming in your chest despite your irritation. "Please, Hamzah," you deadpan, pacing slowly across the kitchen. "Do you ever stop?"

A knock sounds from your front door, sharp and unexpected. You freeze, turning toward the noise, the sound cutting through the warmth of your late-night banter like a cold breeze. Your heart skips a beat, the suddenness of the interruption making your stomach twist with an uneasy kind of tension. "Hang on," you mutter into the phone, already moving toward the door. "Someone's at my-"

You trail off, eyes narrowing as another knock echoes through the quiet house. Your pulse quickens, a strange feeling creeping up the back of your neck as you grip the phone a little tighter.

As you open the door, the cold air hits you first, followed by the sight of someone standing on your doorstep. Your breath catches for a moment when you see him. There, leaning casually against the doorframe with that signature lazy grin, is Hamzah.

"What the fuck," You draw out. 

"C'mon, don't be like that," Hamzah says, giving you a crooked grin. His phone is still pressed to his ear—well, it is until he lowers it slowly, that playful glint in his eyes growing even more mischievous as he hangs up, ending the call without a word. “So- are you gonna let me in?”

[diejager]

Hello hellooooooo

I hope you are doing great !!

(I was waiting patiently for your requests to be open again lmao)

So, my brain was just thinking of something for monster!141 and I just need to share it somewhere 😵‍💫

As you may know, penguins' love language is giving pebbles to their loved ones

Penguin hybrid!Hunter just giving monster!141 pebbles and little rocks to show them that they love them 🥹

Alright, I'll go back to my knitting now BYE

*gets out by the window with a parachute*

Pebbles Cw: weird courting, tell me if I missed any.

You didn’t have any noticeable differences to a human, having the appearance of any human with a some quirky and funny behavioural traits that all of them enjoyed. You had your moments of oddity, but you didn’t seem that far from a human, having no tail, ear or horns, your skin as smooth and soft as any. They dropped their suspicions of you being a hybrid, a monster or even an inter dimensional creature of some unknown source.

And somehow, they find small trinkets - small, round pebbles picked out of a bunch to be perfectly rounded, smooth edges and glistening under the light, and sticks, long and robust, but small enough to sneak into the base without being caught - placed in the areas they often found themselves frequenting.

Price would find a cluster of pebbles on his desk, arranged neatly in a ring, a curious little thing that he shrugged off, putting them away for the time he’d be able to catch the culprit red handed in the act. Price chucked it up to being Soap and Gaz pulling a prank on him, an unsuspecting and benign trick for a little laugh between them, he didn’t bother with it too much.

Ghost found his small collection of sticks and rock on the books he liked to read, placed near the corner of his desk in his office, the arrangement was neither crude nor clean, it was a chaotic abstraction that he didn’t understand.He didn’t know what to make of it, no one would be brave enough - stupid enough - to pull something like this on him and on his stuff without knowing the risks they put themselves in.

Soap and Gaz had a few placed that belonged to them alone, like their rooms or their locker in the armoury, small areas that everyone knew was theirs. Gaz was the first of the two to find flowers and pebbles in the top compartment of his locker, picked with utmost care to keep the petal from bending. Soap found his collection of sticks and flowers stitched in a pretty crown placed around the collar of his vest, a little present full of romance and adoration. Both of them couldn’t help but find this weird act endearing.

Until Price saw you rush out of his office, a sweet, love-filled smile plastered on your face as if you’d been given the miracle of your life. If he pushed the thought farther, he could almost see a little tail wagging behind you, oh so overzealous and overjoyed with something you did. Peaked by it, he looked into his room and caught the bright petals of a daisy gently placed in the middle of a wreath of stick. He looked at it with a renewed aww and curiosity, feeling your affection roll of your intricate design, made and catered to him as if you’d made each and every single one of his boys a little courting gift-

It was an instinctual courting behaviour seen in monsters and hybrids alike. It stopped him in his tracks, causing him to question himself and your file, he’d been sure that you were human through and through, holding not a single ounce of monster blood in your veins, you’d done tests. Tests, he had to remind himself that these tests were - despite being physical and DNA tests - noted down if the recipient had any traits deemed worthwhile, something useful in the minds of a battle or in a dogfight.

That would give reason to some missing holes in your file, the little things that made you so charmingly you in every aspect was missing from your papers, reserved for people who came to know you. It warmed his heart, to see you so comfortable with them that you ended up forging such strong, emotional connections that you started giving them gifts. He’d have to take it up with the other boys, tell them what he just found out: your little, courting gifts, your hybrid roots that they could explore and your lovable smile when you’d successfully given your gift, and see where they would go from there.

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @ki-cant-spel @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143 @virginalsacrifice @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @mixplara @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake @stay-088 @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi

[str4ngr]

was it worth it?

k. sakusa. | my drug, my addiction.

cw: angst no comfort, foul language, ooc/ dramaticized his 'germaphobia' for the plot, no established relationship, first date, gn! reader. wc: 670. notes: so... write a comfort or not? not proofread.

Everything felt a lot colder now. The A.C. of the diner, the cushion of the seat you sat on, the iced coffee you drank.

Sakusa had gone to the restroom, grumbling about needing to wash his hands. You had barely touched, let alone grazed, his hand when you leaned over to grab a ketchup packet. It was the same, always like this. Of course he would be disgusted by you, utterly revolted.

⋆

Komori was the one who set you two up, being friends with you, he told Sakusa he wanted him to "expand your social circle!"

Komori was far too nice. He was, truely, a kind soul, who probably meant no harm when he added in his offer to Sakusa,

"What? C'mon! I'll buy you a meal if you can last a full date."

So he went. Maybe it was against his morals. But he went. He watched you order. He watched you go and wash your hands. Fuck, you even bought him those cute mini hand sanitizers as a gift for him!

Sakusa felt like utter shit that he couldn't even handle an accidental touch from you as he scrubbed his hands. It wasn't like you were nasty, or dirty, but he couldn't fight is need to.

⋆

Your brows were pinched together as you slowly ate a fry, unentertained and, frankly, ashamed. Your food felt like a waste because of how your stomach twisted in disappointment. What could you have expected? The name 'Sakusa Kiyoomi' has always been associated with a cold stare and crude words. So how could you come to the conclusion that he would be any different because his cousin offered a blatantly false idea of a date?

You sighed as you wrapped up your sandwich, placing it back in your bag along with your fries. You quietly waited for him to return.

⋆

Sakusa finally returned, pale fingertips pruned and flushed as he sat back down across you. His eyes met yours as he asked, his tone lacking any merciful softness,

"What?"

It was sharp and quick, your lips pursed and your eyes fell from his face,

"Why?"

One word conversation were weird. While saying so little, everything meant so much. Just like now. Neither of you said it, but it was obvious. You knew, he knew, and now you were both stuck in limbo of discomfort and disappointment. His eyes snapped to your repackaged food, and they widened. Your phone was no longer on the table, your coat was back on,

"Wait— What?"

Sakusa's voice was more desperate. What was happening? What mistake did he just make? He watched how your eye brows pulled tighter and he wished he had the strength to pull them back to when they were smiling.

Was this attraction? Sakusa couldn't tell. But, he could say his stomach dropped when you held your take out bag a little tighter. He heart beat in his ears as your voice shook,

"You... don't want to be here, right?"

Sakusa sucked his cheek in, face tight. That wasn't a question he expected. He was hoping this would be like those interviews, What's your volleyball position? How did you become one of the best aces? Blah. Blah. Blah. It wasn't, and now Sakusa had to decide whether to give into the saddening curve of your eyes or deal with Komori's teasing. His answer was no. Truthfully, but he needed to say yes.

"No."

The word falls from his lips and he watches as your expression becomes tighter. His fingers twitched on his lap and Sakusa wished he could've been kinder. He won't tell you, he won't weigh you down further than his indifference already had.

"Then it's okay. We can just end it here."

He could tell your smile wasn't real. He could tell you struggled to push those words past the lump in your throat. He felt the same. Sakusa Kiyoomi truely wasn't such a merciless man, and you capture a glimpse of his guilt as he breathlessly whisper,

"Okay."

notes: exhausted. jaded. in tears.

[helluva-hazbins]

"Delusional, old, fuck!" He muttered with a sneer pulling back and a growl following soon after.

"Not that I wanna go over this shit again, for the umpteenth time but here it goes again—try and let it sink in this time, huh. I know da-fuck what my truth is, alright?! And reminding you of that truth—it ain't defiance. Now, shut-up and let me drink in peace already." he rolled his eyes, set down his cheap bottle o' booze onto the nearest surface and began patting down his pants searching for his cigar and matchbook. This guy pulling this shit on him today for no god-forsaken good reason. Yeesh. He needed a smoke and a hefty one, now. Guy can't even mind his own business without being pestered by the creepy bastard.

Once he located both, he took to placing the cigar between his lips, teeth clamping down as he pulled up the matches to light up the other end of the cigar.

As always this sort of reaction from Husk deeply frustrates him and as usual Alastor brushes it off and won't admit out loud how much it bothers him how they can't so easily strike fear into them, especially the one who they own. With that Alastor somewhat calms down and regains their composure and backs off as if nothing happened, the light comes back on and everything goes back to as it was before and laughs a little. " Oh really Husker? Do you really mean to tell me that i did not hear you many times say the most ridiculous thing. I may own your soul but you are not my pet? " taps their mic. " Hello? Is this thing on? Testing testing."

" Well i heard him too loud and clear!" Says the microphone. " You really are a card my little baby kitty. " condescending baby talk just to purposefully annoy Husk. "It seems you still have a sense of humor! come now kitty won't you say that ridiculous thing? i could use a good laugh, go on!"

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

lessons for a shopaholic

pairing: real dad! chris x reader

cw: father-daughter incest, degradation, spanking, pussy slapping, spit kink, edging, semi-public sex, oral sex (m! receiving), p in v, handcuffs, daddy kink

a/n: this is another commission for an anonymous commissioner!

wc: 5.1k

As much as it pains you to be apart from the man you love the most, your dad’s job requires him to travel quite frequently. He keeps you updated as much as he can while he’s gone, calling whenever he gets cell service – which is a rarity on certain missions. As it turns out, bioterrorists will find ways to wreak havoc in the most remote places. Objectively, he’s a hero, but he’s more than that -he’s your hero. He’s your dad, so you need him more than the BSAA does.

When he does return home, Chris makes up for his long absences in many ways. While sex is a favorite for both of you, your dad knows his daughter is a bit of a shopaholic. He’s much more frugal than you are – or he used to be until you came into his life. Children are expensive, but you, Chris’ baby girl, are spoiled rotten. You spend many of your Saturdays at the mall accompanied by daddy’s credit card, and sometimes, if you’re really lucky, you get to take daddy along on your shopping trip. Having your dad with you makes things all the more fun. Over time he learns your style and your sizes. He could put together a new wardrobe for you if he had to, though he can’t imagine he’d ever need to do so considering the amount of clothes you own. Most of them are pink, frilly, and pricy.

Despite Chris’ middle-aged man brain addled with the immense desire to go home and take a nice long nap on the couch, your adorable pouty face convinces him to let you take the maximum amount of garments the store will allow you to back to the dressing rooms to try them on before inevitably purchasing them all. You enter the dressing room alone to avoid suspicion but you bring your phone so you can snap a few cute photos to send to Chris, hoping to keep him from getting bored while he waits. Your bra is cute but your tits are cuter, so you take your bra off and bare your half-naked body for the camera. You snap a few mirror selfies and send the one you deem most attractive to Chris, but don’t receive an immediate response. Maybe he isn’t looking at his phone, you think. You’re wrong about that - he sees it, and he spends the rest of the time waiting for you trying to conceal his erection in his unfortunately tight pants while also devising a punishment for you.

When you emerge from the dressing room and meet back up with Chris, you don’t pick up on his cold demeanor as anything out of the ordinary at first because your dad can be a quiet man – plus, you’re wrapped up in taking one last look around the store to make sure you’ve bought absolutely everything on your ever-growing wishlist.

Once you’ve made your final purchases of the day, he abruptly takes you by the arm and drags you out into the parking lot.

“Daddy-”

He holds out his forefinger in front of your face, silently scolding you.

“Sorry, sir.”

You should know better than to call him ‘daddy’ in public. He doesn’t call you a good girl, though he wants to; instead, he gives you a curt nod and walks you to the car. He shoves your things into the backseat, and you open the passenger side door to get in, assuming you’re being taken home, but he stops you.

“Nope.”

“What?”

“Bad girls don’t get to ask questions.”

When he sees you standing there, looking confused, he says, “come with me,” and holds out his hand. You take it and he guides you to a relatively secluded part of the parking lot.

“Do you know what I want from you?” he asks, quietly, though no one is within earshot.

“An apology?”

“Not quite. Think harder.”

“A blowjob?”

“Excuse me? Is that an appropriate word to say in front of your daddy?” He pretends to be appalled at your choice of language but he can’t fault you for using crude terminology since there isn’t really a proper way to talk about sucking dick.

“No, sir,” you respond quickly, hoping to avoid getting into trouble with Chris. He’s the master of tough love and you know it – he’s not afraid to discipline his princess when he deems her deserving of it.

“I don’t want a daughter with a dirty mouth,” he says. Then, he grabs your jaw, tips your head back, and spits in your mouth.

“Swallow,” he says, and you comply without hesitation. “I hope you can talk to daddy with a clean mouth now.”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Good. Now get on your knees.”

You do as you’re told, looking up into his eyes for instructions. You know what to do, but you know he likes it when you act all innocent, so you stare up at him with a coquettish smile.

“Do you know why you’re here? Kneeling in front of your dad in a mall parking lot?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think you were being a good girl when you sent daddy those pictures of you in the dressing room?”

“I didn’t know you would get mad.” “That’s not an answer. Do you think sending photos of your bare tits makes you a good girl or a slut?” “I’m sorry, daddy. I wanna be a good girl.”

“Yeah, I know you want to be a good girl, but you’re not acting like one today, and that’s why you need to show daddy that you know how to be good for him.”

Chris briefly surveys his surroundings before quickly unzipping his pants and taking out his hard cock. It comes as a surprise to you when he slaps your cheek with it. You pout and he rubs the tip along your lips, coaxing them open. He lets you suckle on the head the way you like to, but only for a minute or so. Quickly becoming impatient, he shoves himself deeper into your mouth, feeding you his dick inch-by-inch without regard for your comfort. You gag, and unlike the first time you took him too far into your mouth, he doesn’t stop you – he knows you can take it, so he tells you to breathe through your nose. It helps enough to stop you from choking but mascara tears run down your face and saliva drips from your lips. You look like a mess, but a beautiful mess in the eyes of your daddy. Chris holds your head against his pelvis and bucks his hips into your mouth before he cums down your throat.

He wipes the excess from your lips with his thumb, subsequently sticking it in your mouth so you can lick it clean. He tucks himself back into his pants and grabs your hand, quickly shuffling you into the car like he’s shoplifted you. If anyone caught a glimpse of you, they’d know exactly what happened between the two of you, and despite how enticing the idea of risking getting caught sounds, it could land you both in jail for more than one reason.

It’s quiet on the car ride home. The radio is off and Chris’ eyes remain fixated on the road ahead. You don’t catch him sneaking glances at you at red lights and his hand never crosses the center console. Usually, he’s more physically affectionate than this – at least, since you’ve gone from being just father and daughter to something more than that – and you wonder if he’s truly angry at you for sending him that sexy mirror picture, or if his head is hazy after getting blown in the parking lot. He hasn’t touched you in hours, hasn’t even spoken to you in minutes, but the spark of arousal inside you is a fire you can’t snuff out. Feeling yourself get progressively wetter on the car ride home, you wonder if dad was right: maybe you really are a slut.

The possibility of truly being a slut in your dad’s mind is worrisome to you. “Daddy, am I a good girl?” you ask, hesitantly, making sure to use your most precious tone of voice.

“We’ll see,” he says in a tone so neutral that it’s impossible for you to discern how he feels about the topic at hand. He’s not pissed – how could he be after cumming down your pretty throat a mere half-hour ago? - but his response is not reassuring either. In truth, he’s caught up in his own thoughts, trying to decide if you’re a good girl or not. You might not be one at the current moment, but if that’s the case, he can remind you how to be one.

When you arrive at home, you can tell by the look on his face that he has something planned. Something fun.

After dropping your shopping bags – countless, all filled to the brim – by the bed, he asks you to put on a fashion show for him. “How ‘bout you show daddy what you look like in those pretty clothes he bought you?”

You smile, coy like you’ve got something up your sleeve but you don’t – you’re well-aware that Chris holds all the cards. You drag the biggest bag of clothes with you to the bathroom so that you can change into your first outfit. You decide to start your one-woman show with a simple sundress. When you exit the bathroom to show Chris, you look a bit shy despite the fact that you both know you look beautiful.

“Give daddy a spin,” he says.

You do – and much to his liking – the skirt billows as you twirl and give him a peek of your cute panties. When you face him, he pretends not to be phased, though, in reality, he can feel his cock stiffening already. Despite Chris being the dominant one in your relationship, you have him wrapped around your finger.

You cycle through outfit after outfit until you end up in something that daddy considers a bit too short for an aspiring good girl. As a concerned parent, he can’t let you go out looking like that.

“Did you really think you could get away with this?” he asks, tone getting sharper. “My daughter is not a slut, so I expect her not to dress like one.”

“I didn’t mean to, sir. I thought-”

“You thought what? You thought that boys were gonna get a peek at your pussy? Is that what you want?”

“No, sir.”

“Guess you weren’t thinking, then, huh? You were being a dumb little girl, weren’t you?”

You shake your head in dissent. “I wanna be daddy’s smart girl,” you pout.

“But you’re not, baby.” His tone is lighter but still mocking. “You need daddy to teach you a lesson. Then, maybe you’ll be a smart girl.”

You nod, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, nervous about what kind this lesson is going to be. Surely, it won’t be a simple conversation.

“Look me in the eyes,” he commands.

When you do, he says in a much softer yet more serious voice, “I expect you to do everything I say. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

He resists the urge to say ‘good girl’ – it’s on the tip of his tongue, but he decides that you don’t deserve it yet.

He remains in his current position – seated at the foot of the bed – and silently, he beckons you closer. Without any preamble, Chris bends you over his lap and hikes your skirt up to reveal your cute ass.

“Let’s see how smart my little girl is,” he says as he kneads the flesh of your ass like he’s deciding the perfect spot to strike. “Count to ten with me.”

Smack. His hand hits your ass hard enough to leave a handprint. “One,” you say.

Smack. This time his palm hits the other cheek, making sure they receive equal attention. “Two,” you say, your voice already wavering a bit.

Three, four and five go by quickly, but your knees threaten to buckle at six. Daddy has to hold his baby girl still to keep her from falling over now.

“C’mon baby girl,” Chris sighs, feigning exasperation despite actually being proud of your obedient behavior. He would’ve stopped ‘teaching you a lesson’ multiple spankings ago if it weren’t for the wet spot forming in the gusset of your panties. He can tell you’re getting off on this, and with a view like his, he’s in a similar boat. Chris probably looks like he has hearts in his eyes though you can’t see it with your face pointed towards the ground.

Seven, eight, nine, ten. You manage to count them out without much trouble despite progressively becoming less confident about your accuracy as you’re absorbed in the feeling of your dad spanking you. After your ‘lesson’ concludes, he doesn’t give you a moment to rest before he pulls you to your feet with more instructions at the ready.

“Lie down,” he says, though he pushes you onto the bed before you can comply. He would be a good drill sergeant if he had more patience. Clearly, he has the authority aspect down.

“Arms above your head,” he says, and it’s in these moments that you remember that he used to be a cop. Being a slut is akin to being a criminal in your dad’s book, so maybe you’re reminding him of his younger years, maybe that’s why he’s so enthusiastic about this whole charade.

You put your arms up and to your surprise, he walks out of the room, turning back when he reaches the doorway, only to say, “I expect you to stay like that until I get back.”

“Yes, sir.” You consider saluting him to take this bit of roleplay to the next level, but you don’t want to be spanked again. (Not because you don’t like spankings, but because he’s gotten you riled up to the point where you’re getting more and more antsy each moment that passes without his cock inside you.)

You stay put with your hands raised above your head, fearing the punishment you might receive if you don’t do what he asks. Maybe this part is the punishment. A couple minutes without daddy is no fun for you. Though, being away from his favorite girl would be a punishment for him too.

He comes back with not one, but two, pairs of handcuffs.

“You know what these are?” he asks.

You nod. “Handcuffs.”

“How do you know that? I thought you were a good girl. Have you been in trouble before?”

“No, not like that. I promise I’m a good girl.”

“Okay, good girl,” he starts, mockingly, “then you’re not going to complain when I put these on,” he says as he grabs one of your wrists and attaches one cuff to you and the other to the headboard. When you’re fully restrained, he takes a step back and looks at his handiwork.

“You look pretty like this,” he muses. Sometimes he can’t believe he made something so precious.

“Thank you, daddy,” you say, somehow still flustered by the compliment despite having heard it from him countless times.

You swear you see a hint of a smile cross his face but as soon as it appears, it vanishes. He climbs atop you – no, pounces onto you – caging in your body beneath him. He pulls your skirt up, almost ripping it. All thoughts of the money that dress cost him have left his mind.

“Daddy! Don’t do that. It’s new,” you whine.

“Shut the fuck up,” he says with a smack to your cheek. Your face is doubly red – embarrassed and aroused, and more importantly, your pussy is soaking wet.

Chris slides your panties to the side and shoves two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out at a rapid pace, too pent up to waste time trying to ease you into it when he knows how badly you want him. The pleasure inside you rises so quickly you don’t realize you’re moaning until Chris chuckles at how loud you’re being.

“You like this?” he asks – his tone isn’t sultry, it’s patronizing.

“Ye-ah,” you try to say, but you only get half the word out before it turns into a moan.

“Do you think all those other guys who’d get a view of this soaking wet cunt could make you feel this good?”

You shake your head – a vehement no. There’s no way anyone other than your daddy could have you writhing against the sheets like this. Daddy is observant, and he knows his daughter well, so he can tell you’re getting close to your peak.

“Are you gonna cum?” His tone is deceptively encouraging.

“Uh-huh.” Foolishly, you think he’ll let you finish.

He laughs when he retracts his fingers, letting the heat in your abdomen fizzle out and watching your expression drop.

“Gonna cry already?” He doesn’t even feign pity when he mocks your tears.

You don’t need to answer his question verbally because you already are crying. The tears are falling on their own.

“You look so pretty when you cry,” he says, and you can hear more than a hint of poorly-concealed arousal in his tone. You’re beginning to break his cold facade, and that thought alone stops the tears from truly streaming down your face.

Chris has been rock hard since the moment you walked into the room wearing this cute little number, but now – unbeknownst to you due to his still-clothed state – the tip of his cock is leaking precum. He’s so desperate to feel your warmth engulfing him that he doesn’t care about the fact that he’s surely staining his boxers.

“Since you got the special princess treatment earlier, it’s daddy’s turn to have fun.” He unbuckles his belt, pulls his zipper down and takes his cock out, not wanting to waste time undressing all the way; and more importantly, he’s intent on not giving you the show you so desperately want. While Chris can keep his language in check in any other situation, his ability to hold in the vulgar things he wants to say to you flies out the window when he gets this turned on. “Gonna use you like the good little whore you are,” he says as he slips inside you in a single thrust.

“I’m not a whore,” you protest through a near-pornographic moan.

“Yeah? Then why do you like your dad using you?” He grips your hips and tightly enough to leave marks and brings them up to meet his so he can fuck you deeper. “You like your dad’s fat cock stretching you out like this?” Every word is punctuated by a hard thrust forward, the head of his cock reaching your cervix each time.

You try to answer but you can’t get a word out while you’re practically sobbing for him. You’ve been entirely reduced to moans and incoherent babbles.

“It’s okay, baby. You don’t gotta say anything ‘cause I already know how much you like this based on how fucking wet you are.” Sweat barely graces his brow while he fucks you at a merciless pace. Sometimes his stamina amazes you. Maybe carrying all of your shopping bags was just a warm up and this is his real exercise routine.

“Bet you’re close to cumming again, princess. Is that what you want?”

“Yes daddy,” you whine. You know he’ll deny you again, but you have to trust that he will let you cum eventually, and that the prolonged satisfaction will be worth it in the end.

“Too fucking bad,” he says as he pulls out abruptly.

You cry harder this time, and in return he opens your thighs wider and slaps your chubby pussy lips. The sound of his flesh against your slick reverberates. You gasp – startled, though the sting of his palm against your wetness feels electrifying.

“Did you like that?” He sounds amused – maybe even excited to have discovered a possible mutual kink.

When you don’t respond, he grabs your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes, and asks again, “Did you like that?”

“Yes, sir,” you say. When you open your mouth, he spits into it.

“Knew you would,” he mutters, pretending to be irritated, though the way his cock twitches untouched gives away his insatiable need for you.

Without warning, he buries himself to the hilt inside you. Your inner walls clamp down around him tightly, as if your body is begging him to stay inside you.

“Daddy’s gonna breed you,” he says, making your cunt flutter around him. The involuntary contraction of your muscles is subtle, but daddy notices everything.

“You like that, huh? Want your dad to get you pregnant?”

You nod, trying desperately to respond but hiccuping out moans instead of words while Chris slams into you, steadily upping the pace with each thrust.

Both of you are well-aware that your father actually impregnating you would be disastrous to say the least, but the idea of Chris fucking you raw and filling you to the brim with his seed is too arousing to resist.

He pushes your knees to your chest and keeps one hand on the back of your thigh while the other grips the headboard, giving him double the leverage. Though it wouldn’t have seemed possible moments ago, he’s able to fuck you deeper in this position than he was previously.

“I can feel you squeezin’ me, baby…” He throws his head back and mutters something profane that you can’t quite make out. “You’d tell daddy if you were getting close to cumming, right?” His words come out like a threat. You’ll be in huge trouble if you cum without permission and you know that.

“Daddy, I’m gonna cum,” you cry, knowing he’ll pull out once you admit it. Being a good girl is hard.

Predictably, he does pull out, and you sigh in dissatisfaction. “Need it that bad, huh?” he taunts, but there’s a hint of sympathy behind his words. He’s been delaying his own pleasure too.

He drags his cock along your folds, barely dipping the head into your hole each time he slides his length across your slit. And each time, your pussy clenches, trying to grab onto the tip and suck him into you. The amount he teases you is almost mean – you weren’t that naughty. You want to be a good girl for him – both because you know only good girls get to cum, and for the simple fact that you love seeing the pride in your dad’s eyes when he sees your sweet obedience. He loves the pliancy of your body, the way you give yourself to him fully – the trust, the devotion, the love.

His love for you is unconditional, but making him proud takes work. So, you persevere through the countless rounds of edging so that you can bask in mutual bliss.

And, you can’t deny that although the ebb and flow of pleasure is frustrating, chasing your climax and knowing your efforts are in vain, the shock-wave of ecstasy you’re rewarded with is well-worth the toil.

Chris slaps your folds with his cock, bringing you back to reality, and when you meet his gaze you see his amusement at your irritation and if you weren’t cuffed to the headboard, you’d force him inside you to wipe the smug expression from his face. His state of arousal is equal to yours, all he has is a better poker face.

Your legs shake from the stimulation – so much and still not enough. When he stops moving momentarily to take in the view of you lying on your back with your thighs spread to reveal your cute cunt, glistening with arousal that dribbles down onto the bed sheets, you struggle against your restraints and make a noise of frustration, so fed up with his teasing that you can’t stop yourself from trying to break free.

“You know how to ask for something you want,” he says. “Or did I fuck you stupid already?”

You pay no mind to the second statement because your begging words are already falling from your lips. “Please, sir. Please, I need you inside me. Please, please, pl-” His hand covers your mouth.

“That’s enough begging. You’re gonna keep being a good girl and I’m gonna let you cum – after I stuff you full – got it?” He removes his hand so you can answer but the ‘yes, sir’ you want to say comes out as an unbridled moan when his cock hits your cervix in one swift movement.

He presses down on the bulge in your tummy, the visible imprint of his cock stretching you out, and it multiplies the pleasure. It’s like he’s testing out every trick to see what will get you to break, piling on sensation after sensation until he has you teetering on the edge. Chris’ soft grunting turns into fully groaning, but you can barely hear it over your own obscene moans and the wet sounds of your bodies colliding repeatedly.

“Gonna cum inside you, baby,” Chris says through ragged breaths. “Gonna make sure you know who this pussy belongs to.” The pace of his thrusts becomes frenzied right before he hits his peak with a low, “Jesus Fucking Christ.”

You’re on the crux of orgasm already – holding back until daddy lets you cum – but throughout his own high, Chris rolls your clit between his thumb and forefinger, sending you tumbling over the edge.

“Daddy!” you scream as pleasure courses through your veins. You can’t cling to Chris like you want to since your hands are tied, so your cunt compensates by clamping down around him so hard he can’t move. After being edged multiple times your orgasm is more intense than ever. Chris’ fingers stroke your clit slowly, leading you through the overwhelming sensation. The aftershocks toe the line between pleasure and pain, making you sob. Chris leans down and wraps both arms around you, cradling you like a baby while your body calms down.

“Daddy’s right here,” he whispers. “You did so good for me, baby.” He presses a kiss to your temple before he uncuffs you from the headboard.

With what little energy you still possess, you fling yourself into his arms. With your head against his chest you feel a low rumble of laughter. You’re still his cute little girl, and as you’ve successfully proven to him, you’re his very good girl.

You both end up a sticky mess with your bodies entangled until eventually your breathing steadies and daddy decides you ought to get cleaned up.

“I think it’s time for a bath, baby,” he says, scooping you up in his arms and carrying you bridal style to the bathroom. He sits you down on the bathroom counter and leaves you there – you want to call out for him but your voice is nearly gone from screaming while he fucked you.

Luckily, he comes back a moment later with a shopping bag of things you didn’t know he purchased. Bath bombs, body wash, exfoliating scrubs, and more.

“While you were in the dressing room being naughty, I was shopping for you,” he says with a playful grin on his face. All of his frustration with you is gone – really, love was beneath it all along, but now that he’s not pent up with arousal, it’s more obvious. Chris’ face is nuzzled into your neck, placing light kisses from your jawline to your collarbone. His facial hair tickles your skin and it makes you giggle which only makes him want to kiss you more.

He runs the bath while you chit-chat about anything and everything. Mostly, it’s you doing the talking because he’s a good listener and he was chatty enough while he was fucking you.

When the water is to your liking, he lifts you into the bathtub.

“Are you getting in?” you ask nicely, though you’re willing to beg if you have to.

“If that’s what my girl wants.” It is, in fact, what you want. Chris sits behind you and scrubs your body of all remnants of sex. You’ll still be sore and might have a mark from his hand on your ass, but all of the sweat you shed is wiped from your skin.

Your dad insists on carrying you everywhere for the rest of the night – luckily, you don’t have many more places to go besides bed. He helps you into comfortable pajamas and gently places you on the mattress. He motions for you to turn onto your stomach, and he massages all the sore spots on your backside, spending an especially long time tending to the muscles on your lower back… and then your ass… and then your inner thighs… until of course he ends up back at his favorite part of you.

“Dad,” you groan, annoyed at his inability to shift his focus from the area below the belt. “I need you to rub my shoulders too.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. Just wanted to give you some lovin’ down here first.”

You laugh lightly at his somewhat corny phrasing before protesting once again. “Seriously, I’m already sore! I’m not gonna be able to walk for a week if you don’t stop.”

“Okay, okay,” he concedes and moves his hands to your shoulders, giving your poor pussy a break. “Just so you know, I’d happily carry you everywhere for the next week.”

“Will you carry me around the mall next time we go shopping?”

“Baby, how am I gonna carry all your bags and you at the same time.”

“You’re smart, daddy. You’ll figure it out.”

You’re only half-joking. He is a smart man, and you admire him for his intelligence and wisdom among many other things such as his skills in the bedroom. You’d never make him carry you around in public, though. It would draw too much suspicion to your relationship. The relationship that remains unlabeled because he fits in too many categories – he’s your dad and your daddy. But neither of you need a term for what the two of you have. The only words you care about are the ones he whispers into your ear after he gives you a kiss on the forehead.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, dad.”

He could challenge you and insist that he loves you more, but his smile says enough – he’s happier than he’s been in quite a while. As are you. Soon, your post-sex sleepiness kicks in and you fall asleep in Chris’ arms while he tells you stories about the good old days, though in his opinion, the best days are yet to come.