#drunk sex tw

[wannabecatwriter]

Harvey did invite her over "for drinks" but of course, this was an excuse for both of them and they really came back to his place to hook up.

There was no need to waste much time on dumb talk.

He wanted her, she wanted him, and Josie was tired of waiting. So was Harvey. He's been pretty stressed out lately, after all, and this was a great way to improve his mood.

And while it may have come as a surprise to some who knew him, Harvey was not a bad lover and definitely made Josie's night worthwhile.

[evermetnotforgotten]

content warnings: explicit (drunk) consensual sex, alcohol

It's the fourth time his phone flashes that he realises—shit, it's a call, not a text. Graham doesn't need to hear a voice to know that his late-night caller has taken a trip down the neck of a bottle tonight, but as soon as he does, it’s crystal clear.

"Heeey."

Stifling a sigh Graham rubs his cheek, his jaw. He suppresses the ‘bit early to have reached the bottom, isn't it?’ "Hey, Lev."

"M'lonely." The sound of something soft hitting the floor—a pillow, a pile of clothes. "Y'should come over."

"I don't think that's a great idea."

"Why not?"

The last time had felt like a damn trap—couple hours of everything they'd both wanted and needed at the time, sure, but the unfiltered regret that had seeped from every corner of Lev the morning after had been just… unbearable. Even if Graham couldn't exactly blame him. Felt the same way.

"Please?" It's part whine, part slur. "I haven't had that much. I'm so… so, so, sober."

Graham highly, highly doubts that. "What're you drinking?"

"Cap'n Morgan. I think?"

"You think."

"Definitely. Maybe."

Yeahhh. "With?"

The tink of a glass. "Was coke… but…" But now straight. Maybe straight from the bottle. 

"Could you have a glass of water or something maybe? You know… take care of yourself?"

A chuckle, low and husky. "Why don't you?"

Frowning, Graham adjusts his grip on the phone, bitter at the thrill that still hits him at a line like that. A line from him. He knows he should roll his eyes and just end the damn call, but the little voice in his head mad at being fucked with is easy to drown out.

"Lev… c'mon."

"You c'mon. Come here." More insistent this time. Less of a question, more of a statement of inevitability. "Come over."

Graham should say no. Needs to say no, for both their sakes. "I've got an early start," he tries—not all of them get wired money to support themselves with every week. Some of them have to work.

"Please?"

He should say no. Instead, he lets the sigh out before it swells enough to suffocate him. It doesn't help that tonight his ex is being especially persistent. 

"Or… I could do it." A beat. "Would you like that?"

Over the line he hears the sound of bare feet on tiles. The scraping open of a door, or drawer. A clattering and clunking, and then a little whoa, fuck as someone tries to steady himself while the room's rotation shifts from clockwise to counter. 

When Graham starts to piece things together, he attempts an intercept. "Okay, hey… you are really, really hammered right now—definitely too much to drive. And I don't want you to not talk to me for weeks after because of something you regret. Uh… it's fine that you called, but I really think that you should go to bed. I can call you in the morning, if you want."

"Mmm."

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Mhmm. Keep talking."

"Yeah cool, so you're not."

"I am."

"Do not drive here."

"M'not."

"Put the keys back."

The response he gets at that is a deep sigh, which curls into a little moan. Immediately, Graham feels all the warm spots on his body start to prickle, alert all at once. He's put the wrong pieces together—or put the pieces together wrong.

Oh, fuck. Oh he’s definitely done it up wrong.

"You're…"

“Told you—” and a thrilling little hitch of the breath. “I could bring it to you. Don't have to go anywhere."

The little bloop of his text tone sounds, and there's not a single thought in Graham's brain as he pulls the phone away from his ear to look at the screen, makes a bewildered little noise at the image there. Lev, framed by the bathroom mirror. Hair wet, shaping his face. Eyes heavy lidded, mouth slightly open, shirt unbuttoned. One hand up holding his phone, the other hand down, holding his—

"Did I lose you?"

He brings the voice back to his ear. 

"Fuuuuck, Lev," he murmurs, eyes staring blankly at the dusty ceiling fan. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Those scars… he's kissed and licked along those neat little rows so many times before, and now he can't get every time that he's ever done such to stop playing in his mind. Every time he's massaged those shoulders, tight from stress. Every time he's taken one of those nipples into his mouth to tease it. And every time he's felt that cock press his tongue down, gently nudge the back of his throat.

“I need you.”

And there’s the little voice again. Just a little voice. This isn’t fair. But in spite of it, Graham is already fisting himself through his lounge pants, leaning his phone on his shoulder and the back of the couch in favour of biting the knuckles of his other hand. As he closes his eyes he can see the curve where hip transitions to thigh, feel the trace of fingers across his pecs, watch the other hand reaching back and down. Feel the other man's body, flush and warm, from chest to pelvis.

Can’t let him hear how this is affecting him, though. Would be a transgression. He bites his cheek to keep quiet.

"You thinking about me?"

Hesitation. Then surrender. "Yes," Graham admits.

"Naked?"

Excitement. Arousal. Fear. "Yes."

A shift through the phone, a breath. “On top of you?”

It wasn’t the first thing that had come to mind. And maybe that’s better, actually, somehow. Makes him feel like less of a predator. “Inside me.”

Another moan, and this time it sounds close enough for the wisp of breath to lick along the inside of his ear. It's followed up by a breathy “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Fuck, yeah.

"God…" The delicate crack in Lev's voice makes his whole body sing. "Love that. Spread you out on the bed. Grab you. Haah…"

A minute or so of play, but then he loses momentum. What is he doing? Not while he's drunk.

Lev seems to cotton on. "What's the matter? Not enough for you?"

"This… isn't good." 

"Why?"

"I think you should go to bed. Sorry."

The rhythm of breathing on the other end of the phone pauses, leaving only silence. "Fine. I'll call Eli."

"Who's Eli?"

"Yeah, you don't get to ask that." Not angry, just disappointed. "Sorry for bothering you. G'night."

"Wait." Graham grasps at a reason, anything to keep the call going. Eli could be anyone—a hookup, most likely, but equally likely an asshole. A weirdo. A stranger taking advantage of a drunk, lonely guy. A guy who is going to hang up on him at any second…

Fuck it. He's already going to hell.

"Don't, uh. Don't do that. l'll be there in twenty."

-

Busy buttoning his shirt, Lev is turned away. Still, his tone is soft. Genuine. Not steeped in shame.

"Do you wanna grab something to eat? Or… coffee? Um. Unless you've gotta run."

Graham's head is throbbing—for the life of him, doesn't know how he ever used to put away that much tequila in his early twenties and still live the next day—and his mouth is dry. He puts a hand over his eyes to shield them from the crack of morning light through Lev's bedroom curtains. 

He's wanted nothing more than a coffee with him for almost a year, now. But for the first time, Graham doesn't reach towards, but away. Needs to tell him. He slowly swings his legs over the side of Lev's bed.

"I'm… seeing someone. Actually."

For a long moment, there's no response. "Oh."

"We're not quite exclusive yet, so, but… yeah." Not a great sell for a new lady, a drunken one night stand with his ex. That said, Eleanor might be one of the least judgemental people he's ever met—bar Niels, maybe. She'd get it.

"Oh. Um. Sorry."

"It's okay."

Lev turns his head, but still won't look at him. The telltale signs of a closing door are inching steadily across. "I shouldn't have called. Didn't know I was getting you in trouble."

"She knows," Graham replies. "She knows there's a person in my past who I have some shared… complicated stuff, with. Nothing sensitive."

The unfortunate phrasing triggers many half-expressions to flicker across Lev's face in rapid fire.

"Shit…"

"Hey, it's okay, really."

A snap. "No it's not." Just as quick, an ease off. "It's not okay. I can't just…"

Graham would have gone to him. Six months ago, he would have thrown himself down on his knees and offered himself, all of himself, up to Lev if he wanted him back. 

But right now, he's just disappointed in Lev for not asking for him sooner. And in himself, for knowing, and for coming over anyway.

"Thanks. Sorry, uh. Forget I asked. You should… go."

He dresses in silence. Doesn't turn back around at the little sniff, even though he knows exactly the acute distress about to be felt in this room.

Has felt it himself, after all.

[brewed-pangolin]

Drunk sex with Soap would undoubtedly almsot always end with him passing out mid thrust.

The man, thankfully, does not suffer from whiskey dick. But that stamina does not always flow so seamlessly into his physical exertion.

Instead of his usual measured pace, he'll go full balls to the wall and wear himself out in less than a minute.

He'll apologize later. Once he's sobered up. Likely following it up by giving you countless orgasms to make up for the multiple he denied you while drowning in a brain full of liquor.

For now, you're covered by a sweat ladened and stark naked Scot. Cock still hard and buried in your cunt. A tinge of annoyance to your unsatisfied need playing behind your eyes, staring up at the ceiling as a muffled snore dances across the shell of your ear.

[zombieplaygrounds]

cw: drunk sex, car sex, casual intercourse, not proof read

Simon - a man intimidating on several different levels - did not know how to handle a crying girl. Especially not one of your caliber, drunk, babbling to him about god knows what. All he could do was sip his shitty liquor, stare at you and your group of friends giggling behind you. And of course you just had to blurt out magic fucking words: "Do you think I'm ugly?" He took a moment, not out of hesitance, but consideration; you and your big glossy eyes, flushed face, even the messy hair somehow you-

"No." Simon's voice was a low rumble, and for a moment it comforted you, made you shut your eyes and nod for a bit. Only a bit, before you choked out another sob.

"Then why does he not wanna fuck me?" It was immature, really. Simon shouldn't enlighten your bold behavior, but he couldn't help it. You were cute. But that didn't change anything. You were still sobbing before him, rubbing your face raw of steaming hot tears and drunken frustration. Ruining your pretty face. Simon leaned back for a moment, considering your words. Whoever broke your heart was a real, damn idiot.

Sure, you were a bit whiny, annoying; but it was easily overlooked with how sweet you seemed. Maybe it was the drinks Simon had indulged in himself, because he was actually considering this.

Another choked cry from you rushed him to blurt out his next words, "I'll fuck ya."

Something about your silence said more than words did. God, forgive him for relishing in this small victory - you were a virgin. Evident by your slight hesitance in his words, the flinch, the cute quivering lip like you really wanted it. But you were scared. Smart girl, should honestly know better than to fuck this big, scary man. And still -

"Okay." You nodded, huffed. Your friends by now had wandered off to do whatever the fuck drunk gals do. Looked just about as broken up as you were. Simon chuckled a bit, pocketed his keys, wallet, and offered your hand a place in his.

It was shocking, the moment you felt the scarred callouses along his palms. It made him laugh breathily, "Like it, do ya?"

"Mhm..!" Such a puppy. You practically scooted a snuggle against his arm, wrapping around his muscles while he led you out. Didn't deserve to be fucked in a bar like a common whore; he'd give you the benefit of some privacy with his darkened windows, turn the cooler on so the heat of the moment didn't overwhelm you so much.

You were so compliant, something he'd be sure to correct if this ever went anywhere; couldn't have you seeking cock from just anyone. But Simon understood, poor thing. You needed your pussy to be filled up, and he was willing to help you out. Let you cry on his cock, tighten up just a bit as your arousal drooled down and stained his pants with your fast orgasm.

Your hands attempting to cover your face, which Simon just couldn't have. He'd correct that with a single hand, tightening your wrist in his grip and holding them behind you. His freehand guiding your hips, while he tutted praises against your breasts. Panting roughly, either he was out of shape, or you felt much better than he anticipated.

Regardless, you were reduced to nothing but a mewling bitch. Burying your face against him while be babied you with each thrust. "Poor doll, needed someone to show your place. mm?"

"Don't worry, bird, Simon's gonna make ya feel real good."

[merakiui]

you're right and you should say it. i'm tired of pretending vargas doesn't have huge breeder balls ready to knock you up at literally the first opportunity. deranged forest woodsman vargas chasing you down in the woods to fuck his children into you NOW

Omg yes....... this is exactly the appeal!!! Just,,, Vargas hunting a bunnygirl in the woods. >_< something something living in a cabin in the woods and finding you,, and you're so much smaller and weaker compared to him. He easily picks you up by your floppy ears and just holds you up to look at you. You could sit on his back while he does his push-ups and it wouldn't even be a challenge.... aaaa poor you, shaking and struggling in his grasp,,, cottontail twitching. So nervous. He'll praise you for being a fast runner.

Or perhaps you were injured when you tried to run,,, twisting your ankle or even sustaining injuries from the hunt.... so many scattered ideas, but the end result is that you're getting fucked into the dirt on your hands and knees. Hehe maybe you're on the cusp of heat, too....... your small bunny pussy is puffy and wet with slick and so very enticing. orz orz orz me next, Vargas. Please.

Like,,,, he literally has a voice line where he talks about how he was the most handsome and strongest in his town when he was younger (and still is today)........ just,,, the idea of taking you for himself as a prize of sorts because he caught you himself, and only the strongest deserves rewards such as you!!! I AM SO INSANE ABOUT HIM. AND HIS WHOLE WARDROBE IS TAILOR-MADE BECAUSE THE CLOTHING STORES NEVER CARRY HIS SIZE!?!?!??!?!?!?! ARE YOU JOKING WITH ME RIGHT NOW............. and he can bite through a leather belt,,,, the jaw strength....... and one of his talents is hunting..... it is destiny that you're just a poor bunnygirl caught at a bad time. <3 the rugged woodsman charm is too strong......

[starry-eyedblog]

just found your account and it’s been lovely diving thru your work, your amazing ✨

If your still taking requests can I suggest celebrating with John as he goes from Lieutenant John Price to Captain John Price

hello, thank you so much anon <3 i'm glad yer enjoying my work, stay as long as you'd like!!

this is such a juicy idea, i'm actually ravenous thinking about it

warnings/tags: john price x gn reader, oral (blowjob), drunk sex, tiny mention of power imbalance

when john officially found out that he was moving up rank to captain, he kept his cool around the superior officers, saying his thanks and showing gratitude before hunting you down to share the good news. of course, you were the first to find out and hugs and kisses were in order.

after around ten minutes of praising him in-between breathless kisses, you rewarded him with a very much deserved blow job. really taking your time with him and doing all his favourite tricks to give him the most pleasure you could with your mouth. he came pretty quick, your eyes staring up at him while you swirled your tongue around his leaking tip.

after you cleaned up, he was off to round up his troop of soldiers he commanded and oversaw to tell them the news with you wrapped around his arm. they cheered and clapped for their now captain, saying there had to be a party tonight to celebrate.

it didn't take long for his soldiers to set up a party last minute that night, making sure there was plenty drink and snacks to enjoy the night. a few of them hung up banners that were kept in the cupboards waiting to be used for all kinds of celebrations, a generic saying written sparkly on them.

you sat on the couch for the majority of the night, watching from afar how a stream of people all different rankings came up to congratulate your boyfriend or make small talk. it made your heart warm, seeing him climbing up the ranks and getting the respect and recognition he deserved.

throughout the night, people would sit next to you and make conversation with you, mostly about john but you didn't mind, getting to speak about your partner and his achievements just reminded you of how proud you were of him but also just how much you loved him.

at some point through the party though you were dragged down a dark corridor by john and into a room you'd never step foot into. as he flickered the lights on, your eyes adjusted and was able to make out that it was an office, and a pretty big one at that. it then clicked, this was john's own office.

"pretty nice, eh doll?" he said smugly as he wrapped his strong arms around your waist from behind, head resting on your shoulder and you could smell the beer and bourbon from his breath. it's not like you were any better though, throwing drink after drink back in happiness.

"they are letting you have this?" you slurred quietly, resting your hands on top of his with a giggle and price chuckled against your neck which had sent a shiver down your spine. "all fuckin' mine sweetheart. c'mon we gotta christen it, dontcha' think?" he mumbled into your neck before he started to suck and bite at the skin, his hands tightening around you.

you squirmed in his grip, moaning and whining before you begged for him to take you over his new desk. it was beautiful, dark mahogany with no scratches or marks and took up a good amount of space in the office.

john had wasted no time in pulling you over to the desk and pinning you down on your back so he could see your face. it wasn't long before he was fumbling with buttons and zippers, desperate to get inside of you but after a bit he finally had managed to get his cock out enough to slip into you and fuck you into his desk.

he felt so powerful here, taking you on his new desk in his new office that was all his. he was a captain now, an even higher rank than you and it just made him harder due to the power imbalance. though he was pretty boozy, his thrusts were relatively on time and he was hitting all the right spots for you.

"fu-fuck captain, so so good." you slurred out, eyes rolling into the back of your head as john pounded into you. when it clicked in his drunk mind what you had called him, his thrusts came to a stop and a rough hand wrapped itself around your throat.

"what did you jus call me?" he grumbled, looking into your dazed eyes. "ca-captain," and after those words had left your mouth, john moaned lowly. "yeah that's right baby, c'mon call me it again." he panted, his thrusts picking up again as you continued to cry and moan for your captain to make you cum.

@bjornthebearguy

@iciclesses

@mothymunson

[billiethepumpkin]

My Name: Dabi

Kinktober Day 2

Warning: Rated X. This content is intended for those aged 18 years or older. If you are a minor, please do not interact.

Contains: Alcohol/drunkenness. Minor injury. Grinding. Teasing. Hickeys. Nipple play. Fingering. Edging, both intentional and accidental. Vaginal sex. Unprotected sex. Creampie. Slightly aggressive sex. Birthdays. Feelings of self-hatred.

Author's Note: I know that Dabi is an adult, but I'm still an old fuck :)

Also, this is a repost! I wrote this a while, and I loved it. So here it is again.

It had been several days since you had been to Dabi’s apartment. He had asked you to get several things for him, seeing as he can’t be seen in public. He couldn’t put his freedom on the line, just for groceries. And you were happy to oblige, seeing as you’d be going to his house anyway at some point or another. You had been there dozens of times before, maybe even hundreds. It was dark. There was barely any furniture; just whatever Dabi could find in the dump at night, along with one singular small television that you managed to buy him for your most recent Christmas together.

When you got to his apartment, he cracked the door open slowly, carefully, until he saw that it was you. He was so drunk you could smell the alcohol as soon as the door to his apartment swung open. He was shirtless, his hair quite a bit messier than usual. If you hadn't been in love with him, you might've said he looked pathetic. You wondered how much he had drank, but the empty bottle of some sort of alcohol sitting on the coffee table was a dead giveaway. It was a surprise to you. Dabi knew you were coming over. You had this planned for a little over a week. You’d planned to bring him groceries right after you got your weekly paycheck, and that was today. “-ey there, pretty girl,” he slurred, leaning in the doorway for a moment. Worried, you pushed past him with your paper bags of groceries, almost completely ignoring his words.

As you put away the groceries, you take a minute to ponder. Why would he be like this? What had gotten into him? You knew Dabi was a drinker. After what hell he’s been through, he needed a vice, a coping mechanism. And you couldn’t argue that being drunk did help the pain sometimes. But why today, when he knew you’d be here?

Before Dabi had downed his second double shot of whiskey, he had been sulking. Sulking over the anniversary of his birth–today. He was reminiscing on the previous birthdays he had celebrated when he lived with the rest of his family. He remembered the way Natsuo always tried to make a big deal of it. But it never mattered. It never mattered because his father never even so much as glanced in Dabi’s direction–not even on his own son’s birthday. He never told anyone that his birthday was today. And even after almost a year of knowing each other, you still didn’t know Dabi’s birthday.

You put the groceries away, taking your time to organize them as best you could, before you turned to your boyfriend. He was leaning in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, his head leaning completely against the wall. When you turned to him, he was actually pouting. Yes, Dabi, the man who had survived years of domestic abuse, an entire forest fire, and dozens of missions with the League of Villains, was pouting.

You huffed a small laugh before stepping towards him, his back now against the wall, looking down at you. “What’s wrong?” you cooed up at him with a soft smile.

“You hav’n’t giv’n me ‘ny att’ntion,” he slurred. “Doesn’ y’r boyfr’nd deserve s’me love on ‘is birthday?” He let it slip.

And he really didn’t even mean to. He didn’t realize he even said it out loud until your eyes widened with worry, and you asked, “It’s your birthday?!” Before Dabi could even answer, your shoulders sank with sadness. “I’m so sorry,” you said. “I had no idea. How can I make it up to you? You know what? How about I make you dinner, hm?”

Dabi slowly, tiredly shook his head. “Don’ w’rry about it,” he whined, his eyes drooping and his hands resting on your hips.

“Come on,” you said. “You have to eat something. It’ll help you sober up. How about I order something?” Before Dabi could even think of a response, you were already calling the takeout place you had shown him on your first date and ordering his favorite food for him. Fuck, why did you have to be so… sweet? And caring? Dabi was trying to pretend it wasn’t his birthday. He didn’t need you going and ruining it.

He didn’t know what to say. You looked so sad, feeling like you had failed as a girlfriend, forgetting his birthday and trying to make it up to him. He couldn’t tell you yet. Dabi needed you to feel better first. Damn, how did he end up comforting you? Oh well, he thought. He couldn't be angry at you for just caring so much. Even if it was ruining his plans of sulking.

Dinner came, and you ate together, watching a TV show on your Netflix account. When your food containers were discarded on the table in front of you, he started to get dizzy from the alcohol, and he laid his head on your shoulder.

“Why’d y’ do all that?” he slurred, his eyes threatening to fall closed.

Your eyebrows angled in worry and guilt. “Well… I just wanted…” you began, “to make your birthday special. I forgot all about it, and I didn’t even get you anything–”

“Stop,” he said, waving his hand. “I’s not y’r fault. I didn’ tell you.”

“Oh,” you sighed. “Why not?” You treaded carefully. You worried that too many questions might cross some boundaries, that he might have done it on purpose.

“I’s not a big deal, m’kay?” he mumbled.

You looked at the floor instead of at him. You waited for some kind of real answer, but after several minutes, it was clear you weren’t going to get one. You prodded further. “It’s just that–”

“I’s none ‘f y’r bus’ness,” he groaned, his brows pinching together. He lifted his head, the room spinning slightly. He stood up, refusing to talk about anything. But as soon as he was lifted to his feet, he lost his balance, falling face-first into the corner of the coffee table. You gasped, and you crouched next to your boyfriend, a small cut just above his eyebrow.

“You okay?” you asked, seeing the cut and brushing the dyed dark hair out of the way. He didn’t say anything back. You offered him your hand, and he reluctantly took it, slowly standing up and moving to the couch. You went to his bathroom and found the first-aid kit–the one you forced him to keep in his apartment for times when one of you was being an idiot. You brought back an alcohol wipe and a bandage. You sat straddling one of his legs with the flashlight of your phone illuminating the space. Once he was all patched up, his eyes remained closed as his head rested on the couch cushions behind him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked in a whisper.

Dabi shook his head. “Jus’ don’ like my birthday,” he answered, looking down, his gaze refusing to meet yours. And suddenly it all clicked. He didn’t have to say anything else. You were being an idiot. Months ago, he told you all about his father, and you were just now putting all the pieces together. Dabi’s birthday was a not-so-gentle reminder of who he was supposed to be and who he was not. And for that he refused to forgive himself.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your hands resting on the space between his neck and his shoulders. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered, now gently lifting his chin so that his lips met yours. You kissed him over and over again, one turning into hundreds. The difference in feeling between his upper and lower lip was vast. The top was soft, smooth. The bottom would have felt chapped if you didn’t know any better. His rough hands, outlined with cold staples, slid under your dress and rested on your plush thighs. You inhaled sharply at the sensation of metal against your skin.

He pulled away, and you looked down at him with a longing in your eyes. “You okay?” he asked as your skin adjusted to him. You nodded, and you desperately pulled him back into your kiss. His hands ventured further up your legs, eventually coming to rest on your hips, where the lace waistband of your panties dipped into your flesh. Dabi’s fingers splayed against your skin, the different textures melting into your flesh and making you shiver. He fondled the waistband of your panties, making you involuntarily squirm against him. The friction of his clothed leg against you was enough to egg you on. You grinded your clothed sex against him one more time, and he grinned into your lips. His right hand trailed the outline of your panties against your thigh, and eventually rubbed his thumb against your clit on the outside of your underwear. You sighed into his lips, impatiently waiting for more, wondering what would be “too forward.”

You laced your fingers into his long black hair, gently caressing the back of his head. Dabi let his head fall back, leaving his neck open for you to take between your lips. You pulled away long enough for Dabi to pull his shirt over his head. Due to Dabi’s burns, his neck was much less sensitive than the rest of his body. He could barely even feel the contact your lips were making with his neck. You knew this. You moved to his chest, just below the staples, and Dabi sighed into your touch. He could barely even think straight. He had never remembered a time when someone treated him like you treated him, when someone was as thoughtful and as considerate as you. He could only sit back and watch as you gently sucked a piece of his flesh into your pretty mouth and swiped your tongue over it. He’d never been given a hickey before. Most people were too scared to touch his neck. But here you were, finding a way and making it enjoyable for him.

“Fuck~” he groaned as you let go of his flesh with a pop. “I love you so goddamn much.” He lifted your face and slotted your lips into his. His right hand remained on your still-clothed pussy, but his left hand moved to unhook your bra. He struggled for a moment, trying to concentrate on everything at once, but you helped out by pulling your dress over your head, unhooking it yourself, and tossing your bra to the floor. Dabi had seen you naked plenty of times before. Hell, you had fucked on the first date. But seeing you now through his drunken lens, an even mixture of love and lust behind your eyes, made his cock twitch. He wanted to show you exactly how much he loved you the best way he could.

He took your nipple, hardened against the cool air of his apartment, between his lips. You let your head fall back, hair ghosting against your back. You let out a whine as his tongue swiped over your breast, his thumb gently brushing against your sex through the lace of your panties. Soon, you felt his soft fingertips push your panties into a thin line to the left of your pussy. Now, his thumb brushed against your bare clit, pulling another whine from your lips, longer this time with enough desire to make a saint blush. Pleased, Dabi dipped two of his fingers between your folds and played in your arousal for a moment, thoroughly coating his fingers in your slick, relishing in your scent and desperate to pull more sighs and whines from your love-swollen lips.

Dabi’s lips pulled away from your tit to look up at you as two of his long fingers slipped past your entrance. Your mouth dropped into a pretty O shape, mimicking a moan as Dabi’s drunken gaze met your lustful one. You let the shaky moan escape your lungs as his palm rested against your clit and his fingers curled inside you. Dabi’s lips were just centimeters from your own. Dabi closed the gap, slotting his lips into yours and beginning to move his fingers inside you. Your lack of sounds, however, led Dabi to believe this wasn’t enough. He picked you up and switched spots with you, laying you down on the couch with your legs still spread. He quickly pushed his fingers back into you, curling them again to hear you moan, louder this time from the new position.

Dabi began to lazily pump his fingers in and out of you, the palm of his large hand pushing against your clit with each thrust of his wrist. He absent-mindedly palmed the growing bulge in his jeans, too focused on your pretty noises to realize that he could fully stroke himself. “Dabi~” you whined, “you’re gonna make me cum!” Dabi groaned at the name. He didn’t know it bothered him until right now. He’d have to think about it later, the way that name made him feel, especially coming from the lips of his girl, someone he was supposed to love. He’d think about it later.

“Tha’s th’ point,” he growled, pushing his thoughts to the back of his mind. “Cum f’ me, sweet girl.”

It was the nickname. The nickname had you flying over the edge, the rope of pleasure snapping in the pit of your stomach. Your orgasm gushed over Dabi’s fingers and dripped down your ass cheeks, your moans tumbling over your tongue like dice.

Without a moment to rest, Dabi unzipped his jeans, his dick aching to be set free from their denim and polyester prison, desperate to be buried inside you. He slapped the tip of his cock against you several times, sliding himself between your folds and coating himself in the liquid of your orgasm. When he rested his head against your entrance, your eyes widened. “Too much,” you whined. “D-dab-bi, I c-can’t–”

“Don’ call me that ‘nymore,” he commanded, looking you dead in the eyes. It wasn’t him being bratty or demanding or even the “dom.” The sentence came out of nowhere, without Dabi even thinking. The small amount of worry in your eyes made Dabi question his own words. He swallowed hard, the look in his eyes changing from fiery to soft in a matter of seconds, trying to silently assure you he wasn’t angry.

You were panting and shaking, not-so-patiently awaiting the stretch of his cock against your walls. “W-what do I call-all you the-en?” you stuttered, eyes flashing between his hips and his eyes.

“My name,” he answered, “is Touya.” With no time for you to respond, Dabi–rather, Touya–slammed his entire length inside your waiting cunt. You gasped as his hips collided with yours. Touya’s movements stopped to soothe you, as you whimpered and whined underneath him against the stretch of his member. He pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead, your thighs stretching to allow Touya as close to you as possible. He rested his forehead against yours as he pulled out of you slowly. His right hand came to caress your cheek. “‘M sorry,” he mumbled. “Di’n’t mean t’ scare you.”

You nodded, not quite able to come up with the words to respond. Slowly, methodically, he thrusted into you, his tip kissing your cervix as you let out a soft whine. Dabi let his eyes close as he listened, continuing to move his hips as slowly as possible, worried he might scare you again. “T-Touya,” you stammered. His icy blue eyes opened to find you, staring up at him with as much love as you could muster. Before that moment, Touya hated the person he was supposed to be. With every small reminder, he hated himself a little more for not living up to be that person. But when those syllables came from your lips, he felt loved. He felt wanted. He felt needed. He felt like he was the person he was always meant to be. “N-need more,” you pleaded.

He thrusted in and out of you again, with a little more force and slightly more speed. You let out a loud sigh. Touya’s sobriety was ruined–he got drunk on your moans, your scent, the way your pretty pussy gripped his dick like a vice. “R’lax, pretty girl,” he groaned, nearly through his teeth. “If y’ clamp d’wn on me like that, ‘m gonna cum already.” He slowed, almost to a stop, his cock resting inside you at the hilt, reaching deep inside you. With his left hand, Touya caressed your waist, your hips, anything he could reach. He wanted to be impossibly closer to you. He thrusted into you once again, once he was sure he wasn’t going to bust on the spot.

You did your best to relax, taking long breaths that exhaled in the form of moans and cries. “Oh, you pretty little thing,” Touya groaned, becoming restless. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“‘M yours, Touya,” you moaned in response. “I’m all yours.” The sound of his name–his true name–escaping your lips left him gasping for air.

“Promise?” he asked, looking you in the eyes with the same intensity as before. His thrusting slowed, pulling you away from another orgasm. You sighed, grieving the loss of the previously incoming pleasure. “Promise you’re mine?” At first you thought this was his way of dominating you, like maybe he was going to edge you until he got what he wanted. But when you looked deeper into his diamond eyes, you saw actual fear. Now that you’d said his name, he was terrified. Terrified that he’d lose you. Terrified that, after you, nobody would ever say his name the way you did. Not with pity. Not with disappointment. Not with anger. But with as much love as could be packed into one five-letter-word.

“I promise, Touya,” you whispered. Upon the promise, Touya began to thrust into you with such fury and passion that your body became overwhelmed. Your thoughts were no longer coherent. The only sensation you could feel was Touya entering and leaving your sex as quickly as he possibly could.

Within a minute, he felt your hole pulsing around him. Touya relished the feeling of you. The pressure of your pussy around his cock made him bust unexpectedly. All of the sudden, he was emptying himself into you, the ultimate sign that you were, in fact, his. He continued thrusting, his cock aching from the overstimulation. But he needed you to cum. He was desperate for you to cry out his name again, to be the one to make you feel oh-so-much. He stood up, thrusting into you at a new angle. His thumb swiped over your soaked clit, pulling more pleasure out of you. “Come on, pretty girl,” he groaned. “I wanna feel you cum on me, wanna make you feel s’good.”

Touya’s words washed over you, only adding to the pleasure. You played with your own pebbled nipples, desperate for the orgasm you’d been denied twice now. With every single thrust a moan came tumbling from your tongue. And with a few final thrusts, Touya was emptying himself into you again. The pressure of his cum filling you up made you fall over that final edge into bliss. You cried out, “Touya~!” as your cunt clenched around him with your orgasm.

Touya let out a sigh as you came down from your high. “Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he whispered, his length staying inside of you for a moment. As he slowly slid out, you sighed at the loss of contact. He picked you up and switched spots with you, resting you on his lap one more time. Both of you were out of breath, your bare chests pressed against each other.

Touya’s fingers locked behind your back, his arms tightly wrapped around your waist. The soft fingers on his left hand ghosted over your back, creating goosebumps on your skin. You smiled into his neck. “I love you,” you said. “Do you know that?” You sat up to look at him, your hands resting on his face. “I love you so damn much.”

Touya smiled up at you gently, the sleep beginning to wash over his body. “I love you, too,” he whispered, your forehead resting against his before you pressed a long, loving kiss into his lips. He suddenly stood up, and you let out a gasp as he picked you up. “Let’s get to bed,” he said, carrying you all the way to his bed, the mattress and box spring on the floor. When he finally rested on the mattress next to you, he covered both of you with his blankets and pulled your head to rest on his chest. You pressed feather-light kisses onto his burnt skin every once in a while. “Y’really wanna be w’th me f’rever?” he slurred, his body still processing the alcohol.

You huffed in a small laugh. “As long as you want me to stay,” you answered, never even picking your head up. You draped your arm over him and rested your hand on the opposite side of his waist.

“So,” he said, “forever, then.” It was halfway a smartass joke, halfway a correction.

You laughed again. “Yeah,” you answered. “Forever.”

This work was written by Abigail "Billie" Rothenberger. Please do not copy this work on Tumblr or any other platform.

[zerosugarmess]

I don't like men I like their money

[terrence-silver]

Can you do one with violent sex with drunk old man Terry? Beloved get’s apreenssive cause she already knows what’s coming for her when she sees drunk old man Terry stambeling late night into the house

---

Scorpions are 100% unpredictable.

They will sting you, even if they kill themselves in the process.

Several species of Scorpion have a courtship ritual that appears to walk a fine line between wooing and attacking. A male Scorpion will lead a female on a dance-like walk, known as a promenade à deux, holding her by the pedipalps (large claws). During this waltz, males have been observed stinging their partners;

--- Idle trivia pounded through his mind even as he stumbled over the manor's threshold, shoulder rubbing against the frame of the door, leaning on it as he attempted to maintain balance. He knew you'd be waiting. He knew it. You always waited for him. Even though it was three in the morning, little loyal devoted thing that you were, he knew you would be right there, diligently expecting his return and he isn't wrong. He's never wrong as he hears your voice call through the darkness of the lobby, undoubtedly alerted by the sound emanating from the hallway. He wasn't exactly trying to be quiet. Wasn't exactly trying to be sneaky or discreet. He wanted you to realize he was coming. Oh, did he ever.

-”Terry! You’re back!”-

He sees your form emerging through the shadows, seeming worried, moving at a brisk pace, arms extended, reaching towards him like he needed any fucking help. He was old but he wasn't a fucking cripple. He wasn't handicapped. He was more capable than you were at your green age. More agile. Stronger. Thirty years back, he'd show you a thing or two about endurance. Real power. Real damage. He clicks his tongue, brushing you off, stumbling wordlessly forward. Your brows shoot up, overshadowered with concern, like you were confused with the gesture --- hurt and attempting not to show it, right before trying again, stubborn in your devotion. He knew you would do that as well. So predictable. Everything you did was sweet, stupid and predictable. The fact that you were eager to him coming home, even though he was coming him in a state...it ached so much he could feel his skin shiver. His jaw goddamn nearly trembling. -”Terry, let me help you, please!”- You grab his forearm, tenderly, doing so without asking, stepping in front of him, cutting his space of movement off. Now, that he doesn't appreciate. -”I don’t need your,”- Terry seethes, not caring how inebriated he sounded, his words laced with hiccups. -”Or anyone’s help!”-

Maybe that would give you a hint to keep your distance.

-”You’re not doing well.”-

You remark, ever so politically correct and caring of his fucking feelings, trying to avoid calling things by their proper name. He wasn't doing well? No. Correction; he was drunk. Plastered. Shitfaced. A lesser man would be crawling all over the floor by now, but he? He was no lesser man. He still had enough tenacity in him tonight to smite you for even giving a damn what he was up to. Terry reaches forward, not bothering to give you a warning, snatching your wrist and squeezing on the gentle flesh. -”And who do you think is to blame for that, huh?”- He slides forward, face to face, until he was certain you could smell his breath; Perfect. Be repulsed by it. You should've been a smart little robot and gone to sleep by now. Instead of your disgust, though, against all anticipation, he's met with profound grief. You yelp. -”You’re hurting me!”-

-”Good.”- Terry coos, feeling his gut grow warm at the notion.

It was either that or all the whisky in his Limo's minibar.

Possibly a little bit of both.

-”You deserve a cruel tutelage.”-

He murmurs, looking you up and down, his eyes finally landing back on your face. Your mouth partially open in shock. Eyes befuddled and lost. Sharp intakes of breath burdening your chest with a visibly panicked pace. Fear is palpable. -”Do you want to know why I’ve been getting shickered up tonight? Do you really?”- He chuckles, feeling the bitterness coil inside of him like a wildfire. He's been drinking because of you and here you were, acting the saint. All worried and concerned about him. A patient paramour, waiting for him to come home. You should've ran. Should've ran while you had the chance. Now, you were faced with the scorpion and he was about to prick. Then again, what was he thinking? You, running? Where? How? As if he'd let you go. As if he'd let you get away. You shake your head, your teeth gritted with pain, not knowing the answer to this question. Ever naive. Ever dumb. With his fingers still wrapped around your wrist, he drags your forward, further into the dark lobby and down the foyer. You squeal in surprise. -”For the past thirty years, my life’s been bullshit.”- He confesses, chuckling at the notion. No, really. It was complete and utter tripe. You sound distressed even as he pushed you forward, like you wanted to dissuade him. Convince him his life wasn't wasted in a feeble attempt to console him.

Figures.

-”Terry!”-

Your voice is horse and he shakes his head, leading you down the corridor by force. Force is just about the only language you and your pigheaded attempts at pity would understand right now. -”Shrinks, reinvention, pills, damage control, living up here —”- He taps the edge of his own forehead as he lists everything that came to mind off in a haste. -”Those schmucks I’ve kept around.”- He digs his teeth into his lower lip, feeling particularly infuriated at the thought that he's wasted time with a bunch of mimes when he could've had you instead. But, you weren't in his life then, were you? You only came into his life recently. Fucked everything up. -”John.”- He adds, reaching a door, grabbing its handle. Another person he loved. Another person that fucked everything up. Just like you did. -"Denying myself every impulse! Everything that ever made me happy! For what?"- Terry slings the door open not caring if it hit the interior room's wall with a loud thud, pushing you forward and shoving your back inside. You stumble forward. Terry shuts the bedroom door behind himself. The loudness of the sound resonates. -"Did anyone ever say 'Thank you'?"- He murmurs, looking at you. He could've had you. Ten years ago. Twenty. Thirty. When he returned from Vietnam, or even before. If only you were older. Born earlier. Instead, he was there idly wasting his time trying to shed his skin and reinvent himself into a happiness that wasn't even born yet. If that wasn't the biggest irony of his life, he didn't know what was.

Yeah, he drowned the conclusion in a bottle.

What else was there to do?

Let it drown him instead?

-”And you come into my life when its about to end.”-

The scorpion pricks when he saunters forward, fingers coiling into your hair, hardening into a fist, pulling your head backwards and trapping you like that. You moan in pain. Your hands attempting to grab at his own hand, peel him off somehow. Your knees coming up helplessly, trying to put distance between you and him. Your expression fading into a blur. There was four of you in front of him and he'd fucking break all four tonight. -”Legs. Open.”- Terry growls his order, pushing your thighs apart. Placing his own leg between them as a barrier, right before he thrusts on the mattress behind your back. You fall limp, bouncing ever so slightly, hips parted, just as he liked them. There's no finesse to the act. It is crude. It was meant to be like that. He grabs you by the shoulders, holding you down with his weight as he grips the hem of your blouse, dragging it forward and ripping the fabric, splitting it where the buttons connected, sending them flying like bullets ricocheting off of the floor. You shriek. Hands coming up to conceal your chest. -”Why? Couldn’t? You? Let? Sleeping? Dogs lie?”- Terry feels his own voice coming out like a growl and no, there would be no mercy. He grabs both of your arms. Away from your torso, pinning them over your head.

-”Why did you have to poke the bear?”- He breathes furiously, close enough to sense your nostrils flaring hot breath as you exhaled and inhaled at a rapid pace. You blink, protesting. About to defend yourself.

-”I didn’t, I —”-

-”You did!”- He cuts you off, insisting, seething through lips pushed together firmly. You know what you did, and now, you would bear the brunt of the consequences. Determined fingers pull down his zipper and he feels himself hard before he's ever even done anything, even though he was certain the potent mix of tonight's Cognac will have him cumming quickly and sloppily inside of you, spilling a mess of anger, desperation, inebriation, his own age and desire inside of you like a hot flood, that's a chance he's willing to take as he starts stroking, preparing himself, unkind to his own flesh, kneading back and forth to the point of it being almost painful. -”You made an old man happy. That’s war.”- He grunts, never looking away from you, because there was nowhere he'd be rather looking in the whole fucking World. You did, you know? You really did. You made him happy. Profoundly, unbelievably happy. Terry Silver never liked ironies he had to endure on his own back, and him finding the love of his life at nearly seventy years of age was an irony that made him want slam his fist into the wall into he bled. -”I should finish you for that.”- He nearly spits as he throbs into his own fist, leaning forward, until his face was between your legs, split apart by the presence of his knee. Removing his own thigh as a barrier, he leans down, licking you and humming. Pleasure mingled with a half-growl.

-”But, I love you!”- You plead, this time, through a hiccup of oncoming sobs.

You try to squeeze your legs shut, but not before long, the head of his cock is massaging your flesh, up and down, up and down, preventing you, slipping into your loose, slippery, wet slit. -”See! That right there! That’s exactly the problem!”- Terry finds time to be analytical and smiles somewhat bitterly, letting go of where he was holding you, below your knee, wiggling his index finger and smiles somewhat bitterly, amused by how critically the point was flying over your head right now. And yet, he was the drunk one. -”I don’t have the time left for that shit.”- He thrusts as he speaks, pushing into you, groaning. He loved you too. Loved you more than a mosquito craves blood, but that crap wasn't anything that he could actually live to its fruition. How did you not realize that? If he ever fucked his children into you, he'd be dead before they ever went to school. You'd be far from middle aged by the time he would be turning centennial. How the fuck was that not a cause for grief and wrath!? It would be easier if he simply never cared for you. If you were some warm body. Someone he was compensating with loads of cash. Favors. Trips. Garden cocktail parties. By kickstarting your inane, idiotic business or something. They all wanted a business kickstarted nowadays, but not you. You were actually in it for love and you made all of it for free and fuck you for that. For making it ache like a motherfucker.

The Scorpion's out to kill.

-”This right here! This is just about the only thing we have time to do.”-

He feels himself growling, rutting into you, sweat trickling down his forehead, heated by the alcohol. By you. Gesturing to where his cock connected with you for emphasis. Yes. Sex. Validly, he couldn't start planning anything concrete with you because he didn't have the decades necessary to pull it off. Fucking you until he physically could for as long as he still could was believably all he had left and he'd utilize every moment like it could be his last, because it could. It could be his last. Maybe if he just dropped dead from a stroke while still inside of you, it would be a perfect way to go. Sure. He was always meant to die on the battlefield, but dying with lodged inside of living heaven incarnate was a step up the figurative ladder. Yeah. Sex was all he had. -”That’s not true, Terry! No!”- At this point you're crying and something lurches in his gut. For a second, he thinks it is arousal, seeing you like this, and then he recognizes it as the putrid, horrendous swell of regret. He finds himself slowing down, nearly growing limp inside of you. Not true? What else was there? Could he have a family? Could he be with you all of his life? No. This was the winter of his life. You were a spring turning summer. That's why he was drunk. That's why not even a whole private cellar worth of bullshit would help numb him.

Because you came too late.

And there was nothing in the world he could do to change that crap.

-”You don’t get to decide what’s true and what isn’t when you’re the one getting pounded.”-

He threatens you, or at least he tries and for a moment or short-lived glee, arming himself with a sort of barb he never gets to use to the extent he wanted to use it and he isn't certain if the saltiness of sweat from his scalp was running down his cheek or if he was silently crying too, without making a sound, the rage deflating along with his body and he slips out of you with a moist popping sound, entirely flaccid and soft, his shaft leaking cum over his fingers and unto the bedsheets crumpled from the onslaught as he practically falls over, or rather, lets himself fall in a half-embrace, holding you for dear life, feeling you return the hug, ragged sobs shaking against him, his cock twitching painfully. Fuck sake. Your care would get him off faster than what he just did to you. Humiliation, indignity, yearning and wrath mixing, he wants to hold you like his and squeeze you until your bones crack and turn to dust under his vice grip and this very bed becomes your funeral shroud. Instead, he just lays there, inhaling your scent, his lips finding it in themselves to touch the nuzzled spot of your neck, peppering it with saliva ridden spots, licking you, finding that even now, like this, disheveled, shitfaced, unbuckled pants, he was still happy.

Desperate, but happy.

-"You know that bullshit fable,"- He slurs, feeling his eye lids grow heavy.

Voice heavy with desire and intoxication.

You no longer fight. Wiggle. Struggle. You're perfectly still. Listening.

The bedroom dark, suddenly achingly quiet.

He swears he can hear you gulping and swallowing.

-"When the Scorpion pricked the Frog crossing the river on its back, the Frog asked why and the Scorpion answered he had to, because its in his nature. They both sank."- Terry doesn't see your face, but he hears you sniffling --- your breathing and heartbeat stabilizing and he nuzzles even closer --- needing to be closer like life itself depended on it, chuckling, hand squeezing itself around your waist. He doesn't know what he was trying to say with that or what he'd conclusively add to it as he closed his eyes, finding your warmth soothing from the sudden dizziness and the profound headache he knew was coming, but he figured, that if you and him sank, at least you'd sink together --- and he'd be capable of that. He'd be capable of piercing himself on his own venomous needle after he was done with you. There was nobody Terry Silver would rather sink with.

Nobody else he'd ever allow you to sink with but him.

[merakiui]

RAHHH WAIT WHILE WE R ON THE TOPICS OF PERIOD SEX. CAN WE TAKE A MOMENT TO TALK ABOUT WHICH GENSHIN GUYS WOULD EAT OUT/FUCK DURING A PERIOD?

AAAAAAA OMG YES........ under the cut because I rambled a lot. ;;;;

The most obvious one who would do it in a heartbeat is Childe. He loves the sight and smell of blood, and the fact that it's coming from between your legs is even better. He'll have you crying out while he spends so much time between your legs, all too eager to taste you and listen to you fall apart on his tongue and fingers. He'll fuck you while you're on your period as well. He loves the way your blood stains his dick when he's thrusting in and out. Playfully cooing at you when you beg him to ease up because it's too much: "Aww, can't handle it? That's too bad... down here seems just fine. You're taking it like it's nothing." <3

This is my own personal bias seeping through, but I wholeheartedly believe Scaramouche/Wanderer would adore period sex. I think Scara enjoys fucking you while you're on your period, whereas Wanderer enjoys eating you out just a bit more. There's this whole power/control thing Scara wants to have over you, so he's probably not getting on his knees for you anytime soon. But he will fuck you for as long as he wants, teasing you the entire time. Having your blood on him is all too exciting. As for Wanderer, he'll pretend like it's a tall order, playfully scoffing at you and saying something like, "What would you do without me? You'd be helpless, wouldn't you?" But if you even suggest that someone else do this for you, he's quickly putting that smart mouth of his to work. Try saying that again through all of your moans. :)

ALBEDO OMG........ it's all for "scientific research" because he's curious and would like to know how the human body operates in more detail. Really, this is his own nerdy cover. He just wants to taste you and feel you, blood and all. orz of course he probably collects samples because there's this clinical side to him that wants to know you down to the alchemical level. ;;;;; he spends way too much time stuffing his fingers inside you and stretching you open, curiously observing the blood that coats his digits and making note of all of your reactions.

Razor....... this one is also obvious. He smells blood and assumes you're hurt, so his first instinct is to either patch you up or lick it better. The latter comes into use when he pins you down and spreads your legs to get a closer look at your pussy. Razor's a bit inexperienced and sloppy, roughly gripping onto your thighs, but he means well. He has to keep his mate safe and content, after all!

Xiao........ XIAO!!!!!!!! He's so determined to protect you. He's very accustomed with the scent of blood, so it doesn't take long for him to smell it on your person. Xiao's a little stern when he tells you to stop moving so he can check you for injuries, but he's sincere. Why do you seem so casual? Aren't you hurt????? He cannot fathom the concept of a period because he's never known about such a thing. He's about as virgin as they come. ^^;;;; but he'll do anything to ensure you're happy, forever and always, and so even though he may not know what he's doing at first he'll eventually fall into the rhythm. Karmic debt is cold and cruel, but pussy is warm and soft. <3

I feel like Kazuha would be into it........ he's so sweet about it, too. T^T maybe you're embarrassed to have leaked on the sheets while sleeping beside him, but he assures you it's fine. Things happen. Besides, there's nothing to be ashamed of. It's normal. He'll make you feel so much better about it, and soon you're falling apart on his fingers or mouth. He praises you all throughout it.

Gorou!!!!! This is also a Razor situation. He probably prefers eating you out more than he does fucking you, but the latter is also quite good. He's really such a sweetheart and he gets pussy-drunk SO FAST. OTL even more so when you're on your period.......

Itto!!! >:D truthfully, what won't Itto do? He'll do just about anything for his pal, best bud, partner, lover (you're all of these things to him hehe). He adores you omg. You only need to tell him that it hurts and he's ready to provide, whether that be by eating you out until your cramps are soothed or by fucking into you (he'll be slow and gentle; he promises!). Anything for you. <3

This may be unexpected (or not) but Ayato. I think he just likes the idea of staining those pristine clothes of his in your red. Or ruining white sheets...... there's something very thrilling about it. Also, you're just so sensitive whenever you're on your period and your libido has you begging him for even more.

Definitely Tighnari. He could just mix up something to help soothe your cramps, but why would he do that when he could indulge instead? Besides, this method works very well and you seem to enjoy it just as much as he does. Why would he ever trade that?

Cyno......... I can't explain it, but I feel like he would enjoy period sex... there's something so addictive about sinking into your wet warmth and getting blood on his cock while you dig your nails into his shoulders and rake his back bloody. >:D

Baizhu. Something something doctor's orders!!! Prescription to soothe cramps is not a calming herbal tea but the doctor working you open on his fingers or fucking into you sweetly and slowly!!!!!

Omg,,, speaking of doctors, how could I forget the man himself!!!! Dottore is a creature. He loves period sex. Perhaps some of his clones love it more than others. It's easy to tell depending on who's fucking you or eating you out. He has this deranged sort of smile as he watches you come undone.

PANTALONE.......... I just know he loves getting your blood all over his face and fingers and on his clothes. He's a big fan of simply cockwarming you while you're on your period and only getting you to orgasm by clitoral stimulation. AAAAAAA OTL

Wriothesley can and will spend his entire afternoon between your legs. He doesn't mind the mess. It doesn't bother him. Rather, he's busying himself working you towards your nth orgasm for the day. If you come to Wrio with a problem, you better be ready for him to solve it. He'll make sure you won't be feeling any cramps for the rest of the day after he's done with you.

Another personal bias, but I like to imagine Lyney also enjoys period sex. Maybe even Freminet, but he's too shy to ask you if you'd be okay with it...... >_< AAAA but Lyney!!!!! He reminds me of this audio. T_T Lyney sniffing out your period........ you seem to have cramps and that's no good. Allow him to ease them and this time there's no magic required hehe.

Another bias, but my beloved Gaming!!!!!! I think period sex with him is always a sweet activity. He's so gentle and caring,,,, so focused on making sure you feel good and that you'll have enough orgasms to get rid of the cramps. And of course he has plenty of snacks on standby for when you want to snack during breaks. Leave it all to him! You won't have to lift a finger. Just lie back against the cushions and let him make you feel good.

OH OH!!!! Capitano.......... I've seen some portray him with a long monster tongue and methinks that is very delicious and so true!!!!! Capitano using that long tongue of his to eat you out, and it can reach places that your fingers just can't and and and AAAAAAAA!!!!!

[ma4i3]

need some substances.

[zerosugarmess]

I love doing meth w u<3

[simsbyjo]

hook ups and cigarettes

[arcanepactguile]

𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 — 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒

@spidrboots ᴀꜱᴋᴇᴅ — "18 ᴏʀ 25?"

“Now that's more like it,” Alastor's quick to console Angel Dust; who's presently pushed up against a wardrobe in the arachnid’s bedroom, the door quickly slammed shut with a kick as soon as the two had cleared the threshold.

The resounded bang down the Hotel's hallway was dismissed as indirect casualty. They were still safe, undiscovered. A risk of getting an audience to witness their (drunken?) rendezvous just because they were desperate to retire in the addict's ‘private’ rooms was worth it.

Confident Vox hadn't implanted any livestreaming video feeds inside Angel's room, at the behest of his second half Valentino, Alastor felt more comfortable fumbling with Angel's clothes and his own on the suspicion his own quarters weren't as secured.

That bungling train of thought hadn't lasted the time it took to shove his impromptu lover up against the cupboard, nearly tripping over the boots and things littering the floor. Panting hard, the aroma of bourbon on his breath, the Radio Demon had pinned Angel — one hand squeezing his throat, claws pinching the back, whilst his other hand had been busy working at the spider's belt and fly, jerking one side down over a hip to grant access.

Alastor's fingers, at least two, were crooked inside the warm hole the tipsy buck had made a bid for the second he had smeared some sparse lube over his fingertips. The tube was commandeered, one of a handful of items left on the nightstand; it's lewd label clearly depicting it's purpose.

Angel was just lucky Alastor's vision wasn't bleary, or imagining things, the Overlord's sense swimming with liquor, to wind up grabbing a cream not meant for internal use.

The tube rolling away on the floor once dropped, possibly to freedom under Angel's bed, Alastor had pressed the length of his fevered body into the taller demon's, his busier arm wrapped around his lover's frame to frisk him. It was a gamble to rush ahead — judging by their escalating ardour in the bar, then the staircase… then the landing, the Radio Demon was fairly confident the more experienced demon had no reason to balk.

Ears angled back, lids lowered, Alastor grunted; sliding his digits to circle Angel's slicked ring, the deer demon grinded his hips into his partner's thigh, the hardness of his growing erection evident. The Overlord's clothes were in a shambles, his coat shrugged off to pool at their feet, suspenders hanging, cuffs unbuttoned but the shirt's collar still up and bowtie fastened.

“Can you moan for me again?

What would I do to hear you scream?"

[trancendeschaos]

save your soul

[merakiui]

I’m loving the little drunk reader idea (if it’s okay with you, I would love to see what the other characters would do) but what would Cater do? I imagine that he would either get you black out drunk and film you making a fool of yourself and black mail you, he gets equally as drunk and that leads to drunken sex that you two don’t remember doing the next morning, or the usual get you stupid drunk and films himself taking you.

He would do all of those things! I like to think the drunken sex would work so well for him because he could twist it into something casual. It was just a little drunken silliness between two friends; nothing to worry about! He didn't record anything (yes he did) and he didn't cum inside (yes he did; there are pictures on his phone of his cum dripping out of your hole), so you can rest easy knowing nothing will be spread or posted online. He might even be able to convince you to do friends with benefits with him if you do vaguely remember having sex with him. Trust Cay Cay and he will never lead you astray. <3

Although I think he might get you really drunk while he remains sober (for the most part) just so he can get the best camera angles while you're giving him the sloppiest head. You won't be able to realize it through your drunken haze, but there is a completely different aura to Cater when he's filming you while you're drunk. He seems colder and even a little mean when he focuses so intensely on you, dropping his usual upbeat façade and acting more mature or serious. His eyes are colder, too. Analytical, even. He tells you you're just too cute when you're on your knees like this or when you're sinking down onto his cock. He'll take plenty of photos and videos of you in the most compromising positions. He won't share any of these; they're for his eyes only.

Come morning, you'll have been cleaned and dressed. Cater pops in with breakfast, smiling so brightly, practically chirping about how gone you were last night. You ask him if you did anything weird or awkward while you were drunk and he looks at you, still smiling, and shakes his head. You ask if the both of you did anything and again he'll shake his head. You'll believe him because he's so convincing with his lies, but all the evidence is hidden in a private photo album on his phone.