#god hes so hot!

[trumanbluee]

an encounter - matty healy

minors dni !! this is 17+ nsfw material !!!

please reblog if you like it! ᡣ𐭩

content; you meet a stranger in the bar after your breakup ;)

word count: 3.2k

warnings: somewhat dubious consent (reader is intoxicated), unsafe sex (wrap it b4 you tap it!!) dom/sub undertones, degradation, teasing. lmk if i missed anything! <3

a/n: hi !!! this is the first fic i'm ever posting!! eek! i dont know how many people are going to see this but please tell me if you like it!!!

It’s not often she spilt her entire life story to a stranger at the bar, but this stranger, with his head of ringlets upon ringlets of messy, dark curls, plush light-pink lips, and deep, chocolate brown eyes, was particularly inviting; charismatic to a fault. It made her want to give him everything, and absentmindedly, in her alcohol-riddled mind, she’d thought he would be a good scammer, or serial killer, whichever he prefers really. 

But it's not entirely his fault; she’s stress drinking, downing too many shots in too little a time frame, and the alcohol’s already hit her system ten-fold. 

She’s there because she’d broken up with her boyfriend the night before. They’d been dating just short of a year. He was required to travel a lot, mostly in Europe, as per his job, and she let him go each time without qualms - love them, let them go, right? 

Wrong. He’d been cheating on her since he went to Australia — four months, now — with a pretty little Sheila that he wanted to marry.

She was furious when he told her, of course, it’s fucking insanity for him to marry someone he’s known for four months, but she began seeing all the differences between her and the woman he cheated on her with: she, a perfect homemaker, her, a distressed professional he saw maybe once a month. 

“Hey, hey, don’t beat yourself up,” The soft english voice of the man across the bar cut through the buzz of her hazy, drunken brain, bringing her back to reality. “Cause he’s a right dickhead. For cheating on you like that.”

The man had entered the bar hours after she did, housing a simple drink or two and absently watching the soccer game on the TV above the bar, before she’d drunkenly inched closer to him, desperate to rant her dilemma to just about anyone who’d listen. He bit, and here she was now.  

She peered up at the man, inspecting him. He’s gorgeous, definitely, but she can’t tell if she actually thinks that, or her foggy, not-been-fucked-for-months mind just wants him to rail her into next week. 

No matter, she thought, downing another shot. It burned the back of her throat sweetly, fire trailing down her insides. “M’not beating myself up,” she protested weakly, “jus’ — m’just… wondering if her cunt was - so much better than mine,” 

He laughed, boisterously, the kind of laugh you hear rumble out from a close friend while you detail every wrongdoing or shameful memory in your life: he’s comfortable right now, as is she.

“Well,” he inched closer, large hand setting itself on her thigh and slowly inching upwards, “if it bothers you that much, why not prove it? That your pussy’s as good as you think.” 

This wasn’t the first of his attempts to flirt with her: firstly he’d tucked a stray hair away from her face, later he swiped a drop of her Sex On The Beach off her lip, then he’d clutched her by the waist, pulling her close to him when someone squeezed past her in the crowded bar. His brisk touch wasn’t unfamiliar by any means, but it did suggest more than the other ones, especially coupled with the lustful words he was purring in her ear. 

Then, there’s a gap in her memory. One too many shots, a stranger toying with the hem of the skirt she’d donned for the bar, and his sweet voice in her ear was too much for her dizzy head, and the only thing she remembers is this: one moment, he’s getting braver, rough fingers ghosting the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and the next, she’s pressed against a bathroom stall wall, the handsome stranger’s knee knocking her quivering legs apart. 

They’re trading wet, sloppy kisses, and his hands are sneakily climbing up her shirt till they reach her chest. There’s a sharp intake of breath from him: “Fuck, sweetheart, no bra? You really were looking for someone to prove you right,” he cooed, touching her breasts needily.

He’s kneading her softly, fingers pawing at her flesh like he’d never felt something so soft, so plump. Her back arches as he does this; she’s practically putty in his hands. 

It doesn’t slip past her that she’s being felt up in a bar bathroom by a gorgeous stranger whom she doesn’t know the name of, but she doesn't care. “Please,” she begs, his name coming up completely blank on her tongue, “please.”

“‘Please’ what, honey?” The stranger says huskily, hot breath against her ear as one of his hands moves from her breasts up to her jaw, pushing it to the side to gain access to her neck. “Please kiss me? Finger me? Fuck me?”

She’s too drunk - and fucking horny - to deal with his theatrics, so she whines instead of answering, her weak fingers carding through his dark curls. 

“God,” he says, “How long has it been since you’ve been properly fucked? Just some touching and you’re already too fucking dumb to speak.”

His words make her cheeks burn with shame, but it also makes her core throb. The oh-so sweet stranger who listened to her problems all night telling her she’s just a dumb horny bitch is such a juxtaposition it's got her all hot and bothered. 

“Please,” she begs again, more desperate than before, “I need you.”

The man let out an incredulous chuckle, head cocking back. “Baby, don’t tell me you like it like that. God, you’re such a fucking whore,” he said, before undoing his belt buckle and fly. 

He had noticed how her legs clenched around his knee, how her breathing got sharper as soon as the words “dumb” and “whore” slipped out of his pretty mouth, how her fingers trailed his back needily, desperate for any kind of touch. 

She bit her lip, watching the stranger through bleary, hooded eyes. He’d pulled his pants down just enough for his boxer shorts to be visible, before he grabbed her by the waist and turned her to press her face against the wall. 

One of his arms then draped across her shoulders, pinning her down and arching her back, hard, making her ass press flush against the large tent in his underwear. She let out a small gasp at the feeling, and she could practically see the smirk curling slyly on his face

He can’t be that big, right? It was just her drunk mind, making him feel bigger than she thought through his shorts. Plus, she hadn’t been fucked in over a month — she was probably just not used to it. . 

Because, that’d be totally unfair - he’s beautiful, charming, an amazing kisser, and has a huge cock? No fucking way — if he was all that, he’s definitely a secret terrorist, or something.

 However, these days, she’d learned that she didn't have the best intuition. First, with her boyfriend, then again, with the man who just pulled out his thick cock, stroking it gently. 

“Oh, fuck,” she cursed, head straining to look at him behind her. Unconsciously, she shyly closed her legs at the sight of him. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” the man crooned, his other hand sliding between her legs and spreading them apart once more. “No take backs, honey. You did say you wanted me, did you not?”

Completely flush against each other, she could feel his hard length resting between her legs. Just that, just him between her, already had her trembling in anticipation.

“Then fuck me already,” she bit back, feigning confidence. In actuality, she was thinking: how was all that supposed to fit? And, of all people, her, who hadn’t been stretched out to fit any cock at all, not since last month, when her boyfriend made his routine visit. She was a loyal girl, alright, and her fingers never went as deep as any cock could.

But the moment for her to reveal her worries passed, and he simpered. “So fucking eager.”

Then, his large hands smoothed down the swell of her ass, following the curve, before he lifted his hand up and came down on her cheek, making a loud noise reverberate throughout the empty bathroom.

Her breath caught in her throat, a choked gasp mixed with a tense moan coming out instead, and she flushed. Thank god she was pressed against the cold bathroom stall wall, for it provided a miniscule relief to her burning face.

He’d spanked her, and she’d fucking moaned.

“So you do like it dirty.” he cooed, fingers returning and hooking into the waistband of her panties.

“I bet,” he said, dragging the thin fabric down extremely slow, “that you didn’t come to the bar tonight to just drink,” he pressed closer against her, her folds now sitting right above his thick length, “you came, with no bra and a slutty skirt on, looking to get fucked senseless, didn’t you?”

He slowly slid in and out against her folds, his cock just barely grazing her clit, and she swore she could have screamed. The way he was teasing her was absolutely delectable and, in the same vein, incredibly torturous.

“Answer me, honey.” he hummed, free hand rubbing light circles on the skin of her hip.

She let out an exasperated groan. “I - I came here tonight, to - ah!” she squeaked when the fat tip of the man’s cock poked her tight hole.

“You came here tonight to… what?” He said, nonchalant, as if he wasn’t slowly driving his large dick into her.

“I came here to…” she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ground her thoughts, and squarely not think about how mouthwateringly good the handsome strangers cock felt, “to get—“

Then, the loudest keen she’d ever heard tore out of her, her eyes rolling into the back of her head, when he suddenly shoved all of his length into her soaking cunt.

He bottomed out with a breathy laugh, watching her knees buckle and mouth hang wide open. Then, once more, his calloused hand came down on her ass, a large crack sounding out within the bathroom. 

“Shut the fuck up, whore. Someone’ll hear.” The stranger said, as if he hadn’t just made a loud noise spanking her like that.

But the way he insulted, complimented, mocked and teased all in a few sentences had her shuddering; never in her life did she think such dirty words could make her so wet.

She barely kept in another whine, waves of pleasure ebbing throughout her body. The burning pain of the spank in combination to how her walls squeezed around his cock had her barely coherent, face taut with pleasure.

“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping all over my cock,” he whispered, leaning down for her to hear. As he did so, however, his dick pressed further into her, and another helpless groan rolled off her tongue.

“But you’re too goddamn loud.” The stranger growled, and the arm of the hand that was pressing her against the wall shifted, now covering her mouth.

Before she could protest, he slid out, then snapped into her. Immediately, she saw stars, and a muffled mewl slipped past her lips.

“Jesus christ,” he murmured, “your little pussy’s taking me so well.” He began to slide in and out at a fast, rhythmic pace, so fast she could barely comprehend the ecstasy she was feeling.

“Oh my god,” she barely stuttered out past his large hand. He was pounding in and out of her relentlessly, selfishly, no regard for her moans or helpless whines, merely focussed on thrusting his fat cock into her sweet cunt.

Then, the two heard the bathroom door open, and she froze. The handsome stranger moved quickly, grabbing her by the waist and planting her on his lap as he sat down on the toilet. His other hand, still trained on her mouth, gripped tighter than ever when he felt the groan bubble up from her throat: this new position of her on his lap had his long length pressed right against her cervix.

“Now you really gotta be quiet, baby,” he whispered, pressing his face into her neck. She shut her eyes helplessly, a dejected whimper exiting her mouth.

“Just be fucking quiet. You don’t want everyone in this bar to know what a dirty slut you are, spreading your legs for a fucking stranger in the bathroom, right?” He said, words foul and like poison, but actions completely stark to it: he was pressing sweet, chaste kisses on her shoulder, laying his head on her back.

The man in the other stall was taking so fucking long to finish, and, despite the stranger’s words, he began to slowly rut into her, his large hands coming to rest on her hips and help her slide up and down on his cock.

Her eyes widened. “What are- ah, wh— what are you doing?” she said, a stuttered, hesitant moan leaving her mouth, but she was completely without the motivation to actually stop him: the pleasure she felt earlier had increased immensely in this slower, riskier pace he took on.

“Shh,” was all she saw him say, as she strained her neck to look at him. He looked the epitome of smug, lips curled, cheeks flushed attractively, strands of hair falling down onto his forehead.

Without his hand to muffle her groans, she muffled them herself, biting down on her tongue. One hand of hers gripped onto the stranger's thigh to keep her balance, and her other hand sneakily travelled down to her wet, hot mound, fingers beginning to rub at her clit.

He noticed this, however, hand gripping at her wrist and pulling her back to pin her arm behind her. “Only I get to touch you,” he snarled, “because this fuckin’ pussy’s all mine. Gonna be all mine.”

She let out a shaky exhale at his words, but she found her cunt more flexible than before, the soft slapping of her skin between each other sounding easier, wetter. Jesus, did she really get more turned on by what he’d said?

Finally, the person who had wandered in and entered the stall beside the one the two of them occupied, exited the bathroom entirely, and she belted out a sharp moan with how the stranger swiftly picked her up and pressed her against the wall once more, this time facing him.

He plunged his big cock into her like nothing before, animalistically, nails digging so hard into her hips she swore he drew blood. His pace was stuttered, desperate, like nothing could distract him from pounding into her, not even a fucking meteor. 

She, on the other hand, was arching, the pleasure taking her body over completely. Her hands carded through his brown hair, tugging when he hit that particularly spongy spot into her. He groaned, a rough and stuttered thing, feeling himself brush against that spot every time.

Her tight cunt was stretching and contracting around his dick, like she was made with his fat length in mind, and it drove her up the fucking wall: the pain in her hip, the cold linoleum wall, his cock thrusting in and out — it was all so much, and her orgasm began to spill out from under her. It was slow, like water coming out of an overfilled glass.

“You — god, you’re fucking coming, aren’t you,” the stranger said knowingly. Her cunt had gotten tenser, stickier, trying to grip at him like she was afraid he’d never come back to her.

She nodded rapidly, opting to do so in fear an unintelligible string of groans would come out instead of  words.

He grinned, and lifted her legs to wrap around his waist, allowing his cock deeper access into her. Her toes curled, the new angle like being impaled, his dick easily slipping past her slick folds.

One of his hands lifted off her hip and trailed across her lower stomach, “Can you feel that, baby? Its my fucking cock, so deep m’gonna shoot my come right in your womb,” he purred, pressing the bulge.

Both were affected, a breathy grunt slipping past his lips, and her a feverish mewl. She couldn’t believe how big he was, large enough for him to be fucking visible on her from the outside.

Suddenly, she remembered the man’s name: he’d said it, offhand, to the bartender before she had dragged him to the bathroom. He asked the bartender to put her drinks on his tab, under the name Matty.

Her face grew taut, her orgasm suddenly switching from a slow, sneaky drip to a hard smack, right across her face. “Matty! Matty, please,” she moaned at last, his name sounding right at home on her tongue.

“Fuck, honey, you remembered? God, that’s so hot,” He whispered sweetly, then dragged her through her orgasm, thick cock pounding in and out of her throbbing core. 

It was like all the pleasure had steadily built up within her insides, all up into a big ball, then had suddenly burst, flowing throughout her entire body like she wasn’t already being fucked relentlessly.

“Such a - fuck - tight and pretty pussy,” he said, leaning in to rest his head against her chest. She was weak, sensitively riding out her high, but she knew Matty wasn’t quite as close.

His thrusts began getting sloppier, harsher and focussed merely on feeling her walls against every inch of him. Her head rested beside his own, eyes practically crossing with the overstimulation.

Despite her orgasm, her cunt was still soaking, definitely dripping and marking a wet patch on both her skirt and his pants. It made her tremble, thinking of them both tiredly exiting the bathroom, dishevelled and having to cover the other up.

At this point, she didn’t know what kind of filthy fucking noises were exiting her mouth, with Matty’s grunts and groans covering up her whines completely.

“M’gonna come,” he said a few long moments later, almost inaudible. “Say my name, say who owns this tight fucking pussy.”

“You do! Matty does!” She exclaimed, his cock ripping in and out of her quicker and more jolted. “Matty owns this pussy!”

Matty grinned weakly, and with one final, harried thrust, he let go deep within her. He clenched his jaw, brown eyes shutting tight and losing himself within the warm and wet feeling of her cunt squeezing him for every drop.

You was so fucking full, and even when Matty pulled his softening cock out of her — which, was still huge despite its idleness — she felt stuffed to the brim.

His come dripped down her leg, and he promptly pulled her panties up, patting her worn out cunt as he did so. “You’re taking all my fucking come, so good baby.” he said, pressing a hungry kiss to her neck. “You were right: this cunt’s better than whoever your shit ex cheated on you with.”

“Told you so.” She gazed up at him through heavy-lidded, gleeful eyes. He was an absolute darling sweetheart, it seemed, switching from degradingly fucking her to romantically praising you. “Are you… up for round two?” you said, as he slipped his hand within her own, clasping tightly. She didn’t really mean round two - though, she wouldn’t protest it, especially with his delectable way of fucking her - she actually just wanted to go home with him… see where this relationship could lead her.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to ask. You’re comin’ home with me tonight,” he saw through her cheekily, pulling her close to him.

So, she did go home with him, and in the morning she laid beside him in the ruffled white sheets, studying the beauty of his face whilst he slept. After that, they made frequent visits to that pub, specifically to the final stall on the left in the mens bathroom.

©trumanbluee - reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! but i do not wish for my work to be republished, translated, or copied. thanks!

[egophiliac]

still ruminating over Lost In the Book With Spooky Skeletons Part 1, so here's a selection of some of my favorite little bits! (...some more loosely paraphrased than others) (I just feel like Idia has no room to criticize in general, okay)

anyway, I'm sure we're just going to have a fun time celebrating Halloween and nothing bad is going to happen whatsoever! :)

[peanutseagle]

tea time with the bestie

[bubbarnes]

“... we can't call ourselves that.”

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Bringing this back.

VINCENT PRICE introduces The Vincent Price collection of Fine Art for Sears and Roebuck (1962)

[4ever-feral]

Literally foaming at the mouth 🥵

[fluffylino]

pussy agenda with minho

-contains mature themes

this man has to have his hands on you regardless of where y'all are.

subtle touches turn into full on outrageous groping.

you walk into the kitchen, intrigued by the dish he's busily cooking up for the two of y'all. he glances at you, blinking slowly and then rapidly.

"c'mere" and the tone he uses makes you think he needs your help to cut a few vegetables or stir the boiling hotpot. so you prance to him.

letting out a silent gasp when he sits on his haunches. pressing his lips over your covered crotch. and he stands back up, a satiated smile on his face.

"thank you, baby" and he feeds you a small chunk of stir fried chicken before pretending like nothing happened.

when i tell you he doesn't care if you don't shave, i mean it.

he doesn't care one bit.

"every one has hair down there. its natural, lets all die naturally!" is what he says.

"minho!" you can't help but laugh, smacking him.

"nothing is ever going to stop me from eating this goddamn pussy..." nudging you with his shoulder. his hand creeping over the waistband of your shorts.

"...infact i want to spread you open and fuck my tongue into your tight little cun-"

"we're in public! p-public!"

slapping your hand over his mouth. shutting him up before he can finish his downright filthy comment. he raises an eyebrow, swirling his tongue across your palm while his hand sneaks past your waistband.

you're happy its all under the table but its both nerve wracking. the pads of his fingers rubbing over your already wet cunt and the dirty whispers in your ear.

likes to backhug you randomly. his hands squeezing your ass. you're used to it but for some reason you aren't quite used to the way he trails his fingers up your thigh.

cupping your mound and manhandling you to bend over any surface. its all playful and you giggle until he nudges your panties to the side. sliding a digit against your folds.

"always so eager to have me" chuckling in your ear. his front pressed up into your backside.

"pretty cunt. all mine to touch and play with, am i right, baby?"

it works. turning you on and getting you wet in mere seconds. then he walks off, nonchalantly. sticking his fingers in his mouth and leaving you hanging.

don't worry, he just loves to hear you whine about how much of a dick he is.

give him ten minutes max and he'll eat you out like a man starved.

slurping, licking and sucking with pure need. its the same enthusiam everytime.

eating you out is part of his weekly routine. has to do it more than 2 times in a week or he throws a tantrum.

loves loves LOVES when you're compliant and encourage him to touch you.

like when he's driving. placing his hand on your upper thigh. smirks at the way your thighs part automatically, and he takes the chance to play with your kitty.

"can i kiss you on the lips?" minho whispers, and your heart melts. you smile as you pucker your lips, leaning in to kiss him but you jerk up in shock.

his head already between your legs. pulling your underwear down with his teeth. and before you can even process whats happening, his tongue slips between your folds.

hot breath fanning over your pussy. his nose bumping into your clit while he breathes in a deep breath. eyes fluttering and moaning unbashedly at your scent.

you're not even wet, he just loves how you smell in general.

"god, i love you so much. i love your beautiful, soft, warm cunt"

LOVES LEGIT LOVES when you sit on his face.

ESPECIALLY after he gets back home from dance practice. sweating and out of breath yet so ready to be suffocated by your weight on top of him.

"thats it, kitten. fuck yourself on my tongue. don't stop till i say so."

.

.

.

in conclusion, he gets pussydrunk so easily but refuses to acknowledge it.

[myrkulitescourge]

the way that one line from the new epilogue in an astarion romance is going to HAUNT me

just. what a profoundly intense thing to confess to someone.

like, just these six months of newfound happiness with you exerts a force on his heart equal and in direct opposition to two centuries of endless torment, the gnawing hunger and exploitation. this flashbulb-bright fraction of his long life holds the same gravity to him as years upon years of darkness and suffering.

in all likelihood, he hasn’t even known his lover for as long as his worst memory lasted, that year sealed away to go mad from starvation and sensory deprivation, yet he still tells them this brief time has been so fundamentally and powerfully important that the weight of even that unimaginable hell is vanishingly small compared to this present he has now and the future ahead of them both.

how am i supposed to act normal about this.

[logansbaby]

he is so older boyfriend coded it’s making me sick!! give me the man NOW! id treat him so good, i can cook and clean and have an extremely high sex drive!!!!!

[casually-eat-my-soul]

Okay so like stick with me but young Derek, alive hale fam au.

So like the Hale family finds out that Derek has a crush on Sheriff Stilinski’s delinquent son, and has mixed reactions. Talia is torn between amusement, worry and wanting to dislike stiles. Papa hale is very protective but thinks it funny that him and his son have the same tastes.

Peter is ecstatic, Stiles once beat him in chess when running from the cops. (stiles was running and sat down in the park around people for cover, turns out he interrupted a chess tournament. Peter challenged him to a game if stiles lost, Peter would turn him over to the police. If he won, stiles could use him as an alibi)

The rest of his siblings don’t really have an opinion other than using Derek’s crush to make fun of him EXPECT for Laura. Laura is in a one sided rivalry with stiles.

As the sheriff right hand deputy she was tasked with keeping an eye out for stiles and she constantly loses him. Which shouldn’t be possible because she’s a werewolf. She can never connect him to a crime he’s committed and can never prove anything. Can’t go to a judge a say “oh he left a scent trail which I followed because I’m a werewolf.”

Derek brings him home to dinner after they start dating. Unfortunately, the day that Derek brings him over, is also the day that Laura had to run around town taking reports of his crimes. She is fuming. Stiles looks her dead in her twitching eye and asked her how her day went.

The only crime she can connect him to is when he commit aggravated assault against a few of Derek’s teammates went to far with hazing. (Derek refused to fight back as not to hurt them) she lets him off.

[seiwas]

cw: pro-hero bakugo, reader has boobs, kind of explicit/nsfw? idk i describe boobs, reader is smaller and shorter than bakugo, unedited sawry

bakugo's muscle tee looks as ill-fitting as it'll ever be draped over you.

there are reasons for this, perfectly founded and logical reasons for why that is—the main one being that, it's, well, his; two, maybe even three sizes larger than what it should be to fit you properly.

but, he can't stop staring, and there are reasons for that too—the main one being that, it's his, and yet, the only way he can ever imagine it now is when it's being worn by you.

your hips sway to the song you've been humming for the past five minutes. it's the same one, the chorus on a perpetual loop. he's sure it's the only part you know; you do this often enough that it's the only part he knows now, too.

the hem of his tee hits right at the top of your thighs, concealing just enough to tease, but he’s confident that if you reach up even the slightest bit for the cupboard overhead, there'll be nothing to hide.

he feels a little bit like a creep like this, watching as he stands in the middle of your shared living room, but it's impossible too look away—you've got to be doing this on purpose, right?

heat flares inside of him when you turn your body ever so slightly, the armhole of his muscle tee large enough to give him the clearest view of skin—

he gulps.

it's smooth, sloping just right; the side view of your under boob curves into its perfect shape and he can imagine it, feel—

(is this considered perving if he's been with you for years?)

the pan in front of you sizzles as you plop in god knows what. you pour in something from the side and wait, one hand propped on the hip you pop out. then, you pick up the pan, attempting to flip what's inside (probably a pancake, now that he thinks about it).

it’s hard to focus on what you’re cooking though, especially when all he sees is plump flesh jiggling, bouncing as you further agitate the pan.

he just got the pants of this suit readjusted, and now they're fucking tight.

bakugo normally runs hot; it’s kind of part of his dna. but this warmth is different, flushing him from head to toe. it creeps up the side of his neck, painting the tips of his ears a blooming red.

you turn around then, plopping the pancake on the plate atop the counter behind you.

"oh! you're done," you greet him with a smile. so. fucking. casually.

as if your tits aren't fucking peaking against the gray fabric of his tee.

as if you think he buys the fake innocence poorly concealing that sly, conniving look in your pretty eyes.

as if you aren't standing in front of him in his muscle tee, wearing nothing underneath it like you didn’t do this on purpose. like you don’t know what it fucking does to him.

his eyes squint suspiciously, deep vermillion staring straight into yours.

you tilt your head, the tips of your lashes kissing the top of your cheekbones as you blink. you reach for a bottle of honey.

“everything okay?” you ask, voice syrupy, sickeningly sweet.

your movements play in front of him languidly, the corner of your lips curling up slightly as you smirk. honey catches on your finger as you pop open the bottle cap.

he’s supposed to be out the door in five minutes if he wants to make it in time for a meeting at the agency. technically, he should already be there if he wants to keep up his track record of consistently being fifteen minutes too early.

but you start to approach him, rounding the kitchen island. there’s a narrow space between him and the slab of marble, but you slide into it like it was made for you.

he’s certain it was, from the way the tip of your nose brushes against his as you tiptoe. your tits are right fucking there, brushing against the skintight material of his suit.

there’s too much fucking fabric if you ask him, between cotton and spandex.

your grin widens, and he feels hot, the heat from his cheeks radiating.

then you whisper, still saccharine, “breakfast is ready,” before kissing him on the lips lightly. a short peck, soft in the way that promises more before you slip away, giggling in your retreat.

he huffs, watching you leave. his feet shift as he thinks.

five minutes, huh?

like hell he’s going to eat these damn pancakes for breakfast today.

[pangloss-artee]

my little meow meow

[xpupslxtx]

feral play is so fucking fun god i love fighting for dominance and rolling on top of each other and pinning each other down and biting and shoving thighs against cocks and spitting insults and being overpowered and trying not to cum first and wrapping your hand around their throat just for them to immediately do the same and growling and panting and just fucking losing yourself in each other until you’re both dripping sweat and cum

[itsallgoodmann]

ONE NIGHT I PROMISE I WONT FUMBLE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

[aquiboni]

😔 I’m down bad I fear

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price guest stars on

The Muppet Show (1977)