#gusset boots

[gutsby]

My Body, His Choice

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: After a long day, Joel just needs some relief.

Warnings: 18+. Come get y’all juice (consensual freeuse). Unprotected p-in-v. Praise kink. Daddy kink. She/her pussy pronouns. Perverted but ever-respectful Joel.

Note: ‘Púdrete’ means ‘rot’ or ‘fuck you’ in Spanish.

Word count: 2.9k

It wasn’t often he’d fuck you anywhere but his bed.

At fifty-two, Joel was still old fashioned like that.

No matter how hard you tugged on the front of his shirt, begged him gently, baby, please take me right here on the kitchen table—on your desk—in your truck—really anyplace, Joel would shake his head and tote you away to his room. Then he’d blow your back out on a plush and cushy king-sized bed exactly how a gentleman should.

“Wasn’t raised to treat a lady any different,” he’d always say, sucking a breath through his teeth as he plunged his cock inside you from the comfort and quiet of his sheets.

‘Whatever you say, old man’ was your habitual response.

It was one that more often than not ended with you walking funny for the next couple days, thanks to that twenty-something stamina Joel was still able to boast.

So, with sore legs and a warm load leaking out of your cunt every night, you shut up. You didn’t mind being confined to his bed if it meant getting fucked like that. But you would let him know, every now and again or as often as you happened to be ovulating, that there was a freestanding offer for him to just…take, if he ever felt so inclined. The first time you’d said the real word for it, Joel had just smiled and kissed you on the top of your head.

“I’ll sure keep that in mind, sweet pea,” he’d chuckled.

Or, in boomer-speak: ‘No way in hell am I doing that.’

You’d made your peace with it. You’d quit wearing open-gusset undies in the hopes of getting bent over the sink while doing the dishes on a random Tuesday afternoon. You’d put all thoughts of freeuse out of your head and now just waited patiently under the covers at night if you wanted some action on the go. That was more than okay.

And when Joel thundered through the door an hour late one night, you just offered up a smile and a sleepy wave.

“Hi, handsome.”

You were splayed out comfortably on the sofa, and your favorite show was playing in a dim, muted glow on TV. Joel toed off his boots and ducked his head in the closet.

“I said he-llo, you big hunk.”

You regularly alternated between handsome, hunk, and some form of baby or beefcake if he appeared extra large that day. You hadn’t gotten a good look at his form coming in, but you figured you’d give it a stab, shoveling more popcorn in your mouth before returning to Narcos.

Somewhat garbled: “Well hello to you too, babycakes.”

It was either going to piss him off or earn you a big, wet kiss on the cheek—or both, if you were lucky. The words had scarcely hung in the air for more than a second or two, and your popcorn was going down in one slow, crowded gulp, when something fell heavy at your feet.

Your legs were stretched as far as they would go to the end of the couch, and Joel had just dropped his weight right next to them. Then he was leaning back, gingerly.

Carefully.

Joel groaned.

“God, he looks stupid,” he said, staring straight ahead.

You coughed. You winced at a sharp, lone kernel that had snagged your throat going down, and when it passed, you sat up and glanced over to where Joel was looking.

All you saw was a sexy, if not slightly anachronistically-mustached man with tight pants and a slutty stance onscreen.

“Javier Peña?” you asked him.

The man’s nostrils flared in response.

“With that stupid fuckin’ Members Only jacket— dumbass aviators, too, he looks like the biggest dou—”

“Joel!”

You blinked at your boyfriend in disbelief. He knew better than to abuse your favorite DEA agent right to your face. At last, Joel met your gaze, and his cheeks tinged pink.

“What? You wanna fuck him or something?” he snapped.

You turned back to the TV and pretended to consider.

“Hmmm…I don’t know, would Agent Peña come home an hour late with no explanation and then start griping about another man’s clothes when I try talking to him?”

“Yeah. And he’d probably backtalk you, too. In Spanish.”

“Púdrete.”

Joel scoffed.

“Oh yeah? Fuck me?”

You raised both brows as if to say, ‘Yeah, dude, fuck you.’

Maybe there was a smile behind your eyes as you said it.

You didn’t mean to give in, or let him off so easy, but there was just no grappling with a man in blue jeans and a sweaty, dirt-sodden shirt giving you a look like that.

His eyes smiled back.

You didn’t protest when Joel muscled his way over across the couch and pushed you back on your side. Yanking your hips to lay flush with his front, taking up most of all usable real estate on the sofa just to lie behind you and curl his bicep around your belly. He nosed against you and inhaled deeply. He hummed.

You spooned and watched Narcos in silence.

“Bad day?” you murmured at length.

“Bad don’t even begin to cover it.”

Joel let out a breath, and you felt it migrate through your skull. The whole weight of the world, or, more likely than not, some dipshits at work who’d cost their team a bid or delayed a project by a week, ten, or twenty, was hanging somewhere close over his shoulders and depressing his whole demeanor. His grip on you tightened even more.

“‘M’sorry,” he said.

“Me too.”

Joel’s fingers seared a string of small crescents in your skin through the fabric of your nightie. Realizing he was pressing in too much, he eased back. Flexed his hand.

“Ain’t no need to be—it’s on me.”

You felt a kiss land on your shoulder. Your eyelids fluttered as a scene of chaos broke out onscreen with some ill-fated raid or other, and Joel’s hand traveled up your side. It cupped one of your breasts through the sky-blue satin material, and just as fingers began to knead—

“I don’t actually wanna fuck Javi,” you sputtered, dumb.

Joel kissed the space between your shoulder and neck.

“I figured.”

Then his index and thumb found your hardening bud and pinched it between them, rolling the skin in soft, languid strokes. That, paired with the movement of lips up the length of your neck, had your head lolling back gently and your eyes struggling to focus on any of the mayhem unfolding in time. You wanted to turn away from it all—meet Joel’s mouth with a feverish kiss of your own—but when your torso jerked the slightest bit, trying to move, the arm around your front kept you pinned to the spot. Joel’s grey, stubbled chin tickled the shell of your ear.

“Keep watching, darlin’,” he mumbled.

A low whine sounded in your throat, a noise Joel was no stranger to. It bubbled up, almost reflexively, and then was swallowed back as by force when his left hand shifted from toying with your nipple to joining the hem of your dress. Your breath hitched when you felt the pads of three fingers make an easy, careless sort of petting motion between your legs. Stroking you gently there.

“‘M’sorry I was late comin’ home,” Joel continued in the same attritional vein, gliding his middle finger between where he felt the seam of your folds through your dress, “Makin’ you wait up, wasn’t too kind of me, huh, baby?”

“D-Don’t mind,” you shuddered, just as the tip of his pointer finger found your clit and made a circle around it with the other two—a torturous loop that lacked just enough pressure to make it feel really good, and teased.

You would’ve liked to press on, were it not for him, again:

“Aw, hell, honey.”

Your eyes snapped open, and fear seized you momentarily. Had something gone wrong?

Instead, when you glanced between your legs, you saw a stain—a crude Rorschach-looking splotch in its place. With all rational thought currently suspended and your brain in a primal fog of just wanting to fuck, you groaned.

“Joel, please.”

You know what to do. You know what you’re doing.

Joel continued to carry on as though he hadn’t heard you. He rubbed the wet spot even harder with his middle finger and let out the faintest trace of condescension with his breath, fanning warmly across your cheek. It was as though you could feel his big, stupid mouth forming a grin behind your head that made you purse your lips together and force back a whimper when he pressed.

“Left a real mess missin’ me here,” he chided, voice low, “Poor thing hasn’t been fucked in…what, twelve hours?”

You imagined the spot growing larger, gaining warmth and wetness and slick from the timbre of Joel’s voice alone. Nevermind the fact he was practically smearing it all through your panties, through your dress; you’d be soaking his hand in a puddle if he didn’t let up soon.

“Then fuck it again,” you gritted, hips stirring.

“But you’re so busy watchin’ your new man, I—”

At the last, you bucked pathetically against Joel’s hand.

“Don’t want him, Joel,” you moaned, “I need you.”

With what little strength you had left, you tried to turn your body to face the man behind you. He didn’t let you.

In fact, his hold constricted all the more unforgiving, and his right arm curled around your front from underneath you while his left hand took the plunge beneath your dress, finally. It was as torturous as it was fused with any pleasure, though, as his fingers made a pass through your panties, between your folds, and into your heat with little warning at all. Just a kiss to your cheek and then two thick fingers working inside your cunt all at once. You writhed at the stretch, and Joel nosed you again.

“I said you’re busy, baby,” he shushed, “Keep watchin’.”

Keep watching.

Like that wasn’t the most nonsensical instruction he’d ever given you, with his arm twisted over your front and his face in your hair and his fingers pumping in and out.

In and out.

“Don’t care about the fuckin’ show, Joel,” you keened.

He brushed the heel of his palm against your clit, and you could’ve cried from the sheer influx of pleasure.

“Sure you do, sweet pea, you’ve just been so—”

Joel pressed another kiss to your cheek and kept going.

“—busy, lately, it’s only fair I get to have my way, hm?”

Oh.

Oh.

You hadn’t heard his belt come undone. You were so focused on your own pleasure, and getting it fast, that you hadn’t stopped to consider for a moment whether Joel might be testing his ‘free pass’ after all this time.

And, as if to dispel any doubts, Joel kissed your shoulder.

“C’mon, baby, let me use this pussy how I need to.”

He couldn’t have made your body any more pliant and willing than if your limbs had been made of wax.

It was all happening like a dream, almost too good to be a real, flesh and bones man with his hand in your panties, your man, pulling the fabric aside and making you lie on your side while he tapped the head of himself right there.

The hand that had once been toying with your clit was now lifting your knee, parting your legs to make space for him behind you, just outside of you—sliding his dick back and forth at first while he left trails of kisses down your skin. You could cum from the friction of that alone, the little squelches of his skin on yours and the fact that you weren’t in a bed, for once, and he was doing it now. He was making use of your body and cherishing it whole.

In spite of that gaping chasm between you in strength and size, he was obeisant, in a way. Painstakingly slow.

“This okay, baby? Can daddy fuck you right here?”

Joel pressed the head of his cock right against the weeping ring of muscles, felt it pulse against him, and groaned. He let just the cusp of your folds suck him in, forming the slightest, shallowest ‘o,’ only for him to retreat, moving his dick back up and down your slit.

You’d already cried and told him, yes, yes, you can fuck me there, daddy, please—but Joel was too busy tilting your head back up to the screen. Making you open your eyes and watch the show, loath as you were to focus on anything else but the soft, steady brush of his member.

“Remember, hon, you gotta stay focused,” he said, too sweet, “Chin up and keep those legs spread for daddy.”

They were. You were. Your head was up, just barely, and your eyes were nearly brimming with tears from just how badly you needed him inside you. You whined when he kissed the side of your mouth, but loved it all the same because it made you feel safe where you were. At ease.

Joel held you open for him, the shelf of his belly nudging at the small of your back and only pressing harder as he sank in deeper. It was a sensation that felt almost foreign, the first inches he’d breached, as he filled you from a new angle and held you close, you whimpered.

“Fuck, that pussy stretches out so nice for me,” Joel let out in a groan, “Feels like she’s made just for me, huh?”

At that, you felt a hand pinch both of your cheeks, forcing your mouth in a little pout as you nodded fiercely.

“Y-Yes, daddy, she’s made for you, all for you.”

One inch retreating, three more pushing in. Joel’s breath was hot on your ear again, and you could feel the soft grey tufts of hair on his tummy fold into themselves against your back as he pushed even deeper. His cock parted the insides of your walls and fucked you open like it was nothing at all. Your eyes stayed fastened on the television screen, but, frankly there wasn’t a thing on the LED display that was registering more than a passing thought. You felt the hand on your face squeeze even tighter, then release. Then your head was tilting sideways of its own volition, and your body was not—being moved by Joel’s gentle thrusts now—and your lips somehow met his in a kiss. One of his moans bled into your mouth.

“Look so. damn. pretty. when you’re like this,” he panted, “Never look better than when you’re fucked out on this cock, don’t ya, sweet pea? Nod your head and tell me.”

You nodded. You told him. Or whimpered it, anyway.

It was exactly the same and somehow nothing like you’d felt with him before: a new place, a new position, but then just the way you were letting him have you was a territory left entirely uncharted for you both. He could take, and take, and take, keep fucking you until his old joints gave out, and you were a vessel for that pleasure. Your body was limp; Joel’s frame was imposing and always holding you up, milking from your cunt what he needed and always praising you for how good it felt.

“My pretty girl,” he murmured, words like syrup. Then, each new one punctuated with a thrust as he sped up, “Gonna let daddy cum inside this tight little pussy?”

And, to his shock and yours, the hole he’d been using all this time grew wetter, more slick, then was pulsing with arousal as an influx of pleasure washed over your body—your brain had barely registered his words before the rest of you was making an even bigger mess of it, welcoming Joel deeper each time as your cunt spasmed over again.

Pressed into the sofa with your hips tilted down, now, you didn’t need to supply a verbal answer, just pulling Joel closer and pleading in broken moans to paint you white inside. He, like you, probably couldn’t have kept it from coming out if he tried. His hands were gripping your body, pushing you down with the weight of his grasp and his thrusts and feeling too fucked out to even know how much of himself he was pouring inside you as he came.

But it filled you to the hilt, all the way down his length.

In fact, there was a moment Joel feared he might’ve stuffed you more full of cum than you could take. You’d just barely come down, still moaning and shaking and dripping with more nectar than you’d ever felt before.

Joel tried to wipe the pussydrunk look from his eyes—terrible and greedy and wanting to see what he’d left—and he was just about to pull out to make sure you were alright, when he felt something grip him. On him and around him, pinching his wrist and squeezing his length inside you, you couldn’t help but turn back to face him.

Your eyes were smiling again.

One hand had just started to inch up his arm, kneading the flesh like you needed something from him then too. Only now your gaze was drifting down to the place where your body and his were still joined, and from that look, Joel sensed there had to be a lot of him there—which is why he was shocked when next you said sweetly, softly,

“Can I have a little more, daddy?”

[toxicanonymity]

THE LEAK

PAIR: billy loomis x f!reader WC: 2200 filthy words SUMMARY/NOTES: AU where billy lives and is acquitted of the murders. he's your sleazy landlord, and he's obsessed with you. big ty to @clawdee for a thot that did a lot. love this moodboard by @aurorawritestoescape for the vibes. WARNINGS may not have full detail. 18+ adult content. stalking and other perv behavior, detailed fantasies of each other (in yours, he's forceful and can lift you), jerking off, dark use of cum, light degradation, (explicit) reference to billy x stu. sex toy, what the ask says, oh and idk, what if he sucked it?

PART 2 HERE

You haven’t saved his number, but you’re starting to recognize it. His text says, you’ve got a leak. gotta come inside sry. Great, so this psycho is slinking around when you’re not there. And what’s worse: you won’t be back for days. He must have seen you packing your car. While you’re trying to remember if you put all your toys away at home, another whoosh from your phone startles you. He’s sent an image. Not of the leak, no… This image makes you hot with the primitive urge to be bred. 

The pic is from Billy’s point of view, looking down. It shows the bottom half of his sweat-stained white tank, a peek at his happy trail, and, god help you--a massive bulge in his light-wash jeans. His big, tan fist is holding a wrench. And finally, framed by his poorly-tied work boots, his toolbox sits on your kitchen floor. It’s definitely not the focal point. 

You quickly close the picture, but less than a minute later, it’s open again, and you’re zooming in. Your primate brain is saying sit on it sit on it sit on it sit on it sit on it sit on it, and a heartbeat throbs between your legs. Ugggghhhghghgh. Does he have to look like that? Does he have to be so big?  Does he have to hold a wrench? Does his belt have to be tilting like something might escape from his jeans? A stiff, veiny vision springs into your mind, and you try to push it away. Your panties are already at slip-and-slide status. 

Meanwhile, Billy is making himself at home at your (his) place. He takes his time stalking around your space with the eyes of a predator. It feels like it used to when he wore the mask. There’s something about you that stirs his darkness awake. He’d never stab you, although he doesn’t mind the vision of a knife at your throat. 

He walks past your dresser, bypassing your underwear drawer. He’s more interested in the dirty laundry. He pokes through your unwashed clothes and finds something to his liking: a red thong with a white-streaked gusset. He shoves it in his back pocket, but not all the way. The glimpse of red fabric is a nice touch, like a pocket square for his ass. Too bad you’re not there to see it when he squats to look under your bed. Maybe one day you’ll get smart and buy a security camera–one that you control.

-

Oh, and you didn’t put the toys away, you little vixen. At least not the big dong anchored to the edge of your bathtub by a suction cup, standing proudly with a slight curve.  He can't help but smile as he bends over and braces one hand on the tub. He wraps his hand around the shaft and pulls. Strong suction cup.

/// He imagines you straddling the side of the tub and sinking onto the dick. A little “uh!” when it bottoms out. You gently rock on it, then fuck yourself thinking of him, unaware that his is thicker. ///

He palms the growing lump in his pants, then unbuckles his belt. He sighs through his nose and gently grabs his crotch, relieved to have more room for growth. 

He squats down, panties hanging out of his back pocket. He sniffs the dildo–smells like silicone. Lame. But he opens his nostrils and inhales deeper as he runs his nose down the shaft and could swear he gets a little whiff of you. He kitten-licks it with curiosity and detects the slightest hint of something tart. Then he licks up the shaft and gives the tip an open-mouth kiss. Billy’s never approached a cock this way before.

/// Normally it’s his meat between someone else’s lips. Always in control. It’s not every day he has a dick in his face, but if he does, it’s usually in sixty-nine. And he’s probably jerking it with his hand, choking it like it might kill him first, letting it slap his open lips with each stroke before catching it in his mouth and straight gobbling it, greedily consuming it, commanding it with his tongue, dead set on flooding his mouth before he shoots his own load down Stu’s throat. ///

He lets one knee down onto the discolored vinyl floor, then takes the head fully in his mouth, hand wrapped around the base. As he lowers his head on the shaft, it becomes apparent this is not just a dong. It’s not going to curve down his throat. It has a rigid core. He inspects the dick and finds buttons near the silicone balls, but when he presses them, nothing happens. It’s dead. Maybe he’ll charge it for you while you’re gone. He’s a nice guy like that. 

He returns his mouth to the tip and takes just a few inches. In a few days, you’ll be riding a toy that has traces of his saliva all over it. He sucks hard, harder, then tastes something. It's heady and chemical. He lets most of the shaft out and sucks just the head. He tastes it again. He takes his mouth off the dildo and there’s a little drop of cloudy liquid beading at the dickhole he hadn’t noticed. Holy shit. 

He looks around the tub, picking things up, putting them down–how many bottles of shampoo do you need? Some of these feel almost empty, begging to be re-homed to his bathroom. He gets up and searches your cluttered counter, rummaging around, looking for the juice. He checks himself out in the mirror, and his little smirk widens. He looks hot: Biceps swole from working out. Cock straining his unbuttoned jeans.

He snaps a pic before resuming his search. When he looks under the sink, jackpot. A bottle of synthetic “kum.” He unscrews the lid and you sure have used a lot of it. He sees the bottle half-full, ha ha. Until he pours out just little. He'll replace it.

Billy's phone dings with a text from you. Thought this day might never come. Your text reads, all good? Hah. Of course there’s no real leak, aside from his cockhead. 

You’re stopped at a gas station. At the moment, you care more about what's in his pants than your complete loss of privacy, so you’re playing along. The urge to text him had been too strong, and now your heart is racing, awaiting his response. When he hasn’t replied in five minutes, you feel like an idiot. . And then you’re just mad. Of course he hasn’t responded. He must be feeling so smug right now. You get back in your car. If you weren’t two hours away, you’d speed home to confront him. 

/// As that plays out in your mind, it devolves into a filthy fantasy. When you bust in the door demanding to see the alleged leak, he gets a wild look in his eyes. I'll show you the leak. He charges at you and you don't move. He manhandles you up against the wall, pinning you there while he smells your hair. Oh, he’s strong, really strong, and he’s rock hard pressing himself up against you. You’re dyin’ for this cock, he growls in your ear. Oh, how you wish he was wrong. He’s there to lay pipe, and you want it. ///

Back in real life, you’re staring into space until a van driver's stare snaps you out of it. You find your hand between your legs, heel of your palm pressed against your throbbing front….still parked right there at the gas pump. The man quickly looks away, and your face catches fire. You can’t drive like this. Soaking wet, you get out of your car again. You know the gas station chain has clean bathrooms. Clean enough. 

You lock the bathroom door behind you and are confronted with your face in the mirror--wrecked with horny desperation. You wash your hands with that pink scented soap, dry them, then unbutton your shorts. Leaning with your back against the wall, you plunge your hand into your shorts. What a mess-no panties, soaked through. You rub your puffy cunt, then gather some slick and slide it up to your sweet spot for a quickie. 

Closing your eyes, you pick up the scene right where you left off, this time grinding your bare, dripping pussy against your hand. 

/// You imagine he’s got you up against the wall. He cups your crotch over your obscenely short daisy dukes, then easily slips his middle finger under the inseam for a dip. Found the leak, he taunts as his thick finger pushes into your needy hole. Already got your panites off for me? He tilts his head, making a strand of hair fall in his face. You're dyin' for it.

Don’t - fucking - move, he warns with a glare, then takes his arm off your chest to unbutton his pants, freeing his cock in a hurry. Once his bare cock is grazing your midsection, both his hands end up between your legs. He rips the pathetic, dripping inseam of your “shorts.”  Then he forcefully grabs both your thighs and lifts you against the wall.

And just as he’s shoving his stiff cock into you, just when his girth is stuffing you full, the tension snaps in real life. ///

You shudder and your thighs quake and your mouth opens wide with a nearly silent moan. Slowly rutting against your hand with each bursts of pleasure, you hear yourself whisper, billy as your hips slow to a stop. 

He knows you want it bad. Of course you want it. He’s him–He was pre-trial detention for a week before he started getting fan mail. Now he’s far from Woodsboro, out of Cali, out in the sticks of a town that’s not even on the map. He’s a nobody with a trailer park. He likes it that way, and he’s still got it. You’re playing hard to get, and that really gets him hard.

Getting a text from you at all feels like a runway traffic controller is waving him in for the kill...so to speak. He doesn't reply right away, but it's not because he's playing it cool. He's just mulling how far to go with his reply. He tucks his erection into his waistband and takes another POV shot with his legs framed by open doors of your under-sink cabinet. The smushed head of his cock barely visible against his abdomen.

Too far? Maybe. He’ll save that one for later. Right now he has something to take care of anyway.

. . .

Ten minutes later, he’s reclining on your bed, edging himself with the kum as lube, open bottle on the nightstand. He doesn’t use your panties, or the pics he’s secretly taken, or the audio he’s recorded from outside the thin walls of your trailer. He doesn’t need anything but his mind, and the fact that when you get off in private, you stuff yourself with imaginary cum. You’re that much of a cumslut. He’s never been so stiff and swollen. 

/// It’s so clear in his mind. You ride that cock with one hand braced on the tub, one on your breast. Your eyes are closed and you're moaning. You mutter billy under your breath, fuck, billy, gushing at the thought of him fucking you raw. Your thighs tremble, desperate for his load. Fill me up, billy. When you’re just about to press that button on the dildo, in real life he sits up and grabs the bottle of kum. He brings the open bottle to the tip of his cock.

Then, you press the button and moan please, please. As you begin to fill yourself with his cum, panting yes, more— his whole body shakes. He moans out loud in your room. His thick ropes join the fake cum as he thinks of you blasting more than one load up your cunt. He just knows you don’t stop at one. You don’t stop until you’re spent, and a big mess of his jizz is leaking out of your used, over-stuffed cunt.  ///

He loses count of how many ropes he shoots into that bottle. The last of his load dribbles out. He sets the bottle down on the nightstand, take off his sweaty shirt, and collapses on his back, just breathing for a minute, looking at your ceiling.

-

When he’s recovered enough, he tucks his cock back into his boxer briefs, sits up, and looks in the bottle. His cum is visibly different from the synthetic stuff. He screws the lid closed, holds the bottle near his unzipped jeans, and shakes it in a jack-off motion. He opens the bottle again. “Yeahhh,” he says to the mixture. He’s gonna have to do that again. While you're out of town, he'll be adding a lot more to that bottle. 

His phone lights up on the nightstand, reminding him of your text.  He slings his dirty shirt over his shoulder on his way back to your bathroom. He puts the bottle back where it was.

Then he takes a mirror selfie, disheveled and flushed, with a visible farmer’s tan. His bare skin glistens, and his belt is left unbuckled. 

He sends you the pic and a text: yea just finished

---------

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masterlist

fic notifications: I rb on @toxicfics after at least one person has enjoyed the fic bc it calms my nerves lol

Thank you for reading and tysm for interacting with my stories!! I've been going through it recently, as you may can tell from my lack of fics. Your enjoyment and encouragement makes a difference on a personal level, not just as a writer - I'm grateful for you all ♥️

[lokisgoodgirl]

Teenage Dream [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: A trip to Asgard means a visit to Loki's childhood bedroom - and his teenage fantasy. (w/c 1.9k) Warnings: 18+ only. Loki x Female Reader. Established relationship. Smut. Body fluids etc etc. Language.

“This is your childhood bedroom?!” Loki’s arms spread wider, turning in a lazy circle as you gape at the high ceilings and golden cornicing. Open archways lead to a balcony which runs along the full side of one wall, Asgard sprawling below in afternoon sunlight. It’s huge.

“What did you expect?” Loki shoots a lovingly indignant look over his shoulder. “Some kind of hovel-sized quarter the kind of which Stark has bestowed on Lang?”

His boots thud in quick succession on polished marble before he jumps through the air and lands on the modest queen-size with a bounce – a hand balled at his temple. The sheets have clearly been replaced since he last laid in it, but old habits die hard. The green and gold of his colours is in full effect in this room from the curtains to the tapestries and the quilt draped across the mattress. “Lie with me,” he says, looking up through his lashes. “Please?”

Something about seeing Loki dressed in his, what he still calls, ‘Midgard garms’ suddenly seems ridiculous in one of Asgard’s royal bedchambers. A pair of tight black jeans cling to his muscles, denim shifting as he draws one knee over the other to rest on the bed. His forest green t-shirt has ridden up at his lower stomach, a victim of the obscene measurements of his stretching body. He chuckles lightly, making a thick line of his obliques tighten as he slips his fingers further into mussed hair. "I told you I was a prince," he says sheepishly.

You make your way to the bed and he flips to his back, releasing a happy groan as you straddle him. His eyelids droop, a flash of his upper teeth as he bites his bottom lip. "Frigga will be expecting us," you say as you roll your hips against his crotch. "Uhhh...gods-" he grunts, large palms rubbing up your thighs tight on either side of his chest. ‘Frigga can wait. I said I would give you a tour, and give you a tour...I shall.’ "Not from down there you won’t."

You yelp as Loki sits up and his lips fasten to yours, hand cradling the back of your head and forcing you in a violent kiss. He bites your bottom lip, sucking out gently. You moan softly as his hands begin to rub your thighs again. He’s needy. The sentimentality of bringing you Asgard for the first time is doing a real number on him. Your fingers run down his neck, down the hard dips and ridges of his abdomen through the t-shirt.

“I used to pleasure myself in this bed, dreaming of a woman like you-” he says huskily, beginning to thrust upwards. The painfully tight erection bursting against denim rubs against your gusset, toying back and forth. You feel a swell of arousal web between your folds as your eyes dart towards the open door. Just a crack, but it’s enough. The guards are never far in the palace it seems, even for a Prince who’s all grown up.

“Say more,” you tease. It’s a whisper, but it seems to echo. Loki chuckles quietly into the curve of your neck before he tips you easily to the side. You meet the mattress with a bounce, your head disappearing between the crevice of two plush pillows. Loki’s long form rises above you, impossibly rectangular, spread on his knees, the denim screaming around his crotch.

“It may come as a surprise to you that I was an awkward young man,” he starts, riding up the hem of his t-shirt. His leather belt sits maddeningly at the dent of his hips, perfect alabaster skin of his stomach flashing into view. “No!? I would never have guessed...” you joke, surprised at your ability to think straight as Loki’s shirt pops over his head. He throws it away, skittering gently across the marble floor. His eyes flash mischievously.

“But I had urges, of course; fucked myself night after night like a demon; elaborate fantasies formed in my head with excruciating detail.” He falls forward against the pillows, the bulge of his shoulders tensing as he cages you.

“I wouldn’t let myself cum until every detail in my head was perfect,” he breathes, letting long tendrils of hair drag against your throat in time with the filth of his dulcet syllables. “Again and again. It was enough to drive a young man to madness.”

“Did you ever have-?” you start, cut off by a pathetic moan as Loki drags his bound cock against your clit. “Never," he whispers. "This bed is as virginal as myself when I left it.”

The warm glow of his magic pulses from his skin. Loki’s jeans are gone, replaced by a green silk robe open at the waist. It's Asgardian craftsmanship, that much is obvious. Gold weaving edges the hem, its age betrayed only by the sleeves which are a little too short. The sage shimmer melts into the wave of his hair, and for a second you can’t bring yourself to believe there wasn’t a line forming outside his bedroom every night after he came of age.

He rests back on his haunches between your legs, flipping out the robe at the nip of his taut waist. Loki’s eyes smoulder, waiting for you to ask.

“Which one do you want?” you say. It times perfectly with a twitch of his proud cock as he draws a finger back and forth along its length. His chin dips and a small smile creeps at the corner of his lips.

Loki raises a hand, a theatrical snap of his fingers making the ceiling height door to the chamber swing closed with an almighty clang. Even under normal circumstances, doors don’t close quietly in the palace; it is by design.

“My goddess riding me,” he says, raising his gaze to yours. “Then once I’ve filled her, she crawls to my face; smothers me with her perfect, dripping sex; calls my name so loudly in ecstasy that my brother hears it all the way in the taverns.”

Your brows raise. “That’s quite specific.”

Loki shrugs. “I told you. It needed to be perfect. I spent a lot of time thinking about it.” You shuffle up on the pillows, curling one side of his silk robe in a fist and pulling his mouth to yours. He manoeuvres around, lying back against the pillows with bright eyes while you crawl on top of him once more.

“Are you my sweet virginal Prince?” you ask, batting your lashes. Loki snickers. "If you like." “I do.” “Aright then,” he sniffs. “Although I should warn you, for a virgin – I am rather an expert.” “Shhh-” You press a finger to his lips. "I read a lot of books," he explains with overly-earnest eyes, muffled against your finger. “Let’s get you some practice, then..” you whisper, rolling your hips up the length of his cock. Loki whimpers, brows slanting. You can't tell if that part is for show. With a slip of his hand against your ass you feel your dress dissolve, the nip of a breeze through the open arches making your nipples stiffen. Loki’s head leaves the pillow and catches one in his mouth as your hand guides his cock between your legs. You rub the tip against your slit, slipping back and forth as guttural groans roll in his throat.

"My virgin Prince," you coo.

Loki’s head falls back to the pillow, a warning brow rising. But his eyes sparkle. Slowly, you sink down onto his cock; each hard inch of muscle tugging against your walls as you settle to the hilt.

“Every time you do that,” Loki rasps, “it’s everything I ever dreamt of in this bed, I swear.” You flatten a curl of hair back from his forehead, rocking your hips back and forth. His hands slide up your waist, cupping your breasts as he pants beneath you. A vein in his neck throbs as he grits his teeth to the ceiling. He won’t last, not today. And that’s just fine.

You press his shoulders down, limiting his thrusts. If he wanted to, he could overthrow the touch in an instant. But he wont, not today; not in this bed. Every time you reach the tip of his cock you squeeze and his lips part; every time you sink him deep into your cunt they press together, like he doesn’t trust himself not to howl. The squelching is louder now. The moaning, too. You and Loki have fucked many times, in many places – in every conceivable position, each time you think you could never be more aroused, he proves you wrong. But something’s different about him here. When his beautiful eyes open, the dark fan of his lashes seem to pop against the vibrant blue ringing blown pupils.

Loki’s fingers sink deep into the plump of your ass. He pulls in time with your rhythm, drawing the flat of his feet up. In seconds, he sits up to meet your mouth; his tongue lapping against yours with quiet desperation. Your fingers run down his abdomen and you feel his stomach clench.

“Fill me, baby-” you whine into his open mouth, “show me what Asgard’s finest cock can give me.” Loki grunts in pleasured anguish, thrusting in erratic shudders as he erupts inside your heat. The angle is tight. Fresh seed creams at the seal of your slit and wells around the rim of his half-sheathed cock as he comes undone with a ragged exhale of your name. He captures you in a messy kiss, falling away from your mouth to your chest before collapsing back to the pillows. He squints with one eye, a lazy hand beckoning. “You sure?” There’s an unusual shyness in your voice. Loki nods with a wolfish, lopsided grin; drunk on sex. You shuffle up his abdomen, feeling a thick roll of hot cum settling against your inner thigh. Your fingers curl around the wooden headboard, Loki’s large palms settling on your ass and keeping you high. His head tilts, warm tongue tracing your inner thigh and sucking his seed from your skin. A violent shiver of desire rolls down your spine, making you thrust towards his face.

“I’ll try my best-” he purrs in character from between your legs.

His eyes are all you can see as his tongue outstretches. They disappear as he dips further back, running his warmth between your folds. He tilts his chin up, a white pool collected on his tongue. Loki of Asgard looks up from bottomless eyes, the planes of his cheekbones sharpened. You shoot down and jam your tongue into his open mouth. His cum swirls within the kiss, mingling with the earthy taste of your own pussy – swallows and moans and filth sliding down your throats. Loki gasps loudly as your kiss breaks with a slurp. “Was that in your fantasy?” you ask innocently, resuming your position above his head. “I regret now, that even in the depths of my teenage depravity, it was not,” Loki growled, squeezing your ass-cheeks. He nudges you closer. “Now, finish me,” he orders as he pushes you down against his face. The flat of Loki’s tongue meets your plump clit. Each flush and fat stripe of the muscle has no pretence – he intends to make you climax; and climax hard. Your nails dig into the headboard, scratching down pristine oak lined with gold. Images of Loki as a virginal youth rear in your mind, thrashing in these sheets, under this very ceiling, twisting and unravelling beneath the beat of his fist. Your thighs begin to tremble, held steady by his fingertips sinking deep into the curve of your ass. Loki’s tongue is relentless; it swirls and captures every flush of sparking orgasm and tends it with the next lap of his attentions. Before long, your legs tense – and somehow, one of your hands has tangled in his hairline, pushing him deeper, his nose slotted perfectly at the lip of your mound. The sight is all it takes. “Loki-” you choke, punctuated by a final devastatingly soft lick of his flat tongue over your sex. “Mmrph…” he grunts, brow furrowing. You hold your breath as climax shatters you, the exhale a strangled sob of his name that sings around the ceilings and tumbles out the archways.

You collapse on his chest, the two of you panting heavily. A thin sheen of fresh sweat clings to his skin. You trace the angle of his jaw, smiling as a dream-like peace descends on his features. “Do you think Thor heard?” “From Midgard? I doubt it,” Loki sighs, letting one of his legs fall open to the side. He’s hard again. “But I can let that part of the fantasy slide. Everything else was...perfection, my love.” You prop a fist beneath your chin. “Maybe we just need to try harder.”

“Fuck harder, you mean?” Loki says, a smirk curling the corners of his lips. “You did promise me a palace tour…” you say, drawing your knuckles up the velvet skin of his cock stretching against his stomach. Loki’s smirk grows wider.

Tags (continued in comments)

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[hyunsvngs]

i saw seungmin in this shirt and my mind broke down. also yes me and ems wrote fics for the same fanmeet outfits without realising

wc: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, dirty talk (seungmin is mean), dom seungmin, sub reader, exhibitionism? anyone could walk in, blowjob, boot humping, unprotected sex, creampie

“I don’t- I can’t-”

Seungmin’s lips press to yours again soothingly. He’s still sweaty from the fan meeting, and his lips are a little wet. “It’s okay, calm down.”

You’re backstage and way too worked up. Going to the fan meeting and seeing your boyfriend in all his glory onstage was one thing, but when he walked out in that damn Diesel top? Yeah, you were sure you’d had a heart attack. You jumped his bones as soon as he walked backstage and he’d carted you off to the nearest separate dressing room to ‘calm you down’, much to the jeers of the other boys. 

There’s sweat beading onto your chest by the time you get him to stop kissing you, and you sink to your knees, breathing hot air over the front of Seungmin’s jeans. He peers down at you with a raised eyebrow, hands moving to his belt. 

“Really? Right here?” He asks, and you only nod. “You’re feeling a little filthy today, aren’t you?”

“Don’t tease me,” You huff, nose nudging his growing erection. He wraps his fist around your hair and pulls you backwards, making you look up at him. He looks ever the image of power - the choice of attire accentuates the milky skin of his arms, and his eyes are dark when he tuts at you for ogling him like that. “You look so good.”

“Behave,” He murmurs. You nod again. You can’t do anything else when he’s in a mood like this, only nod and feel the gusset of your panties sticking to your messy folds. He’s feeling strict, but if you keep pouting up at him, eyes glassy, perhaps he’ll let you have it. 

“Please,” You beg, bottom lip quivering. You’re not above crying to suck your boyfriend’s cock, and he knows that - hell, he’s made you cry over it before and probably will again. Tonight, though, it seems he’s feeling a little kinder than normal, because he lets go of your hair and starts to unbuckle his belt. “Oh, oh! Yeah, yeah, gimme, gimme-”

“Shut up,” He admonishes, eyebrows furrowed in contention. He pulls his belt from the waist of his jeans and they drop down to his thighs, stopped by the lean muscle. Only a beat passes before he lets you see it, firstly with the trimmed, pitch-black hair at his base, and then with the whole length of his cock bobbing up against the bottom of his abdomen. He’s still only half hard, a little soft when he polishes his cockhead with his hand, but it only takes a second before he’s standing at full mast. 

You can hear noises from outside the door. It only serves to make you leak more into your underwear, shifting on your knees from where you are in front of him, but you’d never wish to rush Seungmin. He stares at you while you writhe, and then finally, finally, he nods.

You know what that nod means. You’re suckling the tip in seconds. He leaks steadily for you, and you whimper around his length when he moans at your actions. You’re used to sucking him off by now, and so you start to bob your head on as much as you can fit, moving your fist to pump the part of his length that you can’t quite reach. Seungmin’s hips thrust forwards once, twice, and then he gives up, moving his hands to your head.

“I’m gonna fuck your throat,” He murmurs. He gives you enough time to pull away, but you don’t, only moaning and moving your hands to rest on his thighs. “Yeah? You’re gonna let me do that here? That’s so fucking slutty.”

Of course you are. Your jaw goes lax, and Seungmin groans, his eyes rolling back into his head as he starts to thrust. He presses into your throat over and over, making your eyes water as you gaze up at him, but the whole thing’s so hot you can’t protest. Seungmin’s normally iffy about messes but with the way you’re drooling all over his cock, you’re not sure he minds right now.

You can’t help yourself. Your hand dips underneath your skirt and starts to rub circles into your clit, through your panties and Seungmin’s oblivious for a moment. He thrusts into your mouth a few more times and it’s the wet whine you let out that gives you away - Seungmin’s eyes open, peering down at your disshevelled figure on the floor.

“Mm, don’t do all of that,” He murmurs condescendingly. His thrusts stop and he lets his shaft slide out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting the two of you. You’re allowed to sit there and gasp for air for a moment, but then Seungmin’s boot nudges into your knee.

The position’s a little awkward, but you spread your legs and let him push his boot underneath your skirt for you to hump into. It’s a nice gesture from Seungmin, who’s normally scathing words and even worse spankings, but then he fucks into your throat so hard it makes you gag. 

“Take it,” He huffs, and then he’s doing something ultimately worse. With his fingers intertwined in your hair, he grips your head and starts to bounce it on his cock. You’re whining hard by now, hips kicking up a fuss on your boyfriend’s shoe, and you see his eye twitch when you gag on one pull downwards with a sharp wail.

He pulls out of your mouth with a fuss. He’s quick to yank you up by your hair, pulling you over to the nearest vanity to bend you over. You don’t mind - you’re embarrassingly eager, actually, letting your knees fall apart to show your man the mess you’ve made of yourself. His hand moves to your hair to push your skirt over your ass. The cold air hitting the sodden fabric of your underwear has you keening, pushing your ass backwards. You can’t see yourself from your position, tummy down on the vanity table and face buried in your arms, but you know you must look like a certain debauched type of picture. 

“You wanted me that bad, huh?” He muses, thumb sweeping over your core. You whimper, nodding with a twitch of your leg, and then Seungmin’s yanking your panties to the side. Before you can squeal, to make a noise to acknowledge him, he’s sinking his whole length in you at once. “There you go. You’ve got it now, feel it, whore. Feels good?”

“Feels s’good,” You slur, drool slicking your bottom lip just from the stretch of him. Seungmin’s longer than he is thick but he’s still enough to have your pussy throbbing, clit aching for stimulation from the feeling of him pressing at your walls. “Feels g-good, fuck me, fuck me- please, please, guh- gotta-”

“Yeah, okay,” He sighs, as if he’s annoyed, and then he’s rutting into you so hard you swear your eyes cross. Seungmin groans and grunts with each gush of your pussy around him, and when his hand moves to your hair again, he’s yanking your face out of its safe haven. “Look at yourself. Fucking look at that.”

You have to. Your eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and you’re drooling so hard it’s affected some of your makeup. Your cheeks are flushed, obvious that it spreads down your neck and to your chest, and you’re still fucking your hips backwards to try and get more of him. 

“Please,” You watch yourself say it, lips kiss-bitten and broken. “Please give it to me harder, Seungminnie, I need it.”

“You need it?” He questions, just to watch you nod so hard you look like a dumb little bobblehead. “Okay. Don’t take it back, then.” 

His confidence would be sickening if it isn’t for the way he starts to fuck into you so hard you squeal. His mushroom tip kicks into your cervix with every thrust, and you can see him gritting his teeth with the speed of it all. He’s still holding your hair, and you watch yourself finally begin to cry, eyebrows furrowing in pleasure. 

You whine and writhe, and Seungmin’s other hand goes to your ass to keep you down, laid flat for him. Your nipples are so hard through your shirt that it’s starting to hurt, and when you shift your hips again, he hits a spot so good that you sob wetly.

“There! There, there, there, please don’t- don’t stop, Seungmin, I’ll fucking cum,” You babble, and your eyes finally fall shut. Seungmin doesn’t reprimand you for it, only continuing his pistoning into that same exact spot that has you babbling out profanities and half-spoken words. “Yeah. Yeah! There, there, fucking- I’ll cum so good, I’ll cum so-”

“I know you will, f-fucking whore,” His voice is faltering, and you know he’s getting close. “Cum for me. Shut up and just fucking cum.”

It explodes behind your eyes. Your toes curl with it and you gush and wail on Seungmin’s cock, walls fluttering so deliciously around the slick slide. He helps you ride it out, hand now pulling you backwards with each thrust, and then he’s letting go of your hair so unceremoniously it falls with a thud back to your arms.

You’re just panting now, pussy still clenching down on your boyfriend through the aftershocks of your orgasm, and Seungmin starts to chase his high. It only takes a few ridiculously fast thrusts for him to finish, and he pumps you full of his cum easily with a loud groan. 

He slips out of you and you let out a whimper, causing him to make his own answering, mock-whimper in response. You hear him shuffling about behind you and when you finally open your eyes, tilting your head towards him, he’s looking for tissues with his wet cock in his hand. 

“Seungminnie,” You giggle, kicking your feet. The action only causes his cum to drip out of your pussy and down your thighs, and you groan in disdain, immediately halting his movements. 

Seungmin laughs. “That’s karma for laughing at me when I’m trying to help you.”

[lovesickonmybed]

living in your laundry | 18+

masterlist | series masterlist | info abt palestine | gaza fundraisers

pairing | vi x reader

synopsis | after coming back from the gym vi steals a pair of your panties.

tags | 18+, college au, masturbation, panty stealing/sniffing, sub!vi, dom!reader, use of toys, pervy!vi, fantasies, mutual masturbation, getting caught, mention of voyeurism, and dirty talk.

word count | 3k

a/n | the title is a reference to i wanna be your dog 2 by ajj which feels very vi coded. this is up on ao3 as well! thank you to @joeloverture for reading this over and helping me out.

Vi bobs her head to the music blasting through her headphones, muttering along to the lyrics of ‘XO’ by Fall Out Boy as she delivers hit after hit on the punching bag in front of her. The gym is empty except for her, her strange class schedule allowing her the alone time she missed having back home.

Her mind is filled with thoughts of you on her boot from two weeks ago. The game of truth or dare went better than either of you had expected. The past two weeks all she’s been able to think about are your moans and the look in your eyes as she bounced you on her boot. You were like nothing she had seen before; she wasn’t sure what it was but she was utterly obsessed. Thankfully, sharing a room together after hadn’t been as awkward as she anticipated, but that didn’t stop her from feeling guilty for sneaking glances when you’d change. Usually she was good at this kind of thing. She knew how to treat a woman right, but for some reason she felt…hesitant. The last time she’d been with a virgin she was one as well. She was worried she’d move too fast with you, so she didn’t move at all. 

The door to the gym opens behind her and a small group files in, all chatting amongst themselves. She takes that as her cue to leave and heads for the locker room door. She pushes her way inside and quickly inputs her combo. She slips her black t-shirt over her red sports bra and grabs her gym bag out of the locker. She puts one earbud back in as she starts on her way back to the dorm. 

She’s thankful to go to school in a state with a warmer climate so she can get away with wearing a t-shirt and biker shorts in November. 

Once back at the dorm she starts stripping off till she’s left in nothing but her sports bra and striped boy shorts. She heads into your shared bathroom to shower but stops once she sees a pair of red panties sitting atop the laundry basket. There’s a small pink rose sewn onto the front waistband. They’re cute, something Vi wished she had seen you in. She sets her clothing down and in an impulsive move she swipes the pair from the laundry basket and heads back to her bed. She knows she shouldn’t, she knows your next class ends in 30 minutes, but despite this she gives in to her dirty thoughts. She grabs her mini wand from her nightstand and lays back on her bed, slipping a hand below her waistband. Her other hand brings the nylon fabric up to her nose, inhaling your scent and moaning against it. She slips her wand beneath her waistband, adjusting the divot to be pressed against her clit. She presses the on button as she slips the fabric over her head, adjusting it so the gusset is pressed against her nose. Her hips buck up at the feeling of the vibrations against her clit. Despite how often she uses this wand she’s just as reactive every time. 

She maneuvers the wand, pressing it harder against her clit as she starts to inhale your scent again. She sucks the fabric into her mouth as she imagines you walking in on her. She’d love nothing more than for you to find her like this, sucking on your panties as she inhales the scent of your cunt, hand shoved down her pants maneuvering her wand against her clit. She can imagine you pulling the panties from your face, glaring down at you, the only sound in the room being your wand vibrating against your clit. She can imagine your face as you shake your head in disapproval, mocking words falling from your lips. “Pathetic…and here I was thinking you were a dom.” She whines loudly as she imagines it in your voice. “I am a dom,” she whines pathetically as if you’re there in the room with her. She bites her lip as she imagines how you’d snap back at her, “A dom doesn’t lay around with someone's panties over their head while they get off to the smell and taste of said panties.” She mutters, “Shut up,” and takes another smell of your panties.  

She knows she’s pathetic having these thoughts of you mocking her, she knows she’s perverted for stealing your panties to use like this but fuck does she love it. She clicks the button on her wand, causing the speed to pick up. She whines loud and spreads her legs wide, putting her feet up on the bed. She maneuvers the wand against her clit as she writhes against it. Thoughts of you continue to flood her brain, the way the water droplets ran down your leg when you got out of the shower last night. The bathroom door was open just far enough for her to catch a glimpse and feel immediately guilty for it. She thinks of how you whined when you were struggling with your math homework and how you looked at her with puppy dog eyes and begged her to join you on your bed to help. She obliged of course, how could she ever say no to you. Just as she feels herself reaching her climax she thinks of your face when you came on her boots. She whines your name when she comes, it comes out more pathetic than she planned.

She turns her vibrator off and lays her legs flat to give herself a moment to rest, reaching up to pull your panties off her face. She uses them to clean herself up and once she feels like her legs won’t burst into jelly as soon as she steps off the bed she makes her way into the shared bathroom and discards the pair atop the laundry pile. She spends her shower feeling guilty for what she did, for the first time in her life she feels dirty. She hopes the water is hot enough to wash that guilt right off her skin.

She avoids your gaze that night, she fears that somehow just by looking into her eyes that you’ll know every dirty detail of what she did. How she got off to you and your smell, how she desecrated such a cute pair of your panties like that. She swears to herself that she’ll never do it again…but just three days later she spots another pair atop the laundry pile and she can’t help but swipe it for a later use. Surely you won’t notice one pair going missing, maybe someone mixed them up with theirs in the communal laundry room, it’s believable enough for Vi to get away with it. 

The next night when you’re out with friends she slips the pair out from her nightstand along with her wand. She takes her time stripping down to her sports bra and black briefs before making herself comfortable on her bed. She brushes a finger over her lower lip and trails her hand down to her breasts. She slips a hand beneath the fabric of her bra and squeezes the tender flesh. She lets out a breathy moan and rolls her nipple between her fingers. She imagines it’s you, she kneads her flesh till she’s satisfied and moves to her other breast and makes sure to give it the same attention, she knows you would if you were the one doing this to her. She slips your panties over her face just like she did only a few days ago and moans at your scent, she slips the wand beneath her waistband and turns it on. She’s whimpering your name in no time, mumbling out all the things she desperately needs you to do to her. She’s so caught up in her fantasy that she doesn’t even hear her text notification go off. It’s from you.

Hey, plans ended up falling through. Heading back now. 

She continues on, writhing pathetically as she once again imagines you catching her. She imagines you coming back from a party, all dolled up with body glitter covering every inch of visible skin. Almost how you looked earlier when you left for a concert with your friends. She thinks about the sound of your platform shoes against the floor, stalking towards her menacingly as you tut. “Mind telling me what you’re doing with my panties over your face like that?” All she can do is whimper, she imagines your voice as commanding and intimidating. She keeps on with her fantasy, she wishes you’d make her ride your boots like she had you. She’s been eyeing those platforms you wore tonight for awhile now. 

She’s so caught up in her thoughts she doesn’t even hear the door creak open, but she does hear your purse hit the floor and your loud gasp. You slam the door shut, backing yourself up against it. “O-Oh my god…I-I-” You’re fully at a loss for words, all you can do is stammer. You cover your eyes with your hands. 

Vi is quick to rip your panties from her face and struggles for a second to turn the wand off. “Shit…Listen, I can explain-”

You cut her off, “Was…” you take a second to catch your breath, “Was that my underwear on…on your face?” You ask shakily, hands still covering your eyes.

“Yes, it was. I’m so sorry…” Vi has no idea what to really say. There’s no explaining her way out of this, it’s pretty damn clear what she was doing. If you need extra clarification you can just look at the wand sticking out of her briefs.

“Were you sniffing them?” You ask quietly.

Vi sighs, “Yes…”

“Jesus christ, Vi. Why do you even have those? Where did you get them from?” 

“The laundry basket…I…I like how you�� how they smell,” Vi answers meekly, hiding her face in her hands. 

“So you put them over your nose and got off imagining me?” You move closer to the bed, removing her hands from her face and making her look at you. “Come on, look at me when you admit it.” 

Vi’s cheeks go red and she chokes on air, “W-What?” Your voice has taken on the commanding tone from her fantasies. Vi reaches down and pinches her wrist just to make sure it's really happening. 

“Go on, don’t get shy now. That would just be pathetic,” you laugh. 

“Where the hell was this side of you two weeks ago?!” Vi exclaims, still clutching your panties in her hand. The lacy fabric wet from where she licked them.

“Where was the side of you that sneaks into girls' laundry baskets and steals their panties to huff while you get off, huh perv?” You retort.

“I thought you were a virgin?” She’s looking you up and down, pure confusion across her face.

“Never said I wasn’t. Can’t a virgin be a switch? Can’t a virgin get wet when they see their pervy roommate huffing their panties with a vibrator stuffed down her pants?” You laugh.

“So you’re not weirded out by this, by me?” Vi’s voice comes out a little shaky, almost unsure. 

“It’s a bit weird, don’t get me wrong. But, luckily for you I like it. I wish I watched you a little longer, god…I bet you’d look pretty coming with my panties over your face.” You move your hand to take your panties back from her. Your face scrunches up when you feel the wet spot, “Vi why the fuck are they wet? Did you wear them or-”

Vi’s face turns even redder, “I licked them…I wanted to taste you,” she sounds ashamed, but you like that. 

“Could’ve just had me make another mess on your boots,” you joke, eyeing Vi’s boots near the door. An image flashes in your mind of how she looked down at you, how she tugged at the front of your panties to bounce you against the shoe.

“God, don’t tempt me cupcake…y’know, I could return the favor on those pretty boots you’re wearing right now,” Vi says, her eyes shifting down to the platform combat boots that adorn your feet. 

“Ya gonna steal my boots to masturbate now too, pervert?” You snort.

Vi smacks you lightly, “I was gonna offer to ride them for your entertainment but I’ll take that offer back if you’re gonna be like that.”

You roll your eyes at her, “I guess I’ll be missing the show of a lifetime, hm? How about you give me a different show? I wanna see how you were using my panties before I interrupted.”

“I-I can do that,” Vi stammers. She’s always been so bold, but with you all that confidence seems to disappear. 

You toss the panties back to Vi and sit on your bed, you bend down to unzip your boots and look up at Vi, “Go on. I’ll give you a show too.” You go back to removing your shoes and do it slowly. Vi slips your panties back over her face like she did before, positioning it so the leg holes work as eye holes so she can still watch you. She clicks the wand back on and moves her hand to her breast as she watches you undress. Beneath your platform boots are a pair of thick socks and black fishnets adorned with tiny rhinestones. She squeezes her breast as you remove the socks, holding them up for her to see and giggling.

“Could always gag you with these. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

Vi nods furiously, she’d love nothing more than for you to do whatever you’d like to her. 

“We’ll save it for another time, I’d like to hear you. Go on, don’t be shy, Cupcake,” you tease, stealing the nickname and using it against her.

Vi whines and continues on, she watches as you reach behind yourself and unzip your black leather skirt. You stand and shimmy the skirt down your legs, Vi wishes she was taking it off of you. She focuses her eyes on the little black g-string beneath your skirt. She wants to tug at it and hear you squeal for her. You sit back down on the bed and spread your legs for Vi. You slowly remove your shirt for her, pulling the black tank top up and over your head. You’re wearing a black lacy bra that goes perfect with your g-string. “Were you planning on someone seeing that tonight?” Vi asks, her voice husky. 

You chuckle and shake your head no, “Just you when I changed into my pajamas tonight.”

She whines at that and lays back to get more comfortable, she spreads her legs as wide as they’ll go and maneuvers her wand against her clit as she watches you. 

You move your hands to your breasts, massaging them over your bra, the lace almost tickling you. You lean your head back and moan. Vi loves how you sound, if she could she’d replay that sound for the rest of her life. Vi writhes and whimpers as you slide your hands down to your thighs, beginning to massage them as well. You begin to rub yourself over your g-string. You close your eyes and let out a breathy moan. The room is soon filled with sounds of pleasure from you and Vi, getting yourselves off for one another. Vi has to fight the urge to beg you to touch her, but she doesn’t want to push things too far. She’ll enjoy whatever you feel comfortable giving her. The two of you come closer and closer to climax, Vi getting there quicker thanks to the help of her toy. Her eyelashes are fluttering and she’s squirming and whining so pathetically. You’re leaning back on your elbows, legs spread while you’ve got one hand on your breast and the other on your clothed cunt. You’re mumbling Vi’s name between whimpers and moans. Your body glitter shines beneath the wall lights that decorate your side of the room, you look angelic. If Vi could she’d frame this moment on her wall for eternity. 

With one more moan of your name Vi reaches her climax, legs falling and her head shooting back. Her hips arch up as she comes, fingers digging into the fabric of her comforter. She gets one last whiff of your panties as she comes down from her high. You follow her lead soon after, falling limp and muttering her name. You both lay there catching your breath. Vi reaches up and removes your panties, using them to clean herself up just like before. Vi stands and stumbles her way over to your bed. She steadies herself against your bed and looks down at your blissed out face. Your mascara is slightly smudged beneath your eyes, your skin glistening. “You’re so pretty,” Vi whispers, reaching over and pushing your hair out of your face.

You smile up at her, “You are too…c’mere.” You extend your hand for her to grab and pull her down onto the bed with you. She cuddles up next to you and buries her face in the crook of your neck. 

“I was worried about the kind of roommate I’d get y’know,” Vi chuckles. “I definitely didn’t expect this to happen, but I'm glad it did.”

You smile over at her, “Me too. You’re lucky I like pervs like you.”

Vi rolls her eyes, “Shut up, brat. Don’t make me put you in your place again.”

“Oh no, don’t teach me a lesson,” You say sarcastically.

“You’d be so lucky.” 

“Mhm, I would,” you mumble before leaning over and kissing her forehead.

“What is this? What are we now?” You ask, reaching over to play with Vi’s hair.

She looks up at you, “Well, we don’t know much about each other yet, but I like whatever it is we’ve done. Friends with benefits maybe?”

“Hm, sounds nice to me.”

[dvchvnde]

Carmacks, Yukon. 1995.

"You shouldn't have come here," he growls, hand tightening around your throat.

The force pushes you hard against the wall of the bar, and as you fall, he follows. Leveraging the thick spread of his body to smother your smaller frame. With him boxing you in, there's nowhere to go. No escape—

"You should have run—"

He shakes you when he finishes, knocking your head into the wall as he glares down at you, lip curled into a snarl beneath the beard. Anger is writ over ever dip, every line, every pore of his body. He seems to thrum with it. Muted trembles. Little quakes. Grinds his teeth together because he knows despite the carnage you inspired inside of him, you just don't get it.

The danger you're in.

All you can do is gasp at the blunt, tight spill of pain bubbling under the dig of his fingers into delicate flesh. Blink through the haze clotting around, black fingerprints smeared on the edges of your vision. Hypoxia, you think. And then: oh, old friend. We did it again.

But it offers no comfort, no succor. It just burns. Oh, god, it burns—

Your body aches down to your marrow. Fire in your veins, burning you up from the inside out. Agony like you've never felt before. Could have never imagined—

But through it all, the sutures hewn inside your soul thrum. The fire is liquid. Molten. It settles in the pit of your belly when he kicks his boot between your ankles, knee bending to rest on the faded oak wall behind you. Holding you down as you heave, and gasp, and whimper around the tight cinch of his hand swallowing your throat up in his palm—

His head turns sharply towards you. Fingers spasming once. Twice. It loosens. Grows lax. You gag on the air you gulp you gulp down too fast, watching him with watery, blurring eyes as every muscle in his body snaps.

His shoulder tense. Drawing into a tight line. Nostrils flaring. Fluttering. His broad chest expands, and—

A rumble. A low groan.

It doesn't make sense. You don't understand it. But his thigh slides up, denim clad leg pressing tight to your core—

It hits you when his lashes flutter. When his eyes roll as he breathes in deep again, and again.

He can smell it, you think. The stickiness between your thighs. Arousal dripping into the gusset of your panties as he heaves above you. So close. Too close. You can't think with him this near—can only feel. And feel you do—

"John—" it's desperate. Raw. He shudders. Blinks his eyes open, stained, wet lichen rimmed and lined red. Desire thickens in those cesium depths, frothing over until his iris is drenched black. "I don't know what's going on—"

"Don't you, sweetheart?"

You've never heard him sound like that before. So low, it dredged the bottom of his chest. Scraping charred sediment and gravel into a loose fist. Felled timber thrown over a fire. The snap, snap, crack of sap burning in the kindling. A hoarse roar.

The heat of it melts you. Liquified. He keeps you up with his hand around your neck. Sat on the thick of his thigh like a child. Wax in hands. You can't move. Can't think—

"I'll tell you," he rumbles, his hand slipping between your bodies to snatch your wrists up in his fist. He brings them up above your head, pushing them into the wall. The hand around your neck tightens again. "But only once. So pay attention, love."

Your head spins. Mind melts. It's a slurry—soporific, molasses-thick. You can't think around this ache inside of you. This tug. This thing that brought you here. To him. Thoughts scattered. Rusting by too quick.

But when he moves, every molecule in your body snaps to attention. Freezing in a tight, tense line.

You catch the quirk of his mouth when he closes in, reshaping around the ghost of his snarl. He likes your submission. You don't know why you know this. You just do.

(just like you know you'll roll on your belly if it pleases him—

no. no. you wouldn't. stop stop stop—)

The unnatural warmth of his nose bleeding into your skin before it even kisses the appled ridge of your cheek. He breathes in the sweat-slicked scent of your syrupy skin. Another groan. You feel this one deep in your bones.

He slides his nose down your cheek until his mouth is pressed against your jaw. The touch is brief, but all you feel is heat. Burning you up, burning you—

"m'gonna eat you alive, Bambi."

SYNOPSIS: fated mates. Yukon in the 90s. John Price may or may not be a man. you're an inexperienced wildlife biologist sent to the Yukon to explain a series of strange animal attacks that have plagued the small community. it all changes when you meet a local hunter named John Price. a man everyone seems to warn you away from, and one who seems to want nothing at all to do with you at all. you're keen to do just that, but something keeps pulling you closer.

[usetheeauthor]

Kinktober Day 14: Punishment

Dark!Yandere!Coriolanus Snow x Fem!District 12!Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, NON-CON/DUB-CON, false imprisonment, hunt and chase, violent situations (gun use), Stockholm syndrome, dom & sub dynamics, mentions spanking, kissing, gun play, minor blood kink, gaslighting, manipulation, false confession coercion, degradation, humiliation, mentions of boot licking, mentions of force feeding, mentions of asphyxiation, coryo is really bad in this

Summary: You’re Coriolanus’ little prisoner and you’re rather fortunate that he is willing to see the potential good in you.

A/N: Inspired by one of my favorite mangas “Amai Choubatsu”

They call him ‘The Gent’ but he was anything but one. He’s the most tyrannical peacekeeper of all. Sadistic in ways that are almost creative. And for some unfortunate reason, he’ll become obsessed with you.

You regret the day you met him. When his vacant blue eyes immediately darkened the moment they held you in his sight never to stray away from you again. You were only trying to search for your younger sister’s friend, Lucy Gray. You only wished to put her mind at ease, ensuring that her friend was indeed just fine.

But then you stumbled upon the harrowing scene…

There he was. The peacekeeper who seemed to share a close relationship with Lucy Gray. Only there was no Lucy Gray in sight. Just him on high alert; manic, wide, and bloodshot blue eyes and a shotgun in hand. He’s on his knees, roaring out angrily in frustration. Obviously, he doesn’t appear to be in a sane state of mind that you could interact with.

You tried to get out of there as quietly as you could, walking backwards. But the snap of a twig under the weight of your bare feet has him aiming in your direction.

“Wait!” You came out of the shrubbery, hands up in surrender. No longer shielded by the trees, the cold rain begins to trickle down on you as well. “I’m sorry, sir. I was only trying to find my sister’s friend. Please…please don’t hurt me.”

Coriolanus walked over to you, shotgun still raised. He pressed the barrel into your stomach and hot tears began to stream down your cheeks. You trembled violently, anticipating his next move.

“Don’t,” You pleaded. “I swear I didn’t see anything. Please. I’m all my sister has left.”

He shushed you, wrapping his arms around you in a patronizing hug. “Sh-sh-shhh, it’s okay, darlin’. You’re safe now. You may be a criminal but I can fix you.”

“B-but I’m not a criminal.” You whispered, looking up at him fearfully.

“But you are,” He retorted, matter-of-factly. “You’re breaking curfew hours, caught running away, and then I catch you red-handed searching for the murder weapon...”

“What? N-no. No! I was looking for Lucy Gray. I know nothing about that gun.”

“You’ve gotta admit,” He shrugs and gives an evil smile. “It’s a little suspicious that you found the exact location of the murder weapon. And even your DNA’s all over it.”

Coriolanus suddenly lowered the gun, bringing it between your legs to press against your clothed core. He rubbed the length of it along your folds, forcing your panties to swallow the fabric of the thin gusset between your puffy lower lips.

You released a choked sound between a gasp and whine. The way he used you felt so degrading. Humiliating.

“You’re going to pin this one on me?!” You snarled, baring your teeth at him like a mad dog. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I can,” He replied, using his free hand to trace a finger along your plump cheek. “I only want to help you admit the truth, darling.”

“What truth?” You hissed, staring daggers.

“That you’re a criminal, of course. A murderer. A savage. But I’m sympathetic enough to understand that it is at no fault of your own. Much like Lucy Gray, you were raised in the districts where civil behavior is not the norm. You don’t know any better. But I can mold you into a model citizen of Panem. If you simply admit your crimes, I’ll spare you of any cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Fuck you,” You spat, letting out a shaky breath when he presses the barrel further into your sopping core and it makes your knees buckle a little. “You’re the fucking murderer, aren’t you? I’m sure that’s exactly why Lucy Gray isn’t here now. Well, you can kill me because I won’t do your dirty work for you.”

“Kill?” He chuckled darkly. “Who said anything about killing? You can’t die. That’s much too merciful.”

Tossing the gun aside, his hands clasped your wrists and you struggled against him, failing to free yourself.

“Let me go!” You twisted and squirmed but his grip was as constricting as a boa snake.

“It is my civil duty to detain you for the murders of Mayfair Lipp and Billy Taupe.” He spun you around so now your back faces him, bringing your hands behind to tie them up with zip ties.

“You won’t get away with this! They’ll be sending search parties for us and I’ll tell them everything.”

He snorted, pulling the zip tie tight enough to feel as if it’s cutting off blood circulation in your hands. The devilishly handsome young man turned you to face him once more, a smirk on his face. “Oh, them finding us is exactly what I’m counting on. I mean, just who do you think they’ll believe? The head officer or a poor little district whore. Even your own would sell you out in a heartbeat if it means sparing their own lives. It’d be my word against yours.”

“You just have it all figured out, don’t you? Evil just comes naturally to you.”

“It’s no hard feelings, dove. You just found yourself at the wrong place at the wrong time. Don’t you worry your pretty little head, though. I’ll make sure you never see yourself at the end of a rope. Long as you behave like the good girl I know you can be.”

“Go to hell.”

He let out an obnoxious bark of laughter. “You’re not going to make this journey easy for the both of us, I can tell. I do love a challenge.”

Coriolanus picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder and once you made it past the threshold of the abandoned cabin home, you were officially his to toy with.

7 days. You counted. Maybe more. You’re not really sure anymore. You’re beginning to give up keeping track of time. No one’s coming to save you. No one cares. Not except for your sister. You could only hope that at least she’s managing okay without you.

Until then, you could only hold on. Hold on long enough to see her again. Which isn’t at all an easy feat in the punishing torment of “The Gent”.

Any tiny infraction is enough for him to inflict punishment on you.

Like when you chose to ignore him after he returns home from hunting…

“For that you’ll receive the ‘impoliteness punishment’,” Coriolanus says. “Get on all fours and shine my boots clean with your tongue.”

Or when you refused to eat anything he’d cooked.

“I don’t understand! I’ve fed you, clothed you, I’ve made sure you’re healthy and still you refuse to obey me. Your punishment will be to finish every bite of food on your plate and mine or you’ll be hearing the screams of your sister echoing in the skies.”

Even that one time when you wouldn’t unlock the door to your designated room so he tore it down with an ax.

“I was kind enough to give you the privilege to lock your door and this is how you thank me?!” His tall frame while donning the ax is intimidating enough to make you shrink under his shadow. “You’ll be getting the ‘grateful punishment’. List all the things I’ve done for you that you’re appreciative of while my belt’s around your neck. Say anything I don’t particularly like and it’ll wrap tighter around your delicate little throat; each time more secure than the last.”

And today if you’re caught, you aren’t sure what punishment you’ll be facing but it’ll probably be worse than all the others combined. You’ve escaped presumably as Lucy Gray had done. Only you aren’t sure if she’d been successful in her endeavors. The only thought of Coriolanus catching up to you sends shivers down your spine. You’d be finished, no doubt.

You just have to try with all your might to get back home.

You spot a pair of lone peacekeepers sharing a cigarette and having a casual chat. Your mouth falls open but barely a squeak comes out, when you feel his presence just behind you. With a bored expression on his face he presses the sharp end of a knife to your supple throat; no need for him to place a hand over your mouth. One sound and your life is over. He officially called your bluff, you never wanted to die. You’d always had the thought to resist him, to escape and he’d sensed it before you could yourself.

The peacekeepers looked around for a moment, both weird out that they’d heard a faint sound as they exchanged a small dialogue regarding it.

“So I’m not going crazy?” One says.

“Nah, I definitely heard that. Must’ve been an animal for something.” Says the other.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here before it turns into some kind of a horror story.”

And with that they were gone and so went all your hopes of being free from your captor.

He takes your face in his big hands, pressing you against the soft bark of a large tree. “Why’d you run away? I thought we were making progress, little dove,” His voice cracks a little as if he were on the verge of tears. “Maybe.. I should break your fucking legs to keep you from running again, hmm? You think I’m such a monster, maybe I can show you what a monster truly is.”

“Leave me alone!” You scream, kicking him between his legs and he’s down for the count.

You run to the abandoned cabin in search of the shotgun. Once you locate it, you’re only able to load it with one bullet before Coriolanus barges in the room and charges towards you. You aim his way, pulling the trigger but he smacks the gun up and it fires into the ceiling.

He wrestles you to the ground, pinning you down into the bearskin rug and you cry out for help. Coryo’s lips slam onto yours, licking into your gasping mouth. You bite his tongue and he pulls away with a loud growl, using one hand to touch the tip of his tongue to confirm there’s blood while the other continues to pin your wrists.

Instead of stopping, he kisses you again. The copper taste seeps onto your tongue as you continue to squirm. Slowly, you were losing fight as his lips moved passionately against yours, hips undulating sensually so you could feel his hard bulge prodding at your lace-covered entrance.

When he’s sure you won’t scratch his eyes out, he releases your hands and you continue to kiss him and desperately gasp for air; gasp for him. You ball up fistfuls of his uniform, tugging him harder against you and he groans against your lips.

“You need me? You finally get it. Does this mean you’ll be good for me?”

“Yes.” You whisper. What was the point of fighting this anymore? If he really does want the best for you, then maybe you should let him have your fate in his hands.

“You confess your crimes?”

The stubborn part of you wants to spit in his face but there’s that new side of you that wants to do all you can to finally please him. “Yes. I am a criminal. W-will you turn me in?”

“Never. I’ll be tossing the weapons into the lake. That was my plan all along. I just wanted to make sure you know that you’re just as much a part of this as me now. You’ll never leave my side.”

“But the Capitol…will they accept me?” You ask.

“Of course, they would. What do you think all those punishments were for? It is all about discipline and I think you’re finally getting it.”

“So…can I have my reward?” You ask, hand reaching between your bodies to palm him in his slacks.

“Mmm,” He moans before licking your exposed neck. “You won’t get off that easy for running, little dove. You’ll be receiving my favorite punishment of all the love tap punishment. Flip your skirt up, pull those cute undies down your pretty legs, and bend over my lap.”

He raises his ringed-up hand for you to study, before utilizing it to gently squeeze your breast.

When Coriolanus peels himself off your body, he finds a nice comfy chair to sit on that is reminiscent of a king on a throne. He beckons you to him and says, “And Remember, I’m only hurting you because I love you.”

[frudoo]

I lost my night reading your posts. That was great and i want more.

Can i ask for reader boot worshipping price pretty please?

Warnings: SMUT. Slight panty kink if you squint. Deepthroat, boot humping, cum swallowing. Cigar burn. Fem!Reader. MDNI.

“Your boots look a little dull.”

     John raises an eyebrow, blowing out his puff of smoke and looking at you through the side of his eye. The moonlight illuminates the softest features of his face and you can see the beginning of a grin pulling at his mouth.

     “That so?”

     “Mhm,” you hum, joining him on the terrace. 

     There’s not much scenery on the base, really, but without the harsh daylight it’s easy to pretend that the broken lamp posts are rustling trees, the random scraps of shrapnel rose bushes. This close, you can smell the fading aroma of cologne on the captain’s clothes, overtaken by the harshness of the tobacco and smoke. It’s comforting.

     “Suppose I should shine ‘em, then,” John takes another puff of his cigar, blowing it away from your face.

     “Let me,” you suggest, and he turns his head to look at you fully, confusion evident in his baby blues. 

     “Unnecessary, darlin’. I can quite well do it myself.” 

     “John,” you breathe, grabbing his wrist and placing his free hand on your belt. “Let me.”

     The telltale glint of lust in your blown pupils gives him a glimpse into your filthy little plan, and he dares not argue. Deft fingers undo your buckle flawlessly as he takes a long drag, his chest heaving with anticipation, pants pulling taut around his growing erection. John watches like a hawk as you strip for him in plain sight, uncaring of the cameras located all around the base or the lingering eyes that may focus on the pair of you. He can practically smell your arousal in the misty air, holding his pinky finger out so that you can hook your panties onto it. 

     “Drenched,” the captain observes, locking eyes with you as he takes a long lick of the gusset, smirking at the little whine you let out before tucking the fabric into his back pocket. “How long have you been like this, hm?”

     “All day,” you admit, placing your clothes on the ground then dropping to your knees before him. 

     Spreading your thighs, you position your aching pussy over the toe of one of his boots, but he tuts at you disapprovingly. With furrowed brows and pleading eyes, you look up at him through your lashes, batting them softly.

     “Don’t look at me like that,” he cocks an eyebrow. “Tongue out.”

     You obey instantly, nearly purring when he cups your jaw in one big hand. He brings his cigar down, and you expect him to let you have a drag, but he shakes his head softly. 

     “Gonna burn,” is all the warning he gives you before gently tapping the rod of his vice, letting the head of ash fall onto your tongue.

     He’s right—it does sting, but the burn is fleeting as the ember dies and the grit dissolves on your tongue. You spit when he tells you to and left on your tongue is the pungent taste of smoke and burnt tobacco. Your mouth floods with saliva as it tries to compensate for the raw wound, pooling at the corners of your lips.

     “Lick ‘em,” Price nods his head towards his boots, and you arch your back to lean forward, flattening your tongue along the dull toes. 

     It’s filthy, the way you swirl the pink muscle all along his dirty shoes, but you can’t find it in you to care as you stare into his cerulean eyes, your own silently pleading for some form of approval. He delivers by undoing his belt and unzipping his pants, tugging out his throbbing cock and squeezing the head to coax a bead of precum out. John huffs, clicking his tongue to order you back onto your knees.

     “Suck it,” he demands, cusping the back of your head and pushing you towards his dick. “Suck it real fuckin’ good and I’ll let you grind that needy little cunt all over my boot, yeah?” 

     Without hesitation you lean in and wrap your lips around the ruddy tip, slickening his impressive length with spit to make it easier to take him. He’s warm in your mouth, ripe veins dragging along your tongue. You feel the stutter of his hips, holding back from fucking your face the way he wants to and instead letting you take your time—but you want to make your captain proud. Inhaling through your nose, you flatten your tongue along the bottom of his cock and slide down until your nose buries itself in his bushy pubes. You gag around him but make it a point to stay there, letting your tight throat constrict around him until he’s pulling you off by the back of your neck.

     “Bloody fuckin’ hell, baby,” John groans hoarsely. “Breathe.”

     You do as he says, coughing as precious air fills your lungs once again. Drool drips from your swollen lips down your chin and he wipes it away, spreading it through his slit. You kiss the tip and he grins fondly, moving one foot between your thighs, gently tapping your puffy pearl with the toe of his boot.

     “Bein’ such a good girl,” John praises, exhaling through the side of his mouth. “Go ahead, darlin’. Make yourself feel good, just keep- yeah, keep suckin’ that cock.”

      You seat your pussy right on top of his boot at the same time you take him back into your mouth. Just one roll of your hips has you whimpering around his dick, already so sensitive. The captain throws his head back as your own bobs along his length at the same pace you hump his boot. It’s wet and absolutely electric—you’re nearly slipping off of his foot because the material is so slick with your juices. The friction is delectable, so intoxicating that you don’t even choke as the crown of John’s cock hits the back of your throat.

     “F-fuckin’... keep that up and I-I’m gonna,” he stammers, his beloved cigar long forgotten somewhere over the railing as he grabs your head and takes over, thrusting into your mouth erratically. 

     You grab onto the thickness of his thighs to keep yourself steady, eyes rolling back as heat builds in your lower belly. You buck your hips faster and the movement makes your clit catch on the stitching of his boot, sending you over the edge. Your muffled cry sends a vibration shooting through John’s dick, and with no other warning than a choked whimper escaping him, his cum spurts down your raw throat. The two of you are panting when he slips free from your warm mouth.

     “Alright?” He asks softly, rubbing the sides of your neck with his thumbs soothingly.

     When you nod, John smiles, gently helping you up and slipping your clothes back onto your body. 

     “C’mon, darlin’. You’re sleepin’ in mine tonight.”

[gildui]

crimson

wc: 1.3k | simon riley x f!reader | 18+ dddne implied coercion . cumplay . unreliable narrator . breeding kink-ish . the concept of welding things to skin (man i was horny idk) . spanking . toxic relationships . idgaf!ghost . mean!ghost . inner monologue!ghost . reader dresses in a skirt, has afab parts, and paints their nails but is otherwise featureless

Simon Riley’s bird was gone. 

Fled his nest while he was out fighting for his country.

Shameless, really. 

 Left him with nothing but a handwritten note, a few bits and bobs forgotten around his house, and a pair of forgotten used knickers beneath his bed. 

The gusset was crusted, dried with past slick, long forgotten during one of the many nights that Simon would fuck you hard enough to leave the drywall behind your headboard indented. Simon hadn’t cared about fixing it then. Still didn’t care about it now as he stood before the full length mirror in front of your bed in his travel gear, covered in grime and foreign gunk, his boots impeccably laced, his hoodie too small to contain his frame, thighs near bursting from his worn jeans, duffle bag clutched in his free hand. 

They smelled like you too. 

A slip of red fabric, too rich in colour to remind him of blood, yet still reminded him of the hue you’d been painting your toes when he left weeks prior. Satiny fabric, intricately printed lace across the front with one of those teeny, tiny bows at the waistband that did not untie anything despite how much you had reprimanded him to stop trying to unknot it, Simon. 

At some point the bag dropped from his hand. His gloves discarded, left in small piles at his feet. His mask rucked up above his nose, knickers pressed flat against his face inhaling as he angrily fisted his weeping cock in front of the mirror. His forehead knocked against the pristine glass, smudging the pane in a way that would usually result in you yelling at him for leaving prints against what you’d just washed. 

You’d tear him to shreds over it, yowl in his ear on and on about mucking it up, and he’d love every moment of it. The way your teeth would set back in a snarl, upper lip curled. Your right eyebrow always went higher than your left when you were annoyed. Your nose always crinkled in distaste like a mutt primed to bite. The way your voice went shrill after he'd said he would help around the house whilst you were off to work, and yet, every time, the chores went on untouched and he remained on the couch as you stepped through the door. 

He would do anything for it. To see that snarl, to watch the anger light up your eyes, your jagged, jerky movements—lacking in any sort of grace, reminding him of a fawn just learning to stand—as you paced, hands pumping at your sides as you yelled and cried and spat and whined and pestered until he got fed up with it. 

Then, and only when you were about to fragment, break into a million pieces, desperate enough to hurl something at his head, to do harm, did he acknowledge your existence. Half-lidded brown eyes would examine your figure. Leering over you. Objectfying. Undressing you with his beady gaze. Somehow, all at the same time, he managed to make you feel as if he were slightly disgusted by your presence.

He’d huff, like he were the one incensed and you were the inconvenience. Then, he’d bend you over the table. Yank up your skirt, ignore the way your crimson nails swiped at his forearms—”beasty,” he’d coo with that infuriating chuckle of his—and when your nails connect with his skin.

Oh, how he’d be waiting for that, returning fire with a scorching handprint across your asscheek. Imprinting himself into you. Holding you down by the scruff of your neck, your face pressed against the wooden grain of your table as he rutted his cock between your thighs, never quite allowing you the satisfying fullness you’d keen for.

 Punishment. 

Cumming on your clothes—your pretty floral skirt, your expensive jumper—spreading it across your knickers, ruining the fabric, labelling everything that is yours as his, and only after, he’d fuck you in bed, leave you a blubbering mess afterwards. Too drunk on his cock, too full of his seed, orifices leaking his slimy, accursed essence. 

Anything to get you to shut the fuck up, really. 

His cock wept as his textured hand tugged on it. Using the precum as lubricant, his thumb notched back his foreskin, thumbpad rubbing against his ruddy cockhead, flicking at it with his blunt nail. Simon inhaled your knickers again, ran a hot stripe across the fabric as if he could rehydrate the fabric enough to suck your taste from it. 

It wasn’t enough. Nothing was ever enough. Knickers in his hand, Simon slammed his open palm against the wall, rattling the mirror, knocking down a picture frame you’d hung ages ago. The glass shattered along the flooring, yet, Simon only dropped that hand to his groin. More delicate than he’d ever handled your body, he wrapped the fabric around his shaft. Carefully made sure the gusset—the closest thing to you he had left, bleached, stained, worn far too many times to be considered part of your ‘sexy clothes’—was lined up with his slit. 

Simon’s hand squeezed tightly as he rutted into the fabric, aiming to fuck his hand with enough vigor that he’d forget it all. The small fact that you were gone. Brown eyes set in weary, pale skin and sodden with eyeblack remained open, vigilant in his watch, as the fabric darkened from scarlet to maroon. As he staked his claim into the final things of yours he had left. His breaths fogged the glass, his cock smudged against it, leaving prints each time he thrust too far into his hand. So close, yet not close enough. 

You had been wearing red the first night he met you. A scarf around your neck that had him thinking about how pretty you’d look with a collar—his name carved across it—of the same colour forever welded against your skin. You’d looked pretty wrapped around another man’s arm, huddled from the wind, Simon was enamoured then. Now, he was obsessed. 

His final few thrusts were sloppy. The burning that had started at the base of his spine spread like wildfire as quiet grunts escaped his gritted teeth. Simon shut his eyes against the onslaught, pretending it was your cunt he was spurting long, heated strings of semen into—as if it was your sticky womb he was once more filling, overfilling—instead of the cold, stiff mirror. 

It was your complaints about the bedsheets being gross because he’d refused to wear a condom—”cunt squeezes me so good we don’t need one, beasty” he’d reason only when he knew you were too focused on the rumble of his voice box against your hardened nipples as he peppered kisses along your skin—instead of the roaring silence of an empty house, tinnitus ringing without the blanket of gunfire or of a Scotsman yapping for too long in his ear. 

Simon didn’t bother wiping down the mirror, tossed the knickers back under the bed, stepped over the broken glass, as he headed for the dining room. He paused long enough at the table to scoop up your note, reading the delicate, dainty curves of your handwriting whilst his feet moved instinctively to the couch. 

Off on a work trip.  Call when you get home.                                           xx,                           your beasty

He was watching football when you got home. Ignored you as you stepped through the front door, greeting him with a kiss to the crown of his head when you passed by to make your way into the bedroom. He counted to five before you came storming back out.

“What the fuck did you do to the mirror, Simon?! What the fuckin’ hell?!”

At least, this time, he swept the broken glass out of the main entryway and toward your side of the bed. To be found and stepped on later when the two of you went to bed.

Wouldn’t want you to spill that pretty red blood before he could lap it up. 

[dmitriene]

𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗦 𝗔𝗕𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗠𝗘𝗘𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗥𝗢𝗖𝗞𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗥 𝗞𝗢𝗡𝗜𝗚 𝗔𝗧 𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗚𝗥𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗 𝗖𝗟𝗨𝗕.

❝𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗡𝗧❞ 𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳 𝘬𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ❝𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗦❞ 𝘍𝘓𝘜𝘍𝘍, 𝘕𝘚𝘍𝘞, 𝘌𝘝𝘌𝘕𝘛𝘜𝘈𝘓 𝘚𝘔𝘜𝘛 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘣, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘱𝘦𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘷, 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘶𝘥𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘳, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘬𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨

❝𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘❞ 𝘪 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘧 𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳 𝘬𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘧 𝘪 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨)

 ✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

it all started with the simplest invitation to some, frankly speaking, not particularly inspiring underground bar, because you don’t have to be a social butterfly to allow yourself to relax and go with your friends at least once to a noisy, foul smelling place, where people usually snorting cocaine in the toilets with broken light bulbs.

everything is ringing in your ears, screaming and whining following the noise of the crowd and the sharp guitar groans from the wooden surface of the stage, covered with black worn out varnish, a couple of cocktails and shots of something stronger helped you to love the type of music you don’t understand a little more — no, the song wasn’t bad, just not in your usual taste, so you were skeptical until the alcohol heated your body, slowly melting your brain, and you were already having fun and loving everything that was happening.

the body slowly picks up the beat of the instrumental and the rough baritone of the melodic voice, the words of the song in english are given a strong accent, making your hips sway under the curve of the movements of your body, your friends are nearby, you laugh and shout to the song, the night is in full swing and you enjoy it when your gaze slowly rushes forward, through the dispersed crowd and along the scratched surface of the stage before sliding over black combat boots with metallic inserts, tracking the line of the legs and up the muscular thighs before colliding with someone else's face, clearly defined by the muted light.

his sharp features are framed by dark strands of long hair that even from this distance seem incredibly thick and soft, he brushes it away with his free hand, letting the strands fall away from his slightly sweaty forehead, revealing the large black plugs in his ears before focusing back on the microphone, drawling out the chorus of the song and scanning the crowd through his lashes before his stormy eyes land on you, causing a strange twinge of goosebumps and a sharp warmth on your face as a flush spreads, and his lips stretch into an unexpectedly bright grin before he winks and turns away from you, focusing on the stage again.

your heart is beating in a strange attack of awkwardness, as if one of his glances undressed and revealed you in front of him, letting in an unfamiliar wave of heat that made you feel an embarrassing pulsation between your legs, provoking you to shift from foot to foot from the discomfort of how slick is gushing the gusset of your cotton panties, sticking to your folds, coloring your face with an even deeper blush, and your friends notice a strange change and detachment in your behavior, pushing you on the shoulder and making you turn around towards the familiar worried voices shouting over the music — «hey! you alright there? did you had too much drinks?»

you meekly wave your head, pulling your lips into a soft smile and saying assuringly — «no, no, i'm alright! just.. erm, he's good at singing!» trying to change the subject as you take a few deep breaths, clearing the crimson from your cheeks and licking your lips nervously as your girlfriends giggle, nodding and continuing to dance, hungrily eyeing his figure on stage before babbling supportively almost in the ear — «right! and he's so handsome! i heard his name is könig and he's austrian, but his accent is so hot!»

you nod automatically, feeling relieved that the crowd around is not paying attention to the screams of your friends, allowing them to continue to hungrily look around and discuss the soloist, whose name is now floating on your tongue like pieces of prickly caramel, sweet and cloying, alluring with its obscurity, könig .. did he really wink at you, did he make a mistake, or is it just part of his performance on stage?

in any case, you brush these thoughts away, with a couple of touches to the shoulder of one of your friends, excusing yourself and moving towards the toilets, following narrow dark corridors and periodically even asking a couple of people where to go, before slipping through the heavy door into the dim toilet and approaching to the sink, leaning on it and raising your gaze at the mirror, examining your appearance, which fortunately survived the crowd and dancing, but your underwear not quite, still uncomfortably sticking to you, making you feel shame at the mere thought that you got wet because some unknown guy winked at you, yes, he's cute, yes, he's hot, but you don't know him, damn it! besides, he performs in some underground bar, what can you expect from him?

if only you knew how much you can really expect when you left the toilet, trying to find your way back and for some strange reason not finding a soul, huffing and stopping in front of some door before taking your phone out of your purse and getting ready to start dialing your friends, when suddenly a rough hand suddenly grabbed your arm and pulled you into the room, causing you to almost automatically scream before someone's hand covered your lips and a rough voice cut through the silence, allowing you to focus on the whispering, hoarsely accented male baritone, quite familiar to you — «shh, schönheit, keep it quiet, alright?»

and this is the moment when you realize that it's könig standing in front of you, looking into your eyes with a playful grin and a twinkle in his blue gaze, shamelessly lowering his callous hands on your hips and moving you from the door deeper into an unfamiliar room, to which you squeeze out an absurd squeak, grabbing his shoulders and batting your eyes at him in surprise, stupidly, practically about to ask him why he dragged you here, parting your lips as he tracks them with his eyes, interrupting you with a finger to them — «shhh, quiet, mhm? i'm hiding from someone, and would like to have your help, how it's sounds, hase?»

his question is enticing, and you yourself don’t notice how you nod obediently, not suspecting what he really means when his thumb slides over your lips, and he smiles like a predatory wolf, looking at you as if at a victim in the walls of a small, shabby dressing room.

the table beneath you shakes with every collision with the wall, your legs are spread wide and cause slight discomfort to withstand his merciless thrusts, while one hand with peeling black varnish tightly grips your hip, almost bruising, and the other covers your mouth, muffling your moans and whimpers of pleasure.

your body arches and contorts in response to his powerful thrusts, eyes rolling into the back of your head in euphoria as könig slams his meaty, thick cock into you, filling your wet pussy to the hilt, each thrust hits deep inside, sending waves of pleasure running through your throbbing and gummy walls, tearing desperate chants of his name from your lips — «kön — amngh! kö-önig!»

the way his name leaves you sends a thrill through him, his wolfish grin widens, his stormy eyes sparkle with a mixture of satisfaction and hunger, he coos softly, his voice becoming a deep growl rumble as his cock continues to thrust into your slick warmth — «such a — rrgh, nette kleine whore!»

you hum incomprehensibly, trying to babble incoherent denials — «n..noo.. mngh! i-i'm not a w-wh — a-ah!» shaking your head in disagreement with his harsh words, whining and mewling as he carefully spreads your legs a little wider, giving him better access to your throbbing clit, his thumb stroking the sensitive bundle of nerves, causing your tight walls to tremble and tense around his cock.

he holds you tightly, making sure you don't accidentally bump into the mirror behind as his gaze skims over your reflection, glancing at your back and ass that's meeting his merciless thrusts and squirming against the surface, covered in not a single layer of dust, the image intensifies his arousal, fueling his desire to take you over completely as the thick tip of his cock suddenly hits your cervix, making you cry out in pleasure, sending fireworks before your eyes.

könig notices how his thumb affects your pleasure, how your body clenches around him in response, so he continues to rub your throbbing clit, enjoying the way your legs tremble and shake softly under his precise touches, feeling the tightness of your walls around his shaft.

but every movement of your leg shakes your body, causing you to squirm against the surface, and wanting to maintain control over his pleasure, he mutters a rude command — «stop moving, dummes häschen» and pulls you closer to the edge of the table, preparing to plunge himself even deeper into you, each thrust periodically hits your cervix, and the sensation causes a mixture of quiet sobs and moans from you.

his cock drags across your spongy spot, further intensifying your pleasure as you bury your face into his chest, practically smearing all of your light makeup on his sweaty t shirt as your body shakes against his with each new thrust and pound, the rhythm of your bodies synchronizing into one.

könig's movements become increasingly chaotic as he reaches the point of climax, his body tenses from the impending release, and you, also feeling the approaching orgasm, arch your spine, completely offering yourself to him like to an wild animal.

grabbing your hips tightly, he impales you with his girth, mercilessly slamming into you, his primal instincts take over as he fucks you like a nasty dog, and in an attempt to heighten your pleasure, he hastily moves his hand to flick your clit, making you cry out loudly and gush around him, your walls clenching tightly around his meaty shaft.

as your scream fills the small room, he silences you with a sloppy, possessive kiss, his lips capturing yours with barbaric roughness, his tongue capturing your mouth and he sucks on your's with a hunger that matches his own.

in the midst of a passionate kiss, he reaches his climax, his body spasming as he fills your pussy with his hot cum, painting your walls completely white, not paying attention to the need to get permission or make sure that you are on the pill, simply filling you with his potent milky fluid and continuing to devour your moans and sobs as you squeeze his shoulders and arms, scratching in the midst of ecstasy.

he slowly drags his dick in the confisness of your slick heat, so as not to let a drop spill out, moving away from your swollen, slobbering lips, casually supporting your chin and watching how your eyes barely remain open and your mouth opens slightly in a silent whine when he finally slides out of you, looking at how from his base, covered in a white ring of cum, slick stretches straight from your pussy, which he rubs along your inner thighs and folds carelessly, patting your sensitive clit and watching your sensitive reaction, chuckling roughly and hoarsely before smoothly moving closer to your face, surprisingly tenderly kissing the place behind your ear and whispering — «thank you for the good company, schätzchen, let's keep it in the backstage, ja?»

anyway, this is probably not your last time in this club, certainly not after he laid his eyes, and his dick, on you ‹𝟹

taglist: @roseglazedlens, @scar-crossedlvrs, @daydreamrot, @kennedyswhore-old dm me if you want to be tagged in my works or open my taglist

[bloodyknucklesforme]

I Am Hungry, I Have Been Hungry | Carnal XVIII

Carnal (adjective) : relating to or given to crude bodily pleasures and appetites

Nina, Simon and Johnny get ready for Christmas

Masterpost

CW: cannibalism, rape/sexual assault mention, smut

This is very much a horror fic mostly based around the films Raw (2017) and Bones and All (2022), if you sit through those you should be good here. This is my first horror fic.

Chapter Title Credit: Abbey by Mitski

They sat there like rabbits in a warren. Nina took Johnny’s wrist and moved his hand from her hair to her face, kissing the palm of his hand. He’d cut himself with the knife the night before, not deeply but it could scar. Above her, Simon was kissing Johnny. One of his hands held Johnny’s cheek while the other held her calf firmly. 

“Our girl” is what Johnny said. She wanted to be their girl. Wanted to be part of something. She never thought being touched could be so comforting. Her father, the men at the hospital, Arthur, the men at the club. She could still feel how tightly they’d grip her arms. Simon’s touch was soft along her leg, despite the callouses. Watching them kiss - she wanted to be loved like that. 

She sat up. They stopped and looked at her. Her hands shook as she leaned in, kissing the side of Johnny’s mouth. Let her in please, please oh please, just let her in. Simon cupped the back of her head and pulled close. She ended up straddling one of each man's legs. Johnny was rubbing her back under her sweater. Simon was playing with the hem of her dress. 

She held their shoulders. Lips and teeth and tongues clashing together in a splendid melange. A large calloused hand made its way up her thigh to her centre, knuckles dragged against her covered slit. 

“Do you want me to?” Asked Simon, nuzzling her face. 

“Yes,” She whimpered. 

Simon slid two fingers under the gusset of her panties. Johnny’s grip on her tightened. She closed her eyes, letting their hands keep her from floating away. Simon played in her wetness, dragging his fingers between her folds. Johnny’s mouth was on her neck. She was trembling as they bounced her attention between them. 

“We got ya. Does it feel good?” Johnny’s fingers tangle in her hair, his other hand holding her hip steady.

“Our girl, our good girl.” Simon growls, rubbing his face against her chest. She gasped as Simon pushed a finger inside of her. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against Simon’s shoulder. Coos and praises filled her head like smoke. 

Two fingers pumping in and out. She gripped them, fingers shaking around woollen knits. Simon’s thumb rubbed circles around her clit. It was almost too much, she wanted to flinch away, it was good but strange. Her orgasm came as a surprise. Her back arched, Johnny and Simon kissing opposite sides of her face. She gasped and choked. 

“Do you want more, love? Want Johnny to take care of you?” Simon brushed her hair off her sweaty forehead. She turned and greedily kissed Johnny, something passionate, hungry. He pulled her fully into his lap.

He carried her upstairs, over his shoulder she watched Simon follow, licking his fingers clean. 

Johnny laid her down on the bed as gently as he could. Kissing down her chest until he reached the bottom of her sweater and could pull it up and over her head. Simon sat down beside her head, stroking her cheek and resting a hand on the back of Johnny’s head. 

Her dress was slid down her body, she shuddered as the cold air caused her nipples to harden and goosebumps rise over her arms. Johnny kissed down her stomach. Simon moved to lay down next to her. 

The bedroom was dark, the only light came from the hallway through the half closed door. The shadows made Simon’s face distort. Features changing as her eyes adjusted to the dark. Her stomach tossed about. Every time she blinked she saw a boot come crashing down, cracking open the front of his skull. 

She felt hot, sweat building in every bent joint. Her chest was getting smaller, her heart struggling to beat in rhythm. 

“Johnny, stop.” Simon said, pushing him by the shoulder. “Nina, look at me. You’re okay.”

There was a roaring in her ears. She pulled her knees up to her chest. She was an animal trapped between two predators. She moved her arm up to her mouth. An old scar ready to open up again. This cursed room, this cursed house, this cursed life. She bit down. 

A familiar taste but not hers. She felt no pain, just the gentle soothing of a hand on the back of her head. She was crying as she was lifted into Johnny’s lap and Simon moved behind him, enveloping both of them. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled through a full mouth. 

“Nothing to apologise for.” Johnny kissed her temple. Her jaw went slack as her heart rate calmed, matching Johnny’s pulse in her mouth. Her muscles ached as she let go of Johnny’s arm. Simon replaced it with his hand, putting pressure on the wound. 

“I told ya you wouldn’t ever have to hurt yourself again. I keep my promises.” Johnny said, kissing her temple. “Let’s get ya cleaned up.”

The air in the house felt different. There was something stale drifting about. Johnny complained about her opening all the windows despite the snow. She paced around the house in endless loops, Johnny following behind trying to keep her company. His arms around her waist and his chin on her shoulder any chance he got. She liked it. He was always warm. 

Simon was different. He was affectionate in small doses. Tucking her hair behind her ear, stroking her cheek, kissing her forehead. He seemed hesitant to do much else. She wanted more. Maybe it was greedy to want to try again after failing so horribly the first time. 

The three of them hadn’t tried to be intimate again. Simon slept in the spare bedroom if he was home at all. He spent most nights out hunting now. She and Johnny got to spend most nights alone. It was easy with just him. 

Johnny, delicately, would undress her and bury his head between her thighs. Her fingers tangling in his hair, tugging in gentle praise. His fingers spread her open, his mouth around her clit. 

He liked her on top when they fucked. His hands guiding her hips. He’d lean up to nip at the tender underside of her breasts. She liked how he called her pretty when she came. She missed feeling Simon’s eyes on her. 

Johnny and Simon would have their own moments alone in the stables. She’d watched them once or twice, maybe more. Standing on an old bucket, peering through a window. Coils of muscle and flesh wrapping around each other. Johnny didn’t nip at Simon, he bit him. They clung to each other like drowning victims. Their scars would line up, healed tissue sewing them together. It made her stomach warm. Did they know she was watching? Could they smell her and the wetness between her legs? 

“Mine,” Simon growled. 

She felt a twinge of jealousy. It felt more passionate between them. There were memories there. Love there. She wanted to be loved like that. She’d rush back to the house, hands shaking and cheeks on fire. 

She felt like ever the stranger in her own house. 

“I called to ask if I’m still welcome for Christmas dinner,” Price chuckled over the phone. She’d forgotten how close the holiday was. Price had been coming over for Christmas eve dinner since she could remember, always among her father’s other friends until his death. Then it was just Price.

“Of, course. I can do all the traditional stuff. Beef wellington, potatoes, sticky pudding. Whatever you like.” 

“I’d like that, Nina.” He sighed. “Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah, ummm… I’m great. Johnny’s good too. We took his stitches out a while back, he complained the whole time but we’re good.” She couldn’t tell him everything. She never could. The burden of a father was, she supposed, never knowing everything. Price would never punish her, wouldn’t hit her or withhold food but she didn’t want to disappoint him all the same. “I know it's hard to understand but they’re like me. They understand. I never thought there were other people like me.”

“As long as you’re okay, Nina. They’re my men, I trust them. I don’t think I’ll ever understand it but as long as you're safe I’ll deal with it.” All their conversations felt half made, sentences dangling around like leftover birthday streamers. “I’ll see you on the twenty fourth.Take care of yourself, love.”

“You too.”

She’d never been one for Christmas, or any holiday. She enjoyed spending time with Price but the last few years Arthur had always started a fight as soon as he left. The boys wouldn’t do that though. It could be nice this time. Could be something to look forward to. 

She had Johnny help her dig out the old decorations from the cellar. Tinsel, baubles and a little nativity scene. They took Simon’s car to pick up a tree in town. 

“Could we go to the Christmas market one night?” She asked on the way back. She’d never actually gone. Only seen them on the telly. 

“Course we can,” Johnny smiled. He loved Christmas. Simon caught her gaze in the rearview mirror. His expression was neutral, it often felt like he watched her and Johnny like they were characters in a film.

She held both their hands as they walked around. The smells made her dizzy. Wine, oranges, gingerbread, cinnamon, pine, sugar, berries. It felt like something out of a holiday card. 

“You don’t have to waste your money on us,” Johnny said as she got them another basket of chips.

“I have a whole inheritance I’ve never used. You’re the ones who haven’t worked in over a month.” Simon chuckled while Johnny tried to deflect. It was a decent amount of money and it had grown thanks to Price choosing various investments for her. The joys of having two dead parents. 

She used that thought to justify the several bags of trinkets she’d gathered up over the night. Simon, dutifully holding them for her. Reaching around her to always take them from the stand owners before she could. 

She wondered what to get them for Christmas. She’d most likely have to order it online since one of them was almost always at her side. She wasn’t sure she was ready to venture out that much on her own. With the current weather Simon would carry her before letting her walk to town alone. She should have taken Price up on his various offers to teach her to drive. This Spring, maybe.

“Be right back,” Johnny said, disappearing into the crowd. She stuck close to Simon, his hands on her shoulders guiding her around, keeping her in his shadow. They stood off to the side, watching all the other people, the normal people. She swayed absentmindedly to the music. She saw Miss. Carter glowering at them from across the town centre. She tugged on Simon’s hand. 

“Let’s find Johnny.” She turned in towards his chest, trying to push him away from the crowd. He nodded and took them towards the mulled wine stand. He got her a cup. 

Simon took Nina’s chin and tilted it upwards, pouring mulled wine into her mouth before licking any dribbled liquid away. 

“Let’s let Johnny find us.” He pulled his jacket around her, tucking her head under his chin. He was gone the next night - hunting again. 

The nights he spent hunting were the only ones he’d sleep in their bed. He’d crawl into bed with her and Johnny in the early morning, smelling of blood and old straw. He always shivered a bit, even though he tried to hide it. His hair was damp. He was spraying the blood off his skin in the stables and then trudging back with a cooler of meat to the house.

She started leaving clean clothes out on the tack bench for him. She’d wake up early just to make tea for him, setting it on the bedside table for him. Taking care of him and Johnny felt like half repayment and half an attempt to dispel them of any thought of leaving her. Any excitement for the holiday disappeared when she remembered New Years followed and after New Years they’d be deployed again. 

She wandered outside early one morning. An old wool coat over her nightgown, thick socks in old boots and pack of cigarettes in her pocket (stolen from Simon’s coat). She sat on the stone column wall that separated the patio and the rest of the garden. It was snowing softly. She alternated which hand she kept in her pocket and which one she held her cigarette. 

She heard Simon’s car pull around front. It wouldn’t be long before he found her. She should have brought out tea in a thermos. 

“S’too cold for you, love. Catch your death out here.” His hair was damp. He left the cooler by the door before approaching, making space for himself between her knees and pulling her coat tighter around her and the flimsy cotton nightgown she’d ventured out in. 

She pulled another cigarette out from the pack in her pocket, offering it to him. He took it between his lips and held her chin steady as he lit it from the end of her own. She took a drag, “Couldn’t sleep.” 

“What’s keeping you up, lovey?” 

Her eyes were unfocused, gazing towards something non existent behind him. She was picking at the skin around her nails, he laid his hand over hers. She looked up, locking eyes with him.

“I want you to touch me.”

He rubbed his hand over hers, “I am touching you.”

“Please Simon. I need to feel like I’m not broken.”

He dropped his cigarette and cupped her face between his hands, “Don’t say that. They did not break you.”

Her face crumpled up, her whole body shrinking down in his grasp.

“I don’t…I don’t want you two to leave.”

“We’re not leaving. Shhh…don’t cry, lovey. We don’t plan on leaving you.” He pulled her into his chest. 

“I don’t want to be alone. You’re the only people who understand.” He hushed her, stroking the back of her head. 

“We’re family. The three of us. It’ll always be us.” He took her cigarette from her and stubbed it out.

“Then touch me…I want to do it, the three of us. I can do it.” She pleaded.

He pressed his cheek against hers, his mouth against her ear. “I want to fuck you, Nina. I want you; willing and confident. I want to taste you, watch Johnny fuck you, keep you pressed between us. But I don’t want you to force yourself. I don’t want you out here, begging in the cold. Johnny and I will wait till you're ready. Truly ready. ”

She pulled away, cheeks red as she rubbed her tears away. “What if I’m never ready?”

“It wouldn’t change anything. You’re stuck with us, forever.” He kissed her cheek. “ You're cold. Get back to bed with Johnny. I’ll be there soon.”

“Can I wait for you?”

“Course.”

She sat on the top of the stairs as he went down to the cellar, listened to him unpack the cooler into the freezer. 

“We’ll need a second one soon.” He called up to her. 

“We have enough. You don’t have to work so hard. It’s dangerous to go out every night.” 

“Need to make sure you’re well fed while we’re gone.” He walked up the stairs till he could rest his chin on her knee. “Johnny’s promises are mine too.”

Simon got into bed first, Nina curled up to his side and he pulled Johnny into the other one. He was warm. 

It was the first time she’d worn makeup since Arthur. She had a new dress too, nothing fancy, plaid with ruffled straps. She’d kicked Simon and Johnny out of the kitchen. She wanted this meal to be special. She also didn’t know if Price would trust it if she wasn’t the one to make it. It was the only time she enjoyed cooking. It was a tradition started by her and Price, after her father and before Arthur.

“Got to let me do something, bonnie. Feeling useless out ‘ere.” Johnny stuck his head into the room. 

“Could you set the table?” He nodded with a grin, rushing in to grab the place settings. 

“Smells fantastic by the way.” He pecked her cheek.

She was very meticulous in laying out all the food. The two extra place settings allowed for a wider spread. She had Price at the head of the table, her on one side and Simon and Johnny on the other. This was the one night she liked using this room. Christmas Eve supper wouldn’t feel as special at the small table in the kitchen. She tried to push all the bad memories out. 

Dinners with all her father’s friends where the particularly disgusting ones would pinch the back of her thighs as she walked past. One of them had cornered her in the kitchen one night. Price walked in, thankfully. His rage wasn’t directed at her but it still frightened her. She didn’t remember that man’s name but she did recall hearing he fell out of a helicopter on his next deployment. Dead on impact.

She poured herself a glass of wine, drinking it down quickly. She was rageful in that moment. Her life picked and prodded at by the men in her life. Her desires used against her, never anything given, always taken. 

Here she was, finally with two men who understood her, respected her, might even love her and she struggled with their touch. Everything she wanted was just out of her grasp. 

“Price just texted saying he’s a couple minutes out…you alright, bonnie?” Johnny was frowning at her from the doorway. 

“I’m okay.” She wiped her tears away, careful of her makeup. He walked up to her, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “Do I look okay?”

“You look beautiful.” He smiled. “Stay here for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

She nodded, feeling embarrassed. She hated crying in front of men, even if it was Johnny. 

He returned with Simon. Who was freshly shaved and his hair clipped short. He looked handsome. Johnny had resisted cutting his hair short, waiting till the last minute so his mohawk had grown out to be a patch of curly hair. 

“We have something for ya,” Johnny grinned, pulling a small wrapped box from behind his back. “I picked it out but it was mostly Simon’s idea.”

They went on either side of her as she unwrapped it. It was a little black cardboard box. She pulled the top off and it was a necklace with three little gems at the centre of the chain.

“Each one is supposed to be one of us. Sapphire for Simon, nacre for Nina and jade for Johnny.”

“You’ll always have us with you,” Simon said. Once upon a time, she hoped Arthur would surprise her with a ring. She liked this better. “I want to see it on you.”

Johnny held her hair up and Simon put it around her neck. 

“Beautiful.” Simon smiled, fixing the chain so the charms sat centre on her chest. 

She felt loved, fingers rubbing over the gems. Her boys - always with her. 

Dinner went smoothly. Price wouldn’t stop complimenting her and the food. She got him a first edition copy of a Georges Simenon mystery novel. He got her a John Le Carre novel. They always gifted each other books. Always had. He told embarrassing stories about Simon and Johnny from work. 

“Would have preferred if you took me up on my offer to set you up with Garrick,” he chuckled. “He’s a proper bloke. Better than this lot.”

“I like this lot.” 

“They’d get an earful if you didn’t.”

“They’re good to me.”

“Good.” He smiled.

She walked him out to his car while Simon and Johnny cleaned up.

“I’m proud of you, Nina. Truly. Despite everything you’ve grown into a wonderful young woman. I don’t understand everything about you and I don’t think I ever will but I’m happy you found those two. I want you to try to get out more. MacTavish for sure would jump at the chance to take you on a trip somewhere.” He hugged her. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Thank you, John… I love you.”

“I love you, too, Nina.” He kissed her cheek as a final farewell.

They boys had packed everything away. 

“Meet me in the living room. I have gifts for the two of you.”

“Gifts are normally given in the morning, you know?” Simon said, sitting on the couch next to Johnny. 

“You guys gave me one already.”

“Aye, fair enough.”

She grabbed two gifts from under the tree. A bottle of bourbon for Simon and a set of new pencils for Johnny. 

“Thank you, lovey.”

Johnny got up to thank her but she motioned for him to sit back down.

“I have one more gift.”

“That so, bon?”

“It’s from me to me but I still need you two to help.” Simon raised an eyebrow and leaned back, waiting.

She took a deep breath. It would be okay. It would feel good. Their touch was always gentle. Johnny looked at her like she was something sacred. Simon - like he wanted nothing else in the world. Her choice. Her boys. Her body in their hands. A safe place. A home.

She pulled the straps of her dress down and off her shoulders till the whole garment fell to the floor. She resisted the urge to cover her bare breasts. 

They got up together. Johnny at her back and Simon at her front. He held her face like it was the only thing holding her up, kissing her greedily. 

“Promise me you’ll say if you want to stop.”

“I don’t want to-”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

Johnny kissed down her shoulders and back till he was tugging her panties off. Simon followed suit down her chest and stomach till he was level with her centre. 

“Johnny hold her up,” He said, hiking one of her legs over his shoulder. Johnny stood and held her waist, keeping her steady. Simon stared up at her, “Look at me, Nina.”

She locked eyes with him as his tongue spread her open. She grabbed his shoulder and Johnny’s forearm. 

“Told him how you like it,” Johnny chuckled. She leaned her head back against his chest. He’d done a good job. Simon seemed to already know her. Rubbing her clit as he teased her entrance with her tongue, lapping up her wetness. Johnny rubbed circles on her hips. His cock was hard against her ass through his pants. 

Simon waited till she was a mewling mess before pushing a finger inside of her, curling it up to press against the spot inside her, trapping her nerves between his tongue and finger. 

“Gonna watch ya cum on his face.” Johnny said, kissing and sucking marks against her neck. His hand glided up her hip to her breast to massage it. 

It felt good. Better than good, incredible. She let herself melt between them. All the muscles in her body stretched out like a rubber band before snapping in a scream. Simon groaned loudly as she clenched around his fingers, his mouth moving wildly to cover as much of her as he could. 

They laid her on the floor, pillows under her head and hips. Johnny was licking Simon’s face clean. She was still coming down from her first orgasm as she watched them strip each other. Simon’s hard cock matched the rest of his stature. It made her stomach flip seeing him grind against Johnny’s. 

Simon broke their kiss to look at her, “I want to watch our boy fuck you. Is that okay, Nina?”

She nodded, holding out her arms for Johnny. He was on her in a moment. 

“Simon get you ready for me?” He cooed, peppering sloppy wet kisses across her jaw. “Tell me how badly you want me.”

“Please, please Johnny.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and spread her legs for him. Simon held one of her ankles and squeezed reassuringly.

His first thrust stole the air out of her lungs. The head of his cock bumping against that spot. Simon was guiding his hips. “There we go, find your rhythm, don’t leave her wanting. Good boy, Johnny.” 

Johnny always looked her in the eyes when they fucked. Sweaty foreheads rubbing against each other. He had beautiful blue eyes that made her feel so adored. Their noses clunked together as he panted. 

“Taking me so well. You feel so good, Neen. Wanna make you cum again. Can you cum again for me, bonnie?” He was drooling. Simon’s hand slid between them to rub her circles around her clit. 

“Where do you want him to cum, love? On your stomach?... Inside you?” Simon’s voice was deeper, more gravely. His eyes were darker. 

“Inside, please.” She had to know what it felt like. To be filled, to be claimed. She was their girl. She wanted it. She chose it. She wanted both of them. 

The room smelled of sex. Johnny was grunting with every thrust. It was wet and warm and wonderful. Her own slick was dripping down, splattering across her thighs. 

“Please, Johnny. I…I’m…I’m…” Her words got swallowed by another scream as she came again, clenching hard around him. Johnny moaned loudly, picking up his thrusts as he chased his own end. 

It was strange but not unwelcome. Johnny’s cock twitched inside her and she could feel warmth spreading throughout and seeping out where their bodies met. He gave her another kiss as he rolled off her, resting with their shoulders and thighs pressed against each other.

Simon knelt over both of them, hands rubbing thighs and stomachs and chests. 

“You both did so well.” His cock was red and dripping precum down the shaft. She reached out for him. He took her hand, kissing her knuckles. “You sure, love? You ready for me, pretty girl?”

“I want both of you. I want it. I want you, Simon.”

He hooked his arms under her armpits and pulled her up. His back against the couch and her straddling him. 

“I want you like this. Want to see your face.” He kissed over Johnny’s marks. Two fingers curled inside of her, scooping out Johnny’s spend. He beckoned the other man over and forced his fingers into his mouth. Johnny’s eyes rolled back as he sucked. “I want you to prep yourself for me. Our girl likes to watch us too.”

She turned red. 

“Think we couldn’t smell you?” He nipped her collarbone with a laugh. “Could smell your sex the whole walk back.” He licked up the column of her throat. “Been dreaming about this.”

She held onto his shoulders as she sank down on his cock. 

“Take it slowly,” he groaned, holding her hips. She did, moaning at every inch that she took inside her. Johnny rubbed her lower back. He had her take Johnny first for a reason. She tried to bury her face in his shoulder and his hand held the back of her head. ���I want to look at you.”

He guided her hips, breathing with her till he bottomed out inside her, the head of his cock pressed against her cervix. Her thighs were shaking. 

“My good girl,” He kissed away the sweat droplets on her face. It was slow, him rocking up into her, watching every twitch of her face. Johnny was next to them, laying on his stomach as he stretched himself open on his own fingers. “Can you give me one more, love? Let me fill you up too?”

She nodded slowly. Her nerves felt on edge, sending off random signals to the rest of her twitchy body. Simon kept her clit between two of his fingers, rubbing back and forth. She was building back up, her stomach tightening again. Her limbs felt loose and jellied. 

She arched backwards, her chest pressing against him, Johnny had to stop to help Simon hold her up. She was shaky and whining as Simon pulled her flush against him. His last thrusts were harder, chasing after his pleasure. He growled as he came, his spend mixing with Johnny’s. He let her rest against his shoulder.

“Fuck…You did so well for us, love. How are you feeling?”

“Was it good for ya, bonnie?” 

She couldn’t form words, her mouth opened and closed with smiles and nods of her head. They both chuckled as Simon laid her back down on her pillows. 

“You still feel up to watch?” Simon pushed her hair back. She grinned up at him. “Let’s give her a show, Johnny.”

It was better up close. Simon had a hand around Johnny’s throat, not choking, just holding. His chest against Johnny’s back. The sound of skin slapping against skin and Johnny’s wanton moans. Simon grunted and growled. There was a new warmness inside her. Johnny was holding his cock, letting Simon’s thrust move him back and forth in his own grip. She reached between her legs and scooped up their mixed spend. 

“Oh fuck…Nina.” Johnny moaned, watching her clean her fingers. Simon smirked down at her, picking up his pace. It was salty but not unpleasant. She groaned around her digits. “Si, I’m close. Fuck… please.”

“You going to ruin our girl’s rug?”

“Si, please. I can’t-”

“Ask her where to cum.”

They both looked at her, Johnny pleadingly and Simon with a devilish smirk.

“In my mouth.” Johnny’s head flopped backwards against Simon. 

“C’mere, love.” Simon beckoned. She moved in front of Johnny. It didn’t matter she couldn’t remember the last time she’d done this. It mattered that it was Johnny and Simon. It was their first time. Her first time. Nothing else mattered. It was them, only them.

She opened her mouth and took the head of his cock, swirling her tongue around it. Johnny didn’t last. He came as she licked at his slit, filling her mouth. She looked up at him to watch him crumple. She swallowed him down and cleaned him. Simon grunted harshly and his thrusts stuttered out. 

“Mine,” he growled. “Both mine.”

The three of them collapsed onto the floor, Simon making his way to the middle, tucking them each under an arm. 

“Happy Christmas to us.” Johnny breathed. “I want a fucking cigarette and a glass of whiskey.”

“I have a gift for you first,” Simon said, sitting up. “For both of you but Johnny you’re first.”

“Aye?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I want you to bite me. Mark me. Nina beat me to marking you but… I’m ready. I want it.”

Johnny shot up. She could see the emotions run across his face: surprise, fear, excitement, love.

“Where do you want it?” He smiled. 

Simon stretched his back and arms before pointing towards his trapezius muscle, where his shoulder met his collarbone.

“Don’t get too deep. We ship out in a week.” He turned back to pull her up next to him. “I want you to do the other side. If she gets a necklace, I want this.” 

Johnny grabbed disinfectant and bandages. 

“You sure, Si.”

“More than anything, Johnny.”

Nina held his other arm, both her hands fitting into his one. He squeezed tightly as Johnny bit down on him. He breathed hard through his teeth. She watched his cock twitch as blood ran down his chest. Johnny pulled back, red lipped. 

They cleaned up the bite before Nina went. Johnny held her hair out of the way.

“Right here, love.”

He and Johnny were the only people she ever met that didn’t smell like food. Though her mouth had never watered more than right before she sank her teeth into Simon. Johnny moaned behind her. Simon’s hand rested on the back of her head. 

“Good girl,” he breathed. She pulled away and was immediately pulled into a kiss by Johnny. It was the second time she’d tasted both of them at once. This one was sweeter. 

“Me next.” Johnny laughed. “Thinkin of havin ya take a chunk outta my arse.”

“Price won’t grant you leave again, even if you can’t sit down.”

“Here then.” He patted his upper arm, “I’ll have you and Nina on the same arm.”

Nina wiped it off with disinfectant.

“Thank you, nurse.” He tapped her nose playfully. He leaned close, “If you want one too, you can.”

“I don’t know where I want it.” She wanted it to be somewhere she could always feel them but nowhere Price could see. A secret for the three of them. 

“You have time to think. We won’t rush.”

“I wouldn’t mind biting your arse-fuck me!” Simon bit down on Johnny’s arm, his eyes rolling back as blood filled his mouth. 

Johnny panted as Simon cleaned up the wound. Nina cleaned up Simon’s face. 

They laid on the floor, Simon pulling a blanket off the couch to cover them up. Nina was spread out over top of them. They were tangled together, not sure which limb belonged to who. 

“I love both of ya,” Johnny said, squeezing each of their hands. “So much actually.”

She’d heard it before from others but it didn’t matter because it didn’t come from either of them before so it was the first time it mattered.

“I love you, Johnny. I love you, Simon.”

“I love you, Nina. I love you, Johnny.”

Tag list: @gogh-with-the-flow @queen-ilmaree @cathnoneofyourbusiness @pssytrux

[oedipusted]

When I see pictures of backseam nylons, or slingback heels, or thigh high boots, or fishnet nylons, or pantyhose gussets, or layered nylons, or any combination of those in pictures, it will cause me to fantasize my mom wearing/doing what is in the pictures. Same with pictures of teachers (Mom was a teacher, I was hot for teacher). I will get hot, and post the fantasies each produces, or truths about Mom and I each produces. Any ideas/requests in description of the pic will be used.

Pictures of open toe shoes, flip flops, or barefoot or hose feet, any of those with blue nail polish get fantasies and truths about my very powerful women's foot fetish and my reactions to seeing those in public.

And any pictures of Satin Jayde, Nina Hartley, Linda Bareham, Lady Sonia/Gil Ellis, Brandi Love, Melissa Mendini, Gabrielle Taylor, Danielle Wiltshire, or Miss Hybrid will instantly cause me to fantasize and imagine my mom wearing what they are wearing and doing as they are doing in the pictures. I will get so hot I will end up automatically posting the fantasy, truth or idea the particular picture spawns.

Hopefully I do not miss any pics that are posted. If I do point them out, or put a T or an idea in the picture description or comment. Ready to start posting!

[silicon-katydid]

As soon as I saw @prince-rosalium's awesome and informative post about monpe, I knew I had to make some eventually.

Then I went to the fabric store and found canvas printed with poison flowers and dragons for just $4.99 a yard, and knew I had to make some immediately:

...Okay, so sewing pants by hand isn't what I'd call immediate, but the point is that I dove right in, and I think they came out really well!

Here's what they look like on! I decided to make them tie on the sides instead of wrapping around, just because I figured that would be less of a pain to get in and out of. I also took my own measurements instead of going strictly by the instructions, just because I didn't want any weird surprises. They still came up a little shorter on me than I expected, but I'm honestly not even mad? They can show a flash of cool socks depending on the shoes I'm wearing, and the shortish tapered legs are actually better for me specifically, because I ride an ebike everywhere and it's nice to have them up and out of the way.

The slits on the sides might be a problem for some people, but as a Skirt Person, I'm already used to bike shorts for modesty/leggings for warmth layering situations, so it doesn't really register. And if you are also a Skirt Person, let me just say that these are a Skirt Person's Pants! The gusset makes them easy to move in and the ties make it easier to get a perfect fit than most conventional pants fastening situations.

Best of all, if you can thread a needle and understand a simple-ish diagram, I'm pretty sure you can make these! I know I'm saying this from the perspective of someone who has been sewing casually for over a decade, but consider:

The sewing in question involved small items and decorative alterations. This was my first time making large garments from scratch!

I'm dyscalculic. Like, "I have to squint for a bit to tell if I'm looking at four objects or five" dyscalculic. "Operating a calculator presents its own set of problems" dyscalculic. "Righty tighty lefty loosey means nothing to me" dyscalculic. (Caveat: I am also "visual/spatial skills are intact and in fact overdeveloped due to compensation" dyscalculic. I'm a champ at eyeballin' shit!)

I do not own a sewing machine, and the only time I've owned an iron was a half-broken one that I thrifted to put transfers on something once like a decade ago.

...And yet, I made my own pants! I think they look especially cool with hoodies and boots:

In fact, they are so cool (and seriously comfy) that when canvas went on super-sale again, I couldn't resist getting more:

Get hype! :D

[blushinggray]

i'm sorry i just can't stop thinking about kirishima's big, fat balls after the new horikoshi sketch

nsfw // cw: blow jobs (quite explicit), slight cock/balls worship

—

you. fucking. love. pajamas.

you love them. not only are they the most comfortable clothes on earth, they also automatically amplify anyone's appearance — whether it be cute, sexy, cozy, or anything. the pure comfort of being in your most relaxing clothes gives anyone confidence to be themselves.

but the main reason you've grown so obsessed with pajamas and loose comfort clothes is because of kirishima eijirou. and how fucking sexy he is when his dick is showing through his pj's.

he doesn't even notice, because he's just used to living life with a fat, heavy dong hanging between his legs. when he's lying on the couch in his gray sweatpants, innocently scrolling through his phone, he's completely unaware of how clear his dick print is against his thigh. or when he just hangs around in his briefs in the summer, he doesn't notice that one of his big ol' balls is hanging out of the side of one leg hole until it starts chaffing him when he walks.

it used to drive you a little crazy, just being haunted by the clear and palpable presence of such a huge, monster cock and its two bulging, heavy sidekicks. just the sight of them when he'd walk out of the bedroom in the morning would have you salivating. but eventually, you started to get a little more comfortable with voicing your wishes.

your wishes usually involved getting on your knees between eijirou's big, strong thighs and sucking as much cum out of his balls as you could in one go. or two.

you never had such a deep enjoyment for oral pleasure until you started living with eijirou and seeing him in his natural habitat. every time you saw that dick print, or a rogue ball hanging out, or just found him sleeping naked because he was too tired to get dressed after a shower, you mouth would just suddenly start to feel empty. like it just needed to be filled with something thick, heavy, and a little bit musky.

eijirou has all of that and more. and when he comes home one evening with this new outfit that he was given from a photoshoot for the new year, he proceeds to tell you your new favorite thing in the world; that his balls were so big and fat and juicy that they just kept slipping out of the leotard he was asked to wear.

obviously, you're paraphrasing, but you asked him to try it on anyway to let you see. and by god, was he cute.

he was so cute in the mirko costume with the bunny ears and the rabbit boots and the fluffy little tail, and his big smile really just made the entire look even more precious.

those balls, though.

god, they are just fighting for their lives to stay inside that little gusset of fabric. if he worked hard enough, he could tuck them in and secure it all with tape — as he learned from some makeup artists who also worked as drag queens before, apparently — but just wearing the costume by itself, it was really only a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen.

you can't stop staring at them. the thick, flushed, veiny bulges of skin just spilling out of the fabric of that leotard. the length and shape of his dick is so very clear tucked against his stomach, almost kissing his belly button. and just how thick and hardy his thigh muscles are, framing that perfect, teasing view.

you're salivating.

"baby? you alright?" eijirou's voice pipes up.

"i will be." you push him back to sit down in the armchair in the room before sinking to your knees, bringing one hand up to gently squeeze around the sides of his balls jutting out of the gusset with just a few fingers, "once i get these in my mouth."

his slight protests eventually turn into amusement, which eventually morphs into little moans as he lies back and lets you kiss along the length of his dick through the leotard. with your hands holding his hips to keep him in place, you wrap your lips around his tip the best that you can through the tight fabric to suck on it.

it's just cotton, luckily, since it was simply a visual replica of mirko's real costume, but it's still thick enough to be a bit challenging. though for eijirou, it only seems to stir him up more as your spit starts to dampen the fabric all along his shaft as you move downward. especially when it starts to grow in size underneath it.

once you're hunched low enough to dig your face in to reach his balls, you suck from one side. you try your best to just suck and lick to pull one ball out from it's fabric trap with just your mouth, but you end up having to use your hand to tug at the gusset in the end anyway.

which works for you, because now you've freed both of his massive balls and can yank the fabric to the side and out of the way. they're hefty enough to keep the fabric out of the way on their own, and that makes you so wet just thinking about it.

you suck heartily on those lumbering, fleshy, golfball-sized nuts, savoring both the delicious weight of them in your mouth and eijirou's moaning as his fingers dig into your hair. your own hands grip and squeeze at the muscles of his thighs, keeping your grip on reality as you lap as his balls like dog at a water bowl.

"augh, fuck..." eijirou groans, unable to take the tightness any longer as he pulls the front of the leotard to the side to let his dick out, too.

it springs forward like an animal that's been caged, landing right on your cheek since you're still busy slurping below the base. you're tempted to keep at it just to tease eijirou and enjoy yourself a little longer, but you already see what's leaking from his tip making its way down along his shaft.

it's a long way down, but the sight of it, glistening under the light of the room has you rising back up on your knees, your tongue dragging up wide and flat along the way. and you perform a little dance with your tongue around the dribbling head for a bit, taking your time to drag your hand up and across his thigh to find a grip at the base of his cock.

he's so thick and sturdy and reliable. you already know from experience that his balls aren't as big as they are for no reason. it takes more than just a couple orgasms to empty him out for a night, which really lets you work on your art form — blowing him — because you know he still has it in him to keep going.

you take a tight hold around the base, squeezing as hard as you can as you start sinking down because you know he likes it. you stop about two inches down and suck around that upper section for a bit, giving him playfully innocent eyes as you do. then you drag your lips back up until you can just pucker around the tip, tickling his slit with your tongue before sucking down once more.

this time, you go just an inch lower, sucking there for a few second before slowly dragging your hollowed cheeks back up to do the same thing. eijirou lets out a pained, fighting groan but holds his hips still like a good boy, letting you enjoy yourself. you pump your hand along the bottom of his dick to praise him a bit before sinking right back down again, this time to the halfway point.

honestly, it's his own fault for having such a long, juicy, whale cock like this. this process wouldn't take nearly as long if he had a normal-sized dick. he'd save himself a lot of torture if he wasn't blessed with such a wonderful toy for you play with.

several minutes later, when eijirou is pretty much dripping with your saliva and his own precum, you finally start picking up the pace. he lets out a surprised grunt when you start pumping faster with your fist and massaging his balls in your other hand. and when you start bobbing your tightened mouth around the top half of his cock in tandem with your fist, his moans long and loud, his fingers gripping hard at the roots of your hair.

"yes, baby! god, yes! you're so fucking good at this." he huffs as he watches you, breathless as he sinks deeper into the armchair.

you hum appreciatively, sucking all the way up until you pop off of his tip with a cheeky smile, "it's 'cause i love your giant, heavy balls, eiji." you reach down to give each one a little kiss. "and this fat fucking monster of a cock. i love every inch of it." you hum again as you close your eyes and make a show of licking up the length of him.

"holy fuck." he groans again, pulling his hands back so he can comb his fingers through your hair again, pushing it all away from your face so he can get a clear view of you, "you are so pretty when you're just worshipping my cock like that. you really like it that much, huh baby?"

you hum in agreement as you start bobbing again. you eventually let your hand rest at the base of his dick again so you can focus on swallowing as much of him as you can. which is always quite the challenge because he already hits the back of your throat before you're halfway down his length.

as many times as you've done this, you've still never been able to take him all the way. you'd probably kill yourself trying, but it's honestly part of the thrill of it all now. you try your best every time to go further than you did last time, but your threshold is usually just about when you can kiss your own fist at the bottom.

but you make do with what you can, sucking tightly around the length of him as you choke yourself on his dick. the saliva comes out in waves now, as eijirou's head continues to gag you until your eyes start rolling back and tearing up.

but you can't stop. you can't get enough of this beautiful, perfect dick that just feels like it was meant to fill your mouth and throat until you suffocated from it.

"yeah, baby. god, yes baby. i fucking love you and that perfect little mouth." eijirou cries out, in both lust and adoration, "god, i wanna be inside you all the fucking time. just stuff you up with my fat ass cock and balls that you like so much, huh? how'dya like the sound of that? yeah? yeah, baby..."

eventually, you put your hands on eijirou's hands and press them harder against your head, your usually signal for him to start face fucking you.

he lets out a knowing chuckle as he stands back on his feet and tightens his grip, "alright. i gotchu, pretty baby. ready for me?"

you hum as you grip onto his thighs for support, more than ready to get your face fucked in until you're completely ruined. and eijirou pulls through for you, as he always does.

his grip is immovable and his pace is just harsh enough to leave you helpless to the throat pummeling you get from his hips. though not harsh enough to leave you without room to breathe. it took him a few tries to learn the right balance between the two, but now he's all but mastered it, and knows exactly how to bruise your throat up.

and those balls. fuck, they're so fucking heavy and thick, you feel like you get an extra pounding on the outside of your throat too when they smack against you so fast.

your face is just dripping with tears and spit now as you just take this face pounding and try to hold onto consciousness until he's done. which really doesn't take all that long, after all the teasing you did to him. it's only about a minute or two later that eijirou tells you he's coming.

and the second you feel that hot liquid hit your throat, you pull away to catch it all with an open mouth so eijirou can see it land on your tongue before you swallow it.

"god, look at you..." he groans as he pumps himself through it, using his cum to paint a picture of you, "so fucking gorgeous."

whatever lands on your face, you just leave it there as you clean up the residual cum off of eijirou's dick with kitten licks. and of course, give his balls a couple of kisses just for fun before you finally pull away.

eijirou laughs — a very sated noise — after you wipe any remaining cum off your face with the tissue he handed you, taking off the bunny ears to place them on your head.

"maybe you should wear this outfit next, and i can fuck you in it." he suggests.

you laugh back as you adjust the headband atop your head, "i like that idea."

— fin —

[bebemoon]

look for the name: RAMA

@ramadoodles

cult gaia "brinley" cropped bold-sleeved shirt in bright orange

comme des garçons by junya watanabe switching design combination trousers (w/ hip-level belt) in beige/blue plaid

toga virilis brown concealed gussets chelsea boot

bvla mini "kandy" diamond nose stud in black and silver

jean paul gaultier paris cowl design sunglasses in blue

d.s & durga "durga" eau de parfum: "palatial doses of the finest floral absolutes–tuberose, orris butter, orange blossom, sambac jasmine, chrysanthemum, and ylang. unimaginably narcotic."

hilfreich jewellery x on the nature of things "land i" irregular pearl and hand-carved sterling silver charm necklace