#i hate how flat the top and bottom are

[skitskatdacat63]

This is ultra specific but: I feel salty now bcs I just read a bunch of phone reviews and they're like "thank god Samsung is moving away from curved screens" NO! CURVED SCREENS ARE BEAUTIFUL AND SEXY 😭😭😭😭

[lvstrucks]

i still miss the smoke

lando norris x reader

warnings: smut (minors do not interact!)

You hadn’t returned to the bar in months. Since breaking up with Lando you’d avoided it like the plague, knowing how that one bar had been such a staple in your relationship. The two of you had spent countless nights in the hazy atmosphere, drinking pints either with a group of mutual friends or just the two of you. It was the first place Lando had told you he loved you a few years ago, reaching to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear and leaning in close to whisper those three words. 

Now, it mocked you each time you had to walk past. The location app on your phone clearly still hadn’t got the message about the breakup, and as much as you hated yourself for it, you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your stomach each time you saw Lando’s little green location dot hovering there. Did he not miss you at all? Was he not reminded of you; your scent, your hair, your real laugh when you’d tip your head all the way back each time he stepped in through the doors and sat at your regular table, that one seat left barren since you’d left him?

After the breakup, you’d distanced yourself from the friend group. You’d told yourself the only way to move on was to start a completely clean slate, but it clearly hadn’t worked. The only outcome seemed now you had no one to ask for updates on how Lando was doing, only that glowing green dot. Was he out having a good time, or was he waiting for you there? As you slipped on a black dress and swiped lipstick on, you realized there was only one way to find out. 

Lando stared down into the bottom of his glass, watching the way the amber liquid swirled endlessly with his gentle movement. He tried to force a smile, crack a joke, but his efforts fell flat as he caught a glance of the perpetually empty seat next to him. 

“Uh, Lando.” coughed a friend from across the table. 

Lando looked up, startled from his thoughts. He gave the friend a quizzical look, following his line of sight and his heart caught in his chest as he saw you walking in. You were all alone, looking slightly unsure of your surroundings. Lando swallowed thickly, watching intently as  you chattered lightly to the bartender, ordering your drink. When it was handed to you and you brought it to your lips, another friend from Lando’s table decided to take the initiative and called you over, gesturing to your usual seat. 

“Hey, guys.” you said quietly, setting down your drink and uncertainly sitting down next to Lando. 

You were met with a chorus of hello and how are you? from your old friends. It was slightly awkward, but the air felt charged with a static hope. 

As you caught up with the group, Lando kept quiet, looking down at the table. The only acknowledgement of you he allowed himself was letting his knee knock gently sideways, resting against yours and he had to focus on breathing manually as he felt the electric charge running from your leg to his. 

“Lando?” you say quietly while your friends are busy chatting amongst themselves. “Can we- Can I talk to you? Alone?”

Lando forces himself to swallow his excitement, determined not to get his hopes up. He nods, standing quickly from the table and leading you outside. He leans against the brick wall outside the bar, the moon and streetlights illuminating the slight frizz on top of his unruly curls. 

“Yeah?” he speaks up finally. 

You blink for a moment, taking in his features. 

“I miss you.” you say simply. 

Lando looks up at you faster than he should have. 

“Yeah?” he repeats himself dumbly. 

“Yeah.” you nod. Lando simply looks at you, so you decide you might have to take initiative. It’s only fair really: you were the one who ended it - you would have to be the one to take the lead now. 

“Do you miss me? Just a little bit?” you ask, taking his hand gently. 

He doesn’t pull away, just nods slowly. 

“Yeah,” he says, a third time. “More than a little bit.” He seems to break out of his trance at his own admission, taking a step closer and wrapping his strong arms around you. All you can do is mirror his actions, burying your face in his shoulder and breathing in the scent of him. He feels like coming home. 

Lando squeezes you tighter, throwing caution to the wind with the feeling of having you back in his arms. 

“Wanna come back to mine?” he asks, grinning a big toothy grin that no one has seen in months when you nod and tuck yourself into his side. 

Lando doesn’t take his hands off you once as you enter his dark apartment. He doesn’t even bother letting go to switch on the lights, just leading you through the hallway to his bedroom. You don’t mind at all. You’re sure you could find your way around his apartment with your eyes closed still. 

He lays you down on the bed gently, leaning over you and playing with a strand of your loose hair. When he kisses you again, it’s the softest thing you’ve ever felt. 

“Gotta tell me what you want, pretty.” he murmurs while kissing down the column of your throat. 

“You, Lan. I want you.” you all but cry out. Lando’s stomach tightens at the nickname. God, he’d missed that. 

He pulls of his shirt and unbuckles his pants while you wriggle out of your dress. There’s no time for formalities. 

“I’m gonna make you feel good, yeah?” Lando assures you as he scooches down the beg, tracing lines on your thighs as he kisses your legs open. He breathes deeply at the sight of you, trying desperately to control himself. 

“So so pretty.” he mumbles into you as he presses kisses to your folds. “All for me.”

Lando looks up, watching your face carefully for any signs of discomfort as he slips one finger into you, just up to his first knuckle. You whine, arching your back slightly in search of more. He pushes his finger into you fully, pulling it out slightly before pushing in another as well. 

“You like, baby?” he hums, breaking the intense eye contact as he lowers his mouth over you. Gently brushing over your clit, he giggles as you throw your head back, the sensation unbearably good. He presses his open mouth onto your clit, beginning to lick and suck while he pumped his fingers in and out of you. 

“Lan, baby,” you gasp, one hand coming down to grab onto the back of his head to ground yourself. Your fingers brush against the fade at the back of his head, reaching only stubble and feeling his neck flex as he works on you. “I’m so close..”

Lando hums into your clit, not stopping for a second as he mumbles reassurances. “I got you baby.” 

You turn your head, sighing into the pillow as you come undone over his face. He chuckles as he pulls out his fingers once you’ve stillled. 

“That any good for you, babygirl?” he asks cheekily, licking off his fingers. 

All you can do is giggle breathlessly as he scooches himself up the bed, high enough to sit back on his heels and line himself up with your clenching entrance. 

He sighs in relief as he presses into you, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead as your bodies meld together. 

“Ow,” you whisper at the stretch. “I forgot..I forgot how big you were.” Lando immediately stills, reaching to give your hand a squeeze as you get used to the burn. 

“‘M sorry baby,” he whispers as he presses kisses to your chin, watching with concern at the pain on your face. 

“‘s it ok for me to move now?” he asks as your face relaxes and you nod, tapping at his lower back to spur him on. 

“Please.” you breathe. 

Lando snaps his hips into yours, resting his head in the crook of your shoulder, a place he’s missed dearly. You wrap your legs around his hips, wanting him impossibly closer as he rocks you into the plush bedsheets. 

“You’re so warm and wet for me,” Lando gasps. “I won’t last long.” “That’s ok,” you encourage him, pressing a quick kiss to the side of his head. 

Lando groans and pushes himself up onto his knees as he lifts your legs up, throwing them on each shoulder as he leans down closer to you again, and the new angle is so good you don’t even mind being practically folded in half. 

“You gonna come for me again?” he asks, face screwing up into an expression you know all too well. He brings one hand between your bodies to press on your clit while the other still grips onto your hand for dear life. 

“Yeah,” you whine, feeling the familiar knot in your stomach tighten and your toes begin to curl. 

“Lando-” you try to warn him, but he’s already grunting and biting his lower lip, forehead resting on yours. 

“Fuck- I love- I love you” he cries out accidentally as his hips stutter into the back of your thighs, filling you quickly. 

The room is filled by a comfortable silence, broken only by the pants and deep breaths of both you and Lando as you come back down. He lays behind you, stroking a pattern into your hip as he nuzzles into your neck, on the brink of sleep. You know you’ve only got a minute or two before he’s asleep, but you can’t help but open the can of worms. 

“Do you?”

Lando hums into your ear, not understanding your question. 

“Do you still love me?” you question. “Can you still?” 

Lando barely hesitates before he nods, glad his blushing cheeks are hidden behind your hair. 

“Yeah.” he confirms. “I do. I couldn’t- I can’t stop.”

You turn in his arms, bringing one hand to stroke his burning cheek. 

“I’m sorry.” you whisper quietly. “I’m so, so sorry for leaving you. I just couldn’t deal with everything- but it was so much worse without you.”

“I know, baby,” Lando murmurs, pressing a light kiss to your forehead as you curl into his arms. “It’s you and me, yeah?”

thank you for reading! feedback or reblogs are always appreciated <3

[henwinchesters]

thinking about semi-public sex with gojo, except he can't keep quiet not for a second

TW : NSFW top! mreader ﾉ afab! bottom gojo satoru ﾉ exhibitionism ﾉ gagging ﾉ degrading ﾉ reader is kinda mean ﾉ teasing ﾉ orgasm denial (small mentions)

satoru was a risk taker. call it on a count of his cocky personality, or the fact that he was the strongest sorcerer to grace the lands of japan—but taking risk is what made him who he was. there was no one strong enough to stop him, no one to tell him “no” or “that not right”. he did at one point in his life but he never listened. It wasn’t his thing.

satoru was a brat. you’d learned that about him within the first three weeks of your relationship. he didn’t listen. it was like being on his worst behavior was second nature for him. learning to tame the untrainable took time and skill, but you were willing to learn.

he loved to push your buttons, see how far he could take you before you blew. satoru knew what exactly made you tick, even if you didn’t show it externally, he knew on that on the inside you were thinking of every way you could break him apart.

and that was what exactly was going through his mind as he teased you underneath the table with his foot, toes pressing among the bulge that formed in your dress pants as you and yaga discussed business about a current student of his; yuji itadori.

you maintained eye contact with the older man while he spoke, satoru pressing a grin into the palm of his hand. yaga couldn’t see it, but you could feel those piercing eyes on you. expecting, waiting, pleading for some type of reaction but he knew you wouldn’t give in, especially in front of someone.

so he teased and teased, watching you tense, feeling you twitch beneath his toes.

but he couldn’t help but grin as you grabbed his hand entirely to sweet? lacing your fingers together as you pulled him into a vacant classroom. “come on baby, it was just a bit of teasing. it ain’t my fault you can’t handle what i give.”

you’re quiet but satoru knows he won when grab the back of his head and pull him into a kiss, one that’s full of nothing but tongue and teeth. there’s a fight for dominance but it’s only because he doesn’t want to give it so easily—all it takes is a firm grip around his neck, fingers bruising his skin for him to whimper like a bitch on go pliant in your hold.

within minutes you’re buried inside of him, his pants and boxers long discarded as you hammer into his ruddy pussy. his knees are pushed into his chest, his toes curling as he lies flat on his back and all open for you. he’s crying, it always ends with him crying. he was somehow still loud, even with his own underwear stuff in his mouth—the material wet with drool and tears. his beautiful body jolted along the desk, the small mounds on his chest shaking too. strands of his white hair almost glued to his forehead from the sweat.

you give a few slow thrusts that drag your cock deliciously against satoru’s spongey spot. he melts, his eyes damn near roll into the back of his head. you’ve been doing this long enough— satoru’s close enough to orgasm—that every touch feels like a shot of pure sensation up his spine.

“come on pretty boy. you can take what i can give right?”

he hates when you do that. he hates when you give him the same energy from earlier. but it’s so fucking hot when you tease him back—when you deliver slow strokes to his throbbing cunt and his cocklet, all red and wet jumps from the onslaught. satoru’s head lolls back on hits the desk, between your words and the amazing pressure of your cock, he was sure his brain was oozing from his pussy.

his chest rises with every thrust as you pick up the pace and it brings him embarrassment just how much wetter he gets. just then you rotate your hips in a way that has his back arching off of the desk and an incredibly loud moan leaving his pink swollen lips.

“what is it to much? this is what you wanted right? to be taken right where anyone could walk past and hear you taking this dick like a whore”

you drop his legs and lean over him, satoru’s legs coming to wrap around your waist as his hands find your back. he knew he’d something to ground him. you grip the edge the edge of the desk and the other grips his jaw, forcing him to look you dead in the eyes as you make his pussy your home, as you force his walls to remember the way you feel nestled deep in his stomach. the gag is completely soaked, just as you are in his cunt.

“we’re gonna go until i deem you fit enough to cum. i don’t care who walks in and see’s. you’re gonna fucking learn satoru.”

© ASTROKNOTT ™ 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 !

[6ix9inewiturmom]

Not in the mood- Matthew Sturniolo

Summary: in which you’re not in the mood for you and Matt’s nightly routine and feel awful about it

Warnings: slightly sexual, crying, cursing, use of Y/N, pet names (baby, sweetheart) (not sure what else)

A/N: i would like to give a HUGEEE thank you for @bernardsbendystraws , and I knew I needed a fic out before I go on holiday 😭

Matt and I’s nightly routine consists of: talking about our day which leads to making out then leads to sex. It was what Matt and I called our “bonding time” since he and I both worked we really didn’t get as much time together.

My hormones have been up and down all day today, one minute I’m just the happiest bubbly girl you could meet then the next I’m sobbing or angry at just a drop of a pen.

“Hey baby,” Matt says patting the spot on the bed next to him.

“Hey” I breathed out plopping down next to him.

“How was your day?” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder pulling my body closer to his bare chest.

“Eh, it was okay, just” I took a deep breath in “yeah it was good” my ear laid flat on his chest listening to the steady sound of his chest, this was genuinely always my favorite parts of the day, since I’ve met Matt a little over 2 years ago, every time I’m with him, the world goes quiet.

“You sure” he says in a sing song voice, grabbing my waist and tickling me slightly causing my head to lift up and resting my chin in his chest.

“Yes Matt I’m sure” I giggled softly.

He placed his hand on my cheek caressing my cheek with his thumb. He brings his face closer to mine pressing his lips against mine deepening the kiss by guiding me on top of his lap.

A wave of emotions erupted internally causing me to pull away. “Fuck” I whisper “you’re gonna hate me Matt” my voice trailed off.

His eyebrows furrowed together looking up at my in confusion, “baby you know I could never hate you” he laughed softly

I smiled awkwardly down at him “No, I mean like, um, I’m n-not in the mood for um sex tonight…” I bit my bottom lip out of nervousness.

He laughed softly guiding me off his lap “you’re good, honey” he pats my thigh and adjusts his pants to cover his very obvious boner and focuses his attention on the television.

I stared at him intensely for a moment before turning back to the TV, not paying attention but just staring as I gathered my flooded thoughts. Was he mad at me? Did he want sex? What if he’s mad I ain’t putting out? What if he’s gonna go to bed mad? No he wouldn’t do that, would he? If he can go to sleep mad at Chris he can go to bed mad at me, right?

My thoughts abruptly stopped when I felt tears start falling from my eyes down to my chest, shit, this is so embarrassing, why am I feeling like this? Surely goodness he’s not actually mad at me.

“Baby?” Matt said very concerned pulling my body into his chest. “Hey, what’s wrong sweetheart” he coos running his fingers through my hair as I began sobbing into his chest.

“A-are y-you m-ad?” I choke out between tears.

“Why would I be mad? You’ve done nothing for me to be mad at? Unless you did” he pulls me away in attempt to joke “wrong time I know” he chuckles running his fingers through my curtain bangs to move them away from my face

“I- I- told y-ou I wasn’t in- in- the mood- a-nd you pulled away from me.. w-were you disgusted with me?” I say softly looking down at my fingers playing with my bracelet on my wrist.

“Y/N, honey, why would I be disgusted with you? You weren’t in the mood, obviously I wasn’t gonna pressure you, I can live without sex, it’s not gonna kill me,” he cooed pressing his lips on my forehead before pulling my chip upward to look at him.

“I just thought- maybe you- maybe you didn’t want to look at me, it’s our nightly routine- I- ruined it..” I sniffled using Matt’s hoodie I was wearing to wipe my stuffed nose.

“Baby, you didn’t do anything wrong, I promise, me and you are so comfortable with each other, you know we’d tell each other when we’re mad, and sex is the LAST thing I’d ever be upset at you over, I promise,” he grabbed my hands and held them for a moment before kissing my hand.

“I don’t know why I’ve been an emotional wreck lately, I got mad at Kaitlyn today at work for dropping a pen because the sound annoyed me,” I softly laughed and sniffled my stuffy nose.

“Nothing else matters but you, and however your feeling, and as your boyfriend I am here to support you and listen to your feelings, just because you feel like you’re an emotional wreck doesn’t mean you are, you had an off day, we all have one of those, I promise you everything’s okay, and everything will be okay, and a good nights rest will always help you” he pulls me closer to him and wrapped his arms around me pulling me as close as I could possibly be to him.

“I love you” i whispered out.

“I’ll always love you” he spoke softly kissing the top of my head. “You wanna lay down now?”

“Mhm” I muttered out.

He shuffled down still wrapped in each-others embrace and kissing my head while whispering sweet nothings in my ear as I drifted off to sleep smiling from ear to ear.

A/N 2: AHHH LEMME KNOW HOW YALL LIKED THIS!! Again im so sorry for the inactivity on my fics, I haven’t had any motivation to write at all, this came to my head and I knew I had to write it! I love each and everyone of you thank you for being so very patient with me in this time!

Xoxo,

Gabs 💋

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Playboy ways

A/N: This is for the lovely anon who asked for this specific prompt - “Come on, Tony Stark, show me your playboy ways.” Hope you enjoy reading this one. Leave a heart, comment or reblog if you did.

Pairing: Tony Stark x Ex-wife! Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, and angst.

Word count: 2.1k

Tony Stark Masterlist

.

It all started off when he walked into your home with that slut of a woman. It was typical for him post your divorce, you’d scoffed at the bouncy blonde who giggled in the most irritating manner at everything Stark said.

The audacity of the man to traipse in with his latest fling angered you beyond anything. He was doing it to get that very reaction which he was getting at that moment.

You were hosting brunch at your new home, the one you had bought all on your own after you and Tony separated. It felt incredibly overwhelming to start over but you also realized how much you needed it. That didn’t mean you didn’t miss your ex-husband from time to time. You did.

He seemed to have moved on pretty okay by the looks of it. Then again, the man had a reputation before you started dating. It wouldn’t have been a fish out of water situation for him exactly.

The team had arrived on time, except for one. You knew he liked to make an entrance. And that infuriating bastard had the balls to show up with a plus one without checking with you first. Sure it had been a year and he was free to do whatever he wanted, but this was your house, and your rules applied.

Nat squeezed your hand reassuringly as you glared daggers at the pair, noticing the tight grip on your wine glass.

“Do you want me to go talk to him?” She asked, stepping in your line of vision.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll do it.” You huffed, finishing your wine before excusing yourself. If you could, you would drag both their asses out of your house.

He was busy chatting with Steve and Bucky with the blonde attached to his arm.

“Y/N! We haven’t spoken in forever. Do join us.” Tony piped, while the girl eyed you from top to bottom, sizing you up with a look of mild disdain.

“Glad you made it, Stark. And your friend.” You offered a fake smile, which nobody bought.

“Great house, Y/N.” Steve offered kindly, uncomfortable with the air of discomfort.

“Yeah, love what you’ve done to the place.” Bucky stepped in, giving your shoulder a friendly squeeze.

“Thank you guys. I’ll give you a tour later but first, I need a word with you, Tony.” You stared directly at him, causing him to clear his throat awkwardly and give you a firm nod.

Just as you were about to leave, you saw the girl tagging along with her arms wrapped around your ex-husband.

“Uh, I'd like to have a word with him in private. If you don’t mind.”

“But I’m his girlfriend.” She chirped, making you almost scoff but you stopped yourself from reacting.

“We used to be married.”

That seemed to have shut her up as her hands dropped to her sides. This was brand new information for her, you realized, rolling your eyes as you began making your way towards your bedroom upstairs.

Hearing the click of the door behind you, you felt Tony’s overbearing presence, turning around to face him while taking a deep breath to ground yourself.

“The house looks pretty good, Y/N. It screams you.” Tony smiled, looking around the space, as if analyzing what parts of your personality he could see.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing a date, Tony. A head’s up would’ve been appreciated.” Your tone was flat as you crossed your arms over your chest, staring at the man whose eyes immediately landed on yours as you spoke.

“I’m…sorry?”

You scoffed, shaking your head.

“Are you really? The invite was supposed to be just us. The team.”

He shrugged, stepping closer and letting his eyes wander down your body. You hated the fact that he still had the same effect on you as he did all those years ago. Your skin flushed as his eyes raked down your lips, your neck, the dress that teased just enough of your breasts without being too revealing.

“You have a wine stain on that dress, by the way. You’re gonna have to take it off.” He murmured, ignoring what you’d said completely.

He was right.

A stray drop of wine had made itself known right above your left breast, a purple-ish red mark prominent against the light coloured fabric.

You went into your en-suite, trying to wipe it off fruitlessly. Groaning in frustration, you pulled the dress over your head and threw it in the hamper, well aware of the fact that your ex-husband was probably getting a good show.

“Hey how about that red dress I got you?” He suggested, snooping around in your closet as if he owned the place.

“How about don’t snoop in my closet? Try respecting someone’s privacy for once.”

You gave him a nudge, wearing only your underwear, feeling his burning gaze on your back.

“Ouch.”

“How come there’s no picture of us?” Tony wondered out loud, pointing to the several frames you had hanging on the wall adjacent to the bed. There were many with your family, your cousins, the entire team, a few with the supersoldiers who had been your best friends.

“You really want me to hang a picture of us just to be reminded how much of a mess the whole thing was?” You said bitterly, seeing hurt flash across his face for a moment. It made your heart pang guiltily.

“Are you saying there’s not one fond memory you’d like to keep?”

His question made you pause, your heart twisted in pain as your mind flooded with a whole bunch of memories you had pushed down for the sake of your sanity.

“I—why are we doing this now? I came here to tell you that the girl stuck to your side is unwelcome in my house. So please take her and fuck off.”

Your voice wavered slightly as you spoke, finally picking out the same red dress Tony had mentioned earlier before storming in the bathroom.

Tony was quick to follow on your steps, stopping you from slamming the door on him. He grabbed your shoulders and backed you up against the vanity counter.

“What?”

“So angry, Y/N. I still find that so fucking hot.” He murmured, his face inches away from yours, his intoxicating scent was overwhelming to your senses.

“Typical Stark.” You rolled your eyes, trying to push him away but he didn’t budge. Instead, he chose to press you further against the marble counter, all of his body brushing yours, making his erection meet your heated core.

“I hate you.” You glared, wishing your body wouldn’t react the way it did to his infuriating man.

“Right back at ya.”

Tony grabbed your face and slanted his lips on yours, taking you by surprise at the intensity of the kiss.

He coaxed your mouth open and plunged his tongue inside, sucking onto yours with such force it bordered on pain and pleasure. Your fingers tugged on his hair sharply, making him grunt.

A heady mix of champagne, berries and that unmistakable hint of coffee that comprised all that was Tony took over your body like no time had passed. You moaned against his lips as his hips moved on their own accord, teasing you as you felt his clothed cock against your thin, panty-covered core that was growing wetter with every passing second.

His lips trailed down your neck, nipping at your warm skin all while his hands slid down your body, tracing every curve and dip like he remembered. Finally stopping between your legs, he teased his finger over your panties, finding them damp with your eagerness.

“I’m starting to believe you’ve missed me, Y/N.” he grinned, pulling them aside to expose you to him.

“I will slap that smug grin off your face, Stark.” You muttered, sounding out of breath just from the kissing.

“Do it. You know I love it when you’re rude.” He peeled the fabric off of you, letting it dangle around your ankles before slipping two fingers inside you without warning.

“You’re impossible.” You gasped at the intrusion, the stretch of his fingers achingly familiar.

“Mmhmm. Your impossible ex-husband, kiss my neck.”

Tony ordered urgently, his hips stuttering against your palm as you stroked him over his pants.

You obliged, but grazed your teeth against his skin to give him a little bite, making him cuss under his breath.

With wanton need, you unbuckled his belt and rid him of his pants, giving him a few slow pumps. You smirked as Tony let out a needy whine when you left his weeping cock.

“Missed me huh?”

You blinked innocently, the reaction only lasted a few seconds because Tony abruptly made you turn around and bent you over the counter. Your heart thudded against your ribcage, breath erratic as you waited for him to do something. You were getting impatient, your cheek pressed against the cold surface while his hands trailed down your spine, leaving goose pimples in their wake.

Growing antsier by the minute, you wiggled your hips back, hoping he’d get the hint. A sharp sting pinched your buttcheek as his palm landed on the soft flesh, making you cry out loud. One followed the other, making you clench around nothing as you bore the brunt of his punishment.

“I still own this body, don’t I?” He whispered, caressing your cheeks tenderly. You bit your bottom lip, thinking just how immediately your inner voice had answered ‘yes’ to that question.

“Answer me, sweetheart.”

Shaking your head, you decided to defy him some more. When you didn’t answer, he lined himself up against your entrance, gathering your slick on his length before slamming into you until he bottomed out.

“Liar.” His whisper traveled straight to your core, clamping around his length as he continued with his agonizing pace.

Living with Tony Stark had never been easy. The man lived a life that hardly anyone could comprehend. You tried. Unfortunately it got to a point where you had to choose, and you chose to step away and focus on your wellbeing. You were still to forgive him for what he put you through.

Still, the passion and love you felt for the man hadn’t fizzled out. Maybe now it had morphed into something else, and you certainly weren’t complaining. If anything, the man was an absolute freak in bed. And you knew things were cloudy and perhaps morally grey, yet you still hadn’t learnt to resist the man.

Letting out a frustrated groan, you looked over your shoulder as Tony refused to move.

“What? Are you afraid I’ll break? Come on Tony, show me your playboy ways.”

That seemed to flip a switch in him. Grabbing both your hands roughly, he held them behind your back, dragging his cock out of your snug walls and pushed back in, brutally. He began thrusting in and out of your heat with such intensity, the surface of the counter dug into your skin, bruising it.

“Is this what you wanted?” He panted, gripping your hair with the other hand, spearing into you as he spoke.

“I think it is what you wanted. You kissed me, remember?” You countered, mewling when he slapped your butt once again.

“Didn’t throw me out, did you?”

“I still can’t stand your stubborn ass.” You bit your lip hard enough to hurt as he continued pounding into you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Me neither, sweetheart.”

His cock hit all the right spots going in, making you see stars. You couldn’t do much other than take all that he was giving you, completely at his mercy. He felt your thighs twitch, knowing instantly you were close.

Leaving your hair momentarily, Tony reached around to rub your clit in circles to speed up your orgasm, never stopping his ministrations as you came hard around his length, screaming loud enough for people to hear.

He wasn’t far along, your walls clenched around him desperately, making him twitch inside and pull out in time to paint his cum on your lower back.

Still the gentleman, he cleaned you up and helped you dress, not speaking a word as reality set in.

“So…are you going to kick her out or should I?” Your voice had turned softer now, as you got dressed, fixing your hair and makeup as best as you could.

“You do it, please. I’d rather watch.”

[wandaromanoffroses]

Daddy

Taylor Swift x Reader

Warnings: 18+ content, toxic relationships, cheating, implied stalking (I do not support any of this behaviour this is purely fictional), G!P, top!Taylor, bottom!reader, daddy kink, angry sex, rough sex, degrading, lots of profanity, masturbation, cock sucking, bondage, gagging, choking, orgasm denial, cock riding, overstimulation

"What the fuck are you doing here?" You had looked up into the bathroom mirror to collide with her churning, stormy eyes that had a ferocious intensity flickering across them. Taylor. "I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again." You had been broken up for nearly half a year now and not on good terms. Yet here she was with the audacity to practically undress you with her eyes. 

"And I thought I just overheard you tell your boyfriend you were going home," she said, tilting her head to the side, "yet here you are, waiting for him to leave. You've been in here for how long now? Just coming up to an hour?" You felt your heart stop. Was she stalking you? Where had she found the nerve?

"Just fuck off Taylor," you said, storming towards the bathroom door. She smirked.

"You'll be back." You certainly was not. As soon as you had left the bathroom, you searched the crowd to see if your boyfriend was still here. God knows why you even came here in the first place, he had practically dragged you. He was always doing that, forcing you to do what he wanted on his terms. If something didn't change soon, you were going to break up with him. That's why you had ended up in the bathroom waiting for him to leave so you could enjoy the rest of your evening alone.

Your jaw dropped. Surely, that couldn't be him? You felt your fists clench. Oh it was him. Kissing a girl in the middle of the dance floor while groping her ass. Fuck him. You went back into the bathroom, shooting Taylor daggers. She had known hadn't she? It only took one look at her face to confirm your suspicions. 

"Told you."

"Shut up," you said, "just tell me why you're here." She pushed off the counter, taking a step towards you.

"Don't talk to me like that," she muttered under her breath. She took another step forward and you found yourself backing away from her. 

"Or what?" Your back collided with the wall as she continued to walk towards you. She closed the space between you, your bodies practically touching, her breath tickling your cheek.

"Because I fucking told you to," Taylor said into your ear. Who did she think she was? She was your ex-girlfriend, no one else. You despised her more than anyone else. "Just admit it you miss me."

"No," you snapped. Yes. As embarrassing as it was to admit, you couldn't stop thinking about her. Her absence had been driving you crazy. But you had broken up for a good reason and you couldn't go back to revisit this grave. It would involve months of the same scorching pain, the tears and the loneliness that haunted you wherever you went. It would kill you. 

She was so close to you now, trapping you against the wall so you couldn't move. She was wearing tight shorts, a tank top and an unbuttoned flannel shirt, her eyes darkly outlined and her hair in a messy bun. It's almost as if she'd made sure she was going to see you tonight. But you weren't going to give into like she thought you would. 

"You need to sit the fuck down Taylor, you don't own me." You straightened your figure and looked her dead in the eye, trying to intimidate her. She tutted.

"Silly girl." She pushed her body against yours, your body slamming flat against the wall. Her mouth hovered over your earlobe and you decided to focus on a spot opposite you, trying to ignore the growing heat running over your skin. "Tell me to step back Y/n go on." There was silence. She was right. You should tell her to leave. This was stupidity. 

"Taylor, I fucking hate you," you said. She ran her hand down your sides, making you shiver. 

"Since when did you become such a brat?" she said, "someone should remind you of what manners are. Your mouth is filthy, darling." She had no right to treat you like this. Or call you by her pet names.

"I hate you," you repeated. She pulled away from your ear so her lips were lingering over yours. 

"I know you do sweetheart." She gripped the front of your shirt and your lips collided, drowning all your numbness in adrenaline, the blood of her lipstick bleeding into your mouth. There was no going back now, all the consequences to come were completely your fault. You had done this. You had let her kiss you.

Her kisses grew more desperate and she let her greed posses her, trying to fulfil her desire through your lips. Like a fool, you kissed her back, drowning in the sensations you had dreamt about every night since you had split up. But there was no love to be found here, just pure lust. And like a fire, the more it devoured, the hungrier it became. You gasped against her lips as you felt her growing bulge press against your lower stomach. 

"Come home with me," she said, "but break up with that dickhead first. I'll meet you at the front, you know my car." She winked at you before walking away. Right, your boyfriend. You had forgotten about him. You went back into the club and found him with a different girl, his tongue down her throat. Gross. You tapped his shoulder and he pulled away, shock flooding his expression as soon as his eyes fell onto you.

"I can explain..."

"There's no need," you said, "we're over." You didn't even give him time to answer but it's not like he actually cared. This was probably the excuse both of you had been looking for. Taylor's car was easy to spot and as you approached it, she gestured for you to get in the back.

"I can't have you distracting me baby," she lied. More like she just didn't want anyone seeing you with her. Because you were just her play-thing now, nothing more. The drive to her house gave you time to think and it fully dawned on you what you were doing. This was insanity, you knew this. So why had you let her wrap you around her finger? As soon as you stepped inside her house, you knew what you were going to do next.

"This is what is going to happen," you said, "I'm going to shower and then you're taking me home. I'm not doing this with you Taylor." 

"Tsk tsk. I'm the one who gives commands here," she said, "you're going to shower and then you're going to come into my room with the pretty lingerie set that's waiting for you in the bathroom." So she had planned this out then. You were just the pawn in the game she had set up tonight. You had to make the next move.

You didn't know what she was going to do while you were in the shower but you convinced yourself not to care. She could do what she wanted, it didn't bother you. You slammed the bathroom door, yanking open the shower and letting the water spit down onto you with aggression. It was searing against your skin, the wrath in your chest spiraling out of control. There was no way this night could get anymore terrible. You had found your boyfriend cheating on you and now your ex-girlfriend was trying to get you into her bed. 

You leant against the wall, remembering the feeling of her lips against yours in that club bathroom. You felt a surge of butterflies in your stomach, recalling her hard cock against your abdomen. This was so messed up but it was turning you on. Of course it was turning you on, it was Taylor. And she knew it. She loved it. 

The water running over your skin made you think of her touch and you were met with a pool of warmth between your legs as your right hand reached down. You tried to imagine it was her circling your clit but after minutes of chasing your high, your body refused to reach it. You whined in frustration. You were just going to have to try and fix this at home. 

You stepped out of the shower and dried yourself off, cursing under your breath as you did. Your eye caught onto the pearl-white, lacey lingerie next to the sink. The area above the nipple was see-through, perfect for giving someone a show yet letting their imagination wander a little. You put it on, wrapping a towel around you so the lingerie was hidden. You thundered across the hallway, bursting into Taylor's bedroom.

"Why are you doing this?" you yelled, "you're going to hurt me and you know it..." you stopped, as soon as your eyes fell onto her. She had turned on the bedside tables so they emitted a vibrant, amber glow that made her abs and defined muscles glisten. She was only wearing a bra and boxers, her hair loose around her shoulders. She gave you a mocking pout.

"Awh, so angry baby. I know a perfect way to fix that. Knees." Your breath had been stolen away and your thoughts were blurred, your hesitation giving her time to push you onto the floor. Taylor gathered fistfuls of your hair in her hands, pulling you towards her. "I can't do anything without your permission Y/n." You bit your lip. This was humiliating for you, that's why she was doing it. She wanted to hear it from your mouth that she'd won. I nodded. She pulled on your hair harshly. "Manners you bitch."

"Yes Taylor," you said. She smirked, letting you pull her boxers down and her cock dripping with pre-cum slapped against your cheek as it sprung free. 

"You won't be calling me that tonight. What did you call that dickhead in bed? When you opened your legs to him like the slut you are, what was his name?" You could feel yourself get even wetter, still gripping onto the towel around your body for dear life. "It was daddy wasn't it?" Your silence was a good enough answer for her. "How pathetic yet so predictable. That's your new name for me. Say it." You blinked up at her. 

"Yes daddy." 

"Good," she husked, "you've been a naughty girl tonight so I'm going to use you for my pleasure first. If you suck my cock like a good whore, maybe I'll let you cum tonight." You were way too far into this now, there was no backing out. But you honestly couldn't tell if you were glad about it or not. You couldn't remember when the last time you had an orgasm was, you always had to fake it with your now ex-boyfriend and other one night stands. You didn't think Taylor realised that she'd ruined you completely, your body only wanting hers. She slapped her tip against your mouth. "Open." You did so without hesitation and she leant down to spit into your mouth before thrusting straight in without any warning. 

You chocked as her dick hit the back of your throat, her big size filling your mouth completely but she continued at a lethal pace. She groaned as she forced your head up and down her cock, matching it with the rhythm of her hips. 

"Oh fuck babe, your mouth feels so good wrapped around daddy's cock." Her words fueled your whimpers, the vibrations it sent against her dick making her moan. Your mascara started to run, her speed only increasing at the sight of your tears. "Awh, my bitch is crying? Well get used to it. You're just my toy now, only for daddy's pleasure." Her balls slapped against your cheeks and you reached up to caress them but she slapped your hands away. "Don't you dare. Stay on all fours where you belong slut."

Her movements were becoming sloppy and she was gasping, her head thrown back as her orgasm started to build. Taylor's grip on your hair loosened as she lost herself to oblivion, a few final thrusts sending her soaring over the edge. "Oh angel, I'm gonna cum... fuck!" You felt her warm liquid gush into your mouth and you tried to swallow it all but there was too much, some of it inevitably rushing down your chin. As soon as you went to wipe it when she had pulled out, she grabbed hold of your wrist, shooting you a challenging look. You should've known better than to disrupt the art she had created on your face: the smudged make up, the tear streaks and her cum smeared all around your mouth. 

She yanked you onto your feet before stepping back, letting her eyes soak in every part of your body. "Get rid of the towel." Even though she'd seen you naked many times before, you trembled as you dropped the towel to the ground, your vulnerable state making you uneasy. But the adrenaline pumping through your veins soon overshadowed your nerves, your head too dizzy with fury to think rationally. Taylor had seriously gone out of her way to ruin your evening just so she could fuck you instead of jacking herself of or finding someone else. Her behaviour was quite frankly disgusting. 

"Happy?" you said in a mocking tone, gesturing to the lingerie set she had picked out for you. Before you could even process what was happening, her nails were digging into your shoulders and you were pushed flat onto the bed, her body hovering over yours. 

"Shut up brat," she said, her hand sliding around your neck, "don't use that tone with daddy. Seems like fucking your throat didn't teach you a good enough lesson." Taylor straddled your lap, tightening her grip around your throat, smirking as you started chocking at the loss of air. You could feel her cock starting to harden against your stomach already, the sight of you being powerless being beneath her making it throb. But your reaction to being suffocated wasn't any better, you could practically feel the bed sheets beneath you getting soaked. 

As soon as you started coughing, she pulled her hand away and went over to her drawers. You knew exactly where she was going, the place where she kept all her sex toys. She came back to you with two silk ropes in her hand, watching you with amusement as you assumed the position you knew she wanted you in. "Such a good girl, doing exactly what daddy wants." You moved to the centre of the bed and placed your hands next to the bedposts and she wasted no time in tying you there. She scanned your body, tilting her head to the side in thought. "Should I tie your legs to the bedposts too?"

"Yes," you said, knowing there was no way you would be able to keep your legs open for her tonight. But the swiftness of your answer and the way she could read you like a book she'd written made her catch on immediately. You saw her eyes glint with malice.

"Hmm, I think not," she said. Oh, you were in for a long night. She straddled your lap again and started kissing your neck, her ravenous lips searching your skin for nothing but her own pleasure. You could feel her precum dribble onto your stomach after every whimper that escaped your mouth. As Taylor moved further down your body, she started to grind against you, both of your moans echoing through the room. 

"Please," you said. You knew she was just using you but the heat between your legs was unbearable. Even if she wouldn't let you cum, you needed her inside of you. 

"If you don't keep quiet, I'll fucking gag you. Got it?" You reluctantly gave a nod. You had to play your cards right if you were going to get something from her. What you wanted. But you could tell by her desperate thrusting and ragged breaths that she wanted exactly the same as you. She either had to choose between giving into you or holding back from her own desires. You gasped as she ran two fingers through your folds, the sound earning you a slap on your cunt. "What the fuck did I just tell you? God, you're so wet and desperate for daddy, you can't even keep quiet when I touch your pussy."

"Taylor, please..."

"I warned you," she snapped, her muscular hands ripping apart your panties before she forced them into your mouth, "that's what you get for being a whore." She continued to run her fingers through your folds as your moans were silenced by the panties in your mouth. Your eyes fell to the back of your head when she replaced her fingers with her cock, gathering up your wetness before teasing your entrance. 

You were so wet she slipped inside of you almost immediately, pain shooting through your body. You had forgotten just how big she was, her dick filling you up to the brim and stretching you out. "Oh fuck, you're so tight." More tears started to fall down your cheeks, your body not used to the stretch. Taylor's eyes glimmered. "Awh poor baby, you haven't had a big cock inside of you for so long, have you? It's ok, daddy's going to fuck you properly slut," she cooed. 

She started to move, her hips meeting with yours as she lowered herself onto your body, gasping into your ear. Taylor held up your thigh so she could sink into you better, the pain coursing through your body fading into pure pleasure as she increased her pace. Her other hand slipped around your throat, only loosening her grip when you were about to lose a dangerous amount of air. The rough thrusting of her hips increased and the only sounds that could be heard were the wetness of your cunt, her small moans and skin slapping against skin. 

Your legs began to tremble, her dick hitting every sweet spot inside of you and it became increasingly difficult to keep your legs open. As you moved to press your thighs together, Taylor noticed and pushed herself up, her hands finding your legs and pushing them back open, her nails undoubtedly leaving marks in your skin. She bit down on her lip as she watched your breasts bounce with every thrust, the tightness of your bra making your hard nipples ache.

Sweat was running down her forehead, her hair a tangled mess, her muscles flexing each time she moved inside you. She was the perfect manifestation of the devil: beautiful, seductive and reckless. You could feel the knot in your stomach tighten and you knew it wouldn't be long before you reached your high. As it built, your walls began to clench around Taylor's dick and her moans became porn worthy, her legs visibly shaking. "Don't even think about cumming slut, this is all for me," she said. 

You fists became balls as your walls tightened even more, trying to prepare you for an orgasm and Taylor's cock twitched inside you, driving you crazy. It only took one more thrust before you felt her spill herself inside you, some of her cum escaping your hole and running down your thighs. You tried to scream through your gag, your cunt aching for release as she stayed inside you to prolong her orgasm, your legs quivering in her strong grip. She finally pulled out of you, leaving you to clench around nothing, utterly used and sensitive. She pulled out the panties from your mouth and discarded it onto the floor, finally letting you speak.

"Daddy, please," you begged as she reached up to free you from the bedposts, her tits pressing into your face. She hooked her fingers under the straps of your bra and pulled her towards you, her lips hovering over yours.

"Hmm, I don't know. Have you been good enough for daddy?" You nodded your head. 

"Yes, I've been so good for daddy. Please let me cum." She pushed you away from her before lying down on the bed, starting to stroke her cock. 

"Fine slut, if you really want to cum you can do it yourself," Taylor said, "ride me." You didn't wait even a second, climbing on top of her before lining up your entrance with her dick. She groaned as you sank onto her, sliding yourself up and down her length.

"Fuck, like that," she said, throwing her back, "don't stop." As you rode Taylor, you unclasped her bra and threw your own onto the floor, rolling her nipples between your fingers. You were already sensitive and sore from your previous endeavors so it didn't take long for the knot in your stomach to tighten again. Once you let go, your orgasm came crushing down onto you. You screamed her name as you were whirled away to cloud nine, your senses fuzzy with bliss. The teasing had been torture but it had given more fuel for the fire ripping through your veins, your orgasm longer and better than any you had experienced in a while. 

As you came down from your high, you went to lift yourself off Taylor but she grabbed hold of your hips, slamming you straight back down onto her dick. "We're done when daddy says so," she snapped. She took control this time, ramming her hips into yours as you whimpered, your body on the verge of overstimulation. 

"Daddy, I can't..."

"Yes you can," she said, "take it." Knowing she wasn't going to give in to your pleads, you decided to cooperate and began to bounce up and down on her dick with the rhythm of her hips, making her gasp. "Fuck, you're a good girl. Daddy missed this pussy so much." To your shock, you felt another orgasm approaching in record time as she continued to pound into you. How was this even possible?

"Taylor I-I'm, gonna..."

"Wait," she said, too caught up in the moment to punish you for using her name. You were so overwhelmed with pleasure, your mind blank as you got closer and closer to overstimulation. Your walls clenched around her tightly and you practically let out a scream as her cock throbbed inside you, knowing you wouldn't be able to hold your orgasm back for much longer. She finally nodded. "Cum with me baby." Liquid squirted everywhere as you both let go, your thighs coated with cum and your skin soaked with sweat. 

Taylor slipped out of you and you collapsed onto the bed beside her, gasping for breath. Her fingers started tracing shapes on your shoulder, her chest heaving and you didn't dare look into her eyes, recognising the softness of her touch.

"Y/n..." Her tone was different now, serious and quiet. You shook your head. 

"Don't," you said, "don't you dare." She couldn't just treat you like an object and then immediately proceed to switch up the mood. You dragged your body off the bed, barely keeping yourself up, stepping away from her. "I'm going to clean up and leave."

"No, stay," she mumbled as you began to pick up your clothes, your lungs burning for air and your muscles aching. "Y/n, please." You looked up to see there were tears in her eyes. But instead of sympathy, all you felt was anger. Did she seriously plan to win you over by setting you up to end up in her bed, fuck you senseless and then beg for your forgiveness? 

You felt your heart shatter, your own tears pricking at your eyes. You had tried over and over again to see past her red flags, the way she'd manipulate you into giving her what she wanted, her refusal to acknowledge her faults. Yet time and time again, she did shit like this. Taylor was never going to change, she'd always be the same. No amount of love would alter the reality; she was a toxic girlfriend. And you needed to leave her for good, you had to move on.

"I told you I never wanted to see you again," you said. She stumbled out of bed, collapsing onto her knees and tightening her arms around your waist. 

"I'm sorry," I said, "fuck, I messed this up, didn't I?" You shoved her off you but as you tried to walk away, she grabbed a hold of your wrist. "Please don't go. I know I don't deserve it but give me another chance. I'll be better, I promise." You felt your heart pounding in your chest, your tears hot enough to leave scars on your cheeks. She'd said this before, feeding your delusions, fabricating a world that you had lost yourself in. It was a sickening cycle that opened the same wound over and over again and if it happened again, you would inevitably bleed out. "I love you Y/n."

"I love you too," I said. When you pulled out of her grip this time, she didn't resist, her body falling to the floor as her tears began to fall thick and fast. You could hear her sobs rip through the empty house as you walked down the path, each one stabbing into your chest and reminding you that it was all over. This was goodbye. 

[garfunklefield]

Magic Dance!

18+ viewer discretion is advised

WWE!Fem!Reader/WWE!Yuki Tsukumo Warnings: locker room sex, tribbing/scissoring, humiliation kink, dirty talk, degradation, wet and messy, squirting, stone top!Yuki, pillow princess!reader Word count: 1297 DESC: Your on-stage rivalry is hot and heavy behind the scenes!

This is inspired by me watching too many Rhea Ripley edits..

I'm getting to every ask slowly!

The world knew you both hated each other. It was apparent from the planned tweets from your manager, calling Mama Yuki weak and flat-chested. Or how she’d yell on stage how she was going to rip into your flesh, throwing you around with care for your safety. You were both trained, so it didn’t hurt. But the allusion is what mattered. You were both actors, playing up your hatred for the stage. Millions were paying hundreds to see you throw her against the stage and slam your hips into her body, holding her down for three seconds. You both were so good at wrestling that your managers would tell you which matches to throw to make the other look good. You didn’t mind, though.

But, you both had a dirty little secret. Sneaking smiles and waves from the backstage. Blowing kisses and winking. Palming her flesh intimately to make her mind fog in front of thousands. Yuki grabbed your ass before throwing you into the ground, in a way you’d think about for days. 

Today wasn’t different, but the air was hotter. You were both in the locker room downstairs, with the stadium above. Getting ready, applying your intense makeup, and adjusting your scandalously skimpy outfits. Her hair was long and bleached blonde, slicked back into a low ponytail. Her theme was always dark and gothic, with black lipstick and intense eye makeup. Her outfits included straps and chains, cock rings, anything inherently sexual and fetish-like. Today she wore a dog collar around her neck, with a large circle dangling from the center. Her top dipped down to reveal her perky breasts, then shorts that left nothing to the imagination. 

You leaned into the girly aspect, to downplay your muscles and strength. Two space buns reinforced with hairspray and pink extensions. You wore unitard-like shorts that exposed your fat ass and thighs, with a shorter pale pink skirt. Large boots and a purple cropped t-shirt that came just above your breasts, nipples covered with pink heart pasties. Glitter all over your face and lips, pink lashes mixed into your lash extensions. Everyone called you Pinkie, rarely ever using your first name with it.

Two opposites, that’s what they loved about you both. No matter how submissive you looked or how dominant Yuki looked, you both had an equal fighting stance. Everyone loved how you’d both beat each other's asses in a sexually suggestive way, spitting insults at each other in between throws. No one knew who’d win, each fight being a competitive mystery. 

Yuki was seated on a bench, with a compact in her manicured hand. She was applying black liquid lipstick with an applicator, accentuating the corners of her mouth. Your lips were glittery and pink, glossy in the stage lights. She closed the compact and looked at you, as you adjusted your T-shirt.“Hey,” she cooed, scooting over to you on the bench. You glanced back at her and smiled, raising an eyebrow as she continued, “I like your outfit today.” 

“I like yours too. Especially that,” your hand trailed to her neck, tugging on the ring in the center, “I’m gonna have fun with it today.” Your voice could send anyone into a trace. Smooth and sultry, it almost distracted your girlfriend each time she fought you on the stage. Mainly when you’d growl those pathetic little insults her way. She had so many desires and thoughts running through her head and seeing you this way was getting her so hot and bothered. Yuki put her hand over yours and pulled you closer, closing the distance with your lips. Your pink lips molded against her black ones, sucking her bottom lip and licking along the center. She moaned softly, in that perfect way that was telling you this wouldn’t be just a simple make-out session. 

“No one’s here, baby,” she purred in between messy kisses, not caring if your makeup smudged. You still had an hour to fix it, right? You could get a little messy for your love. She wrapped two arms around your waist, before moving them to touch along the sides of your unitard bottoms. Your breath hitched in your throat as her lips pulled away and her eyes flitted to your pretty little clothed cunt. Two fingers hooked the crotch part of your clothing and pulled it to the side. Of course, you didn’t wear any underwear. “What a little slut,” she mumbled. You were already wet, it was obvious when her other hand spread apart your folds and your slick stuck to her fingertips. 

A whine escaped your lips, before you pressed them together, “Yuki… honey,” you tilted your head back, “Put your pussy on mine.. Please?”

She laughed, breathlessly, “You want me to fuck you with my pussy? You want your little cunt fucked so good?” Yuki stood and stripped from her shorts, no underwear either. You couldn’t suppress the noise that fell from your plump lips the moment you saw her climb on top of your spread legs, facing her back to you. She mushed her cunt into yours and rolled her hips side to side, “Yea-a-ah, dirty girl, dirty fucking girl. You like that, you slut?” She looked back with a sultry grin, eyes half-lidded. She knew how to turn you on in seconds, “You’re so greedy. You wanted to fuck me so bad, admit it.” 

You breathed out shakily, with an embarrassed blush creeping on your cheeks, “M-m.. maybe,” you gasped when she pressed her vulva onto yours, rocking her hips back and forth teasingly, “Yes,” you whimpered, “Yeah, I do baby. So bad.” A pout pulled at your lips as she rocked back and forth then ground side to side. Just to tease you with her squishy, warm pussy. You wanted to cum then and there, your back arching into every wave of pleasure she pushed your way. She was getting harder, more intense, and it made your cute little noises louder.

“Yeah, you like that, whore? Whine for me, yeah, you wanna cum? Beg for it. Mm- shit, beg for it,” Yuki’s voice filled you like honey as she fucked into your slit with her engorged clit, making you feel so much pleasure with just a few thrusts. She rut into you like she was in heat, humping harder than she had the last few times you’d had sex. You could hear your honeypot squelch at every thrust, to the point where you couldn’t hear anything else. You were begging, sure, but you were unaware of what you were saying exactly. It just felt so good. 

Warm waves of hedonistic pleasure coursed through your lower half until you couldn’t help it. This warmth was familiar as it took over and made you release all over her, squirting like a good little slut onto her pussy. She kept grinding, and you knew it wasn’t for her pleasure. Yuki had told you how tribbing didn’t feel like much for her, but she loved it because you got off. She loved to please you more than she liked to get off. You enjoyed it, liking to see her happy from making you squirt every single time. You gasped and moaned as you continued to cum, sticky and wet juices coming out of your tight hole right into her pussy. She grinned back at you, watching your faces as she continued. Your lipgloss was smudged and your head was dazed, so you didn’t realize when she got off of you, leaving your legs spread. You didn’t even realize you had squirted on most of your shorts, and a little bit of your skirt too. 

Yuki pressed a kiss to your forehead, leaving a small black mark, and smirked into your ear, “I’m gonna win this match, slut.” 

[the-californicationist]

He Paints a Picture (Price/Reader)

WARNING: PERIOD BLOOD KINK

You have been warned!

“Wait,” Price narrowed his eyes at you, “why not? Is everything alright?”

You hated to break the news to him. Ever since you’d had to be off your birth control, your periods had returned with a vengeance. You’d always had rough monthlies, but it almost seemed like your body was getting its revenge. The elevator scene from The Shining came to mind as you considered confessing why you’d been dodging Price’s advances. 

Your ex had been so disgusted with you when it was “that week,” that you’d been conditioned to think you had to hide it. Unfortunately for you, that week was also when you were the most sensitive, craving a delicious pounding to relieve the cramps and satisfy your sexual cravings. 

You didn’t think John would be so cruel, but even just imagining a negative reaction from him truly upset you, so you’d evaded his attempts to fondle you for three whole days. He’d dip a finger into the side of your panties, and you’d scoot away, playing dumb. You’d given him so many blowjobs this week that he started to get suspicious. Now, he was asking you flat out why you were denying him his favorite midnight snack: your pussy. 

“We just…can’t,” you shrugged, hoping he would drop it. 

Fat chance. His brow furrowed, growing concerned,

“Love, did I do something wrong? I thought you were enjoying the back rub. Did I hurt you?”

He was so large that, when he pouted, it looked like you were comforting an disgruntled wildebeest in your bedroom. His big, sad eyes and his frowning, bearded face broke your damn heart. You bit the bullet, realizing you couldn’t go one more minute with him thinking this was somehow his fault,

“It’s that week.”

“What week, love? Did I miss an anniversary? I know I’ve been away last week. Maybe I accidentally had the wrong calendar…” he was frantically flipping through his smart watch, confused and distressed. 

“John,” you grabbed his forearm, shaking your head, “my time of the month, you know?”

You could see the realization wash over him, softening his features before returning immediately to confusion,

“And?”

“What do you mean by that?” You didn’t understand what he was asking. 

“So, the painters are in. What about it?” He looked so lost. You decided to be very upfront, the clarity burning in your throat,

“You don’t care that I’m bleeding?”

Still, no reaction. He shrugged, shaking his head,

“Why would I? I mean, if you don’t feel up to it, I’m happy to fetch the hot water bottle and neapolitan out of the fridge,” he grabbed you around your shoulders, “but a bit of blood isn’t going to scare me off, love. In fact, I bet you’re wet and ready for me right now. Hot.”

He kissed your neck, sucking into your skin, licking your throat, and pulling at the flimsy straps of your tank top. He exposed your breasts, and with how high your hormones were, they felt swollen and hypersensitive. As he rubbed them, kissing your nipples and laving his tongue over them, you moaned from the strong tingles he created in your nerves. 

“Are you sure?” You panted, still nervous about his perception. 

“Mm,” he tugged a nipple into his mouth before looking up at you, darkness shrouding his gaze, “very sure. Lay down. I’ll grab a towel.”

He yanked your top off, throwing your clothes on the floor and dipped into the bathroom to grab a towel. He came back with a big beach towel that he’d had for years. Big palm trees swayed against a perfect blue background. You hoped you wouldn’t ruin it. 

Price signaled for you to raise your hips, and he put the cloth underneath you, protecting the bed. Roughly, he stripped you of your bottoms, making you naked when he was still fully clothed. Then, to your horror, he assumed his usual position with his head between his legs, licking his chops like a hungry wolf. 

“John!”

Mid-lick, he looked up at you, frozen in place,

“What?”

You didn’t have a chance to say anything. Keeping his eyes on you, he continued toward his destination, licking and sucking on your folds, ignoring your worried throat noises. 

“You can’t! It’s…it’s gross, right?”

He mumbled, his mouth full of pussy between phrases,

“No, sweet girl, mmph, ‘s good. Gets my blood up. Cock’s gonna be achin’ in a moment.”

You tried to relax, even getting close to coming since you were so sensitive, but as he licked you, your shame became too much. You thought he was just appeasing you,

“John, please. You don’t have to pretend…”

He was on you in a flash. His hand slipped around your neck, crushing your jawbone, forcing you to look at him in the face, snarling at you like a hound,

“Are you really trying to keep this pussy from me? I don’t care if you bleed every day for the rest of your goddamn life. This is my cunt, and I’m starving for it. You know your safe word. Use it!” 

His sudden aggression stunned you. Price waited, patiently, knowing you needed time to think. He was already covered in red smears, his mouth and beard caked in your blood and sparkling with your slick.  

You looked up at him, eyes worried and full of past pains,

“Are you sure?” 

The captain smiled maliciously, 

“Does this feel sure to you?”

Your heart almost stopped when you felt him slap his cock on your thigh, letting you feel the heaviness of his impossibly hard erection. Your face must have worn your shock all over it because he chuckled darkly, obviously feeling vindicated. 

“That’s what I thought, love. Now, can I get back to my mission, or do you need to stop?”

You stared at him for a while, searching for any deception. Finding none, you shook your head, giving him free reign to proceed as he saw fit. 

Price was such a grizzly when he needed to be, roaring to stand his ground, but you knew that, with just one word from you, he’d release you, forfeiting his claim at your whim. You couldn’t believe that he wasn’t repulsed. If anything, he was turned on. 

He ate you like a man possessed, sucking at you and covering his cheeks and lips and nose in red, sticky blood, not giving a shit about the mess. Your thighs were covered. You could feel every bit of effort he put into making you come, and he seemed to be celebrating each and every moment you moaned or jolted your hips up towards his waiting mouth. 

Then, he reached his hand up toward your hole, sinking two of his fingers into you as deep as they would go, massaging your walls in slow circles as he pushed inside. You groaned in a deep, guttural voice, feeling like your whole body was quivering for his touch. Watching as he pulled his hand out to thrust into you again, you saw the dark burgundy fluid that had fallen from your womb. 

Price paid it no mind. He was too busy humping his cock into his other hand to care, readying himself for your shared pleasure. He began fucking you on his hand in earnest, his knuckles hitting that space between, sending shocks of pleasure through your body, the wet, milking sounds echoing in the room with both of your ragged moans. 

“Oh, fuck, love,” he grunted, “you’re damn well flooded.”

He licked his lips, smearing your blood with his tongue. Then, he bent to suck your clit again, groaning as he did, making it vibrate with his low voice. Even when he made you come from his lurid efforts, he didn’t let up. If anything, it made him wilder to see your redness staining his hand. 

Finally, he pulled away from you, and he used his dripping hand to stain his cockhead, lubing himself up for his entry. There was little resistance to him as he pushed forward into you. That was very abnormal for your coupling. He was heavy and thick, and it usually took quite a bit of grinding to reach your warm middle. Not tonight. 

Tonight, his head sank all the way to your womb, pressing against the soft, sensitive flesh like a wet kiss, and he was beside himself,

“Fuuuuuckin’ hell…” he growled, “That’s good. So. Damn. Wet.”

Each word was a struggle, punctuated by his rough thrusts. As he fucked you, you felt your blood and come coating the skin between you, making a mess of your thighs and ass cheeks, dripping down onto the towel and onto his balls and legs. His face was still covered in blood, as were his hands. He was rubbing his hand on his chest, enjoying the slippery feeling over his nipple, taking turns rubbing your breasts as well. Your skin had red streaks all over it, painted like a Pollock. 

He didn’t last long, and just when he was ready to come, he pulled his cock out to explode all over your belly, rubbing his dick on you and smearing your fluids across your skin. 

The aftermath looked like a war zone. He didn’t help you to the shower until he had repeated his sanguine worship twice again, each time more feral, almost animalistic. It was as if it made him hungrier, watching your blood dry sticky and dark on your body. When you finally walked to the bathroom with him, he made you stand with him in front of the mirror, dipping his finger into you like an ink well, painting more lines and shapes across his ruined face and body, eating it, marking himself with your blood.

[shotmrmiller]

WHAT YOU WROTE WAS AMAZING PLS IM SOBBING I LOVE IT SO MUCH GIVING U SMOOCHES

but okay so you sleep by yourself that night he comes home. you know he goes out with the boys — mostly on the weekends but sometimes the weekdays too — so when he comes home just a bit later than usual it doesn’t ring any alarm bells even if you pout a little. and you damn near run into his arms and snuggle into his neck only to smell — not him. something, someone else has touched what you thought was yours.

you pull back from the hug to look him over further. clothes mussed up, lips looking like they were bitten, a little flushed. a little like when you two —

you swallow thickly, throat lining with glass and tears as you suck in a breath. you find that you can’t actually form words for a moment, worried that only bile and venom would come out.

“did you fuck someone?”

he looks panicked — guilty — and you don’t even need him to say it for you to know what he’s done.

“who?” you ask, voice barely there, only able to be heard over the icy silence that followed your question. he replies one of the other pets. you nod, more to yourself than anything, trying not to scream your heart out at him.

but your heart cracks the moment he opens his mouth.

for the first time since you began living with him, you slept alone.

(you did scream at him. tripping over your words and panicked breaths and streams of tears. how could he do this. he didn’t call, didn’t ask. did he even think to? did he even care?)

you’re exhausted. too tired crying like you’ve never cried before, feeling like the weight of betrayal is crushing you as you sleep.

you almost fear that it’ll kill you.

the next day — friday — he knocks on your door before he goes to work. he tells you to have a good day. you don’t acknowledge him.

but you miss him. you absolutely fucking hate him but you miss him so much, it hurts. that particular ache is almost worse than the one of betrayal.

almost.

by mid day, you figure you should give him a chance to talk. he obviously feels guilty, and you love him. despite everything, you love him.

so you clean yourself up and try to look a little pretty for him, wearing a cute slip lingerie dress and bows on your ears.

you clean up around the flat a little. you fold his clothes — he’s been grumbling about it lately and always say he’d do it later. so you do it for him, folded with precision and left to sit on the edge of the bed.

you’re still upset and anxious and everything in between. the nerves make it hard to feel anything and you feel too sick to eat. but you nibble on some bread, knowing he wouldn’t want you to neglect yourself. you love him.

when it starts getting later, you decide to make him his favorite cookies. it’s been awhile since you’ve made him anything, and you’ve always enjoyed making these for him. the sweetest kisses tend to follow.

the night rolls around to the point where you know he’s off work. it’ll take him a little to get home, so you settle on the couch and wait.

but as the hours tick by, later and later, the worry grows and gnaws and threatens to split you from the inside out.

maybe he’s out with the boys again? you’d think, given the circumstances, he’d want to come home to you. but old habits die hard, you suppose.

but it gets later. and later.

later than he ever would be out even when things were perfect between you two.

it shatters you. where was he? what was he doing? was he —

the thought makes you sick.

he comes home after midnight. after you wretched in the toilet and cried yourself to sleep — again.

didn’t he love you too?

he sees the cookies put away in a container and a pit grows in his stomach, a void ready to eat his heart. whatever is left of it, anyways.

there’s a note sitting on the top.

“sleep well.”

the writing was shaky and it looks like a few tears spilled onto the words as you wrote them.

your usual xoxo at the bottom was crossed out.

you beat me to it:)

you bloody beat me to it. Fool me once.

your eyes are blank as if the life had all but faded from them, and in a way, they had.

Sitting him down, you calmly, (calmly, because there is nothing in you left other than acceptance, and youll be damned before you ever beg a man to want you) say, "I'll be leaving in the morning."

He tries to say something but nothing he could ever say will fix what he chose to break. "No, the fact that i'm even bothering to tell you is a courtesy you don't deserve. You've made your bed, now continue to lie in it with whoever you keep seeing after work." Smoothly, you get up and walk towards your room.

There is no rancor in your heart for whoever it is he's been with. After all, the one in the relationship with you was him.

You stuff a towel under the door, covering the gap, and clutch your collar to your chest, letting the last tears youll ever cry over him track down your cheeks. He doesn't deserve to see nor hear your pain.

You call an uber while he's at work and disappear.

When he comes back home, the place is dark and empty. He sits at the dinner table alone, with two fingers of whiskey in front of him, and in his hand is the last note you left him, stiff with dried tears and an xoxo at the very bottom.

What makes him crumble is when he sees the glint of your personalized collar on his nightstand, and it finally hits him that you're gone. For good.

listening to eurielle while writing epic sad is just chefs kiss.

[delicatebarness]

the Red Rooms | prologue

Summary: In the gritty underground, the Red Rooms is a notorious establishment, in which, you must navigate a perilous hierarchy and prove your worth amidst a world of seduction and power.

Warning: Prostitution/Sex Work. Sexual Harassment/Assault. Violence/Threats. Power Dynamics/Control. Emotional Distress.

Word Count: 1579

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A/N: A lot of you asked for this one so here it is. Also, this is a part of 'Prologue Season' so if you do want more, you gotta let me know :D - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

The Red Rooms: I have tagged everyone from the OG post about this fic, but please let me know if you'd like to be added/removed - @scott-loki-barnes | @bo0mccc | @zuri-767-666 | @buggy14 | @curlycow01 | @waywardhunter95 | @saranghaey | @scoonsalicious | @thezombieprostitute | @crazyunsexycool | @startcarvingdarling | @jae0515

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @mrsnikstan | @lanabuckybarnes

Pulsing like a heartbeat, the city’s neon glow cast long shadows across the grime-slicked streets of the underground district. Among the towering spires of steel and glass, you stood at the doorstep of the more notorious establishment in the district: The Red Rooms. Ran by Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, the sprawling brothel was a labyrinthine for those to seek pleasure and escape. For you, it was neither. You were here out of desperation. 

Inside, an unspoken hierarchy governs the world, symbolized by the height of a girl’s heel. The higher the heel, the more power and influence the girl wields. And, at the pinnacle of this ladder stood Natasha Romanoff. Clawing her way to the top, she proved her worth through years of cunning strength, and an unwavering will. Now, Steve and Bucky entrusted her with an immense responsibility– overseer of the girls, she would recruit, assign, and train the girls in the art of seduction. 

Natasha knew every girl under her command, she understood their strengths and weaknesses, and with sharp eyes and that knowledge, she maintained order and efficiency. So when you, a lost soul, bedraggled and tired, appeared on the doorstep of The Red Rooms, Natasha’s skepticism was palpable. 

You were different from the other girls, too innocent, too fragile– Natasha could tell in your pleading eyes. 

“Please,” you begged, your voice small and trembling. “I need a chance. I’ll do anything.” 

Narrowing her eyes, Natasha’s lips curled, a mix of amusement and disbelief. “Anything, you say?” she mused, tapping her manicured fingers against the back of her clipboard. “Alright,” she finally said, her voice firm. “But, you need to prove yourself or you’re out. And, you’ll start from the bottom, in flats.” 

“Thank you,” you beamed up at her, your gratitude boundless. “I won’t let you down.” 

Her tone left no room for failure as Natasha replied. “See that you don’t.” 

Swelling within you, your gratitude was overshadowed quickly by the reality of your situation. The world you were thrown into was as foreign as it was ruthless. Eyes mixed with curiosity and disdain followed you, towering heels clicked against the grime, and sticky floors as they passed. You were a lamb among wolves, out of place.

The menial tasks were assigned to you at first– scrubbing the floors, fetching drinks, and running errands. “Here,” Natasha said, handing you a mop and bucket, “the VIP lounge needs cleaning. Make it quick; clients hate waiting.” 

Nodding, you got straight to work, knowing that each task you completed was one step closer to proving yourself. Slowly, Natasha began to see glimpses of your strength as she watched you closely, her sharp eyes never missing anything. 

~

The girls in The Red Rooms rarely saw their bosses, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes– preferring to remain in the shadows, the men oversaw their empire from their office. They were only known to descend when they were bored and in need of entertainment themselves. 

One night, as the red hue of the lights flickered and the floor buzzed the murmurs of secrets and transactions, the men stood observing the floor from their office, taking in every detail. That was when you caught Steve’s gaze. 

“Why the fuck is there a lost puppy on the floor?” He muttered to Bucky, annoyance and curiosity laced in his tone. Bucky stood with an inscrutable expression as his gaze followed Steve’s, landing on you. “What is Romanoff thinking?” 

The men continued to watch you, for a moment longer, Steve’s eyes narrowing as he assessed your movements. You could sense the intensity of their stares, the weight of Steve’s scrutiny, even from the floor below, and it made you nervous. A heat rose within you, flushing your cheeks. You tried to focus on your tasks and ignore them.

Later, Steve called Natasha up to the office. “Romanoff, what’s the deal with the new girl?” he demanded in a low but firm voice. “She’s not even in heels. We have a reputation to uphold.” 

Meeting his gaze, Natasha never flinched. “She’s different, Rogers. She needs a little time… but she has spirit and is an eager learner.” 

Steve’s eyes darkened as they bore into hers, he searched for any sign of doubt. “She better be worth it. We can’t afford any liabilities.” 

“She will be,” Natasha assured him, her tone unwavering. “Just trust me on this.” 

With a grunt, Steve dismissed Natasha. He was not entirely convinced, yet he knew better than to question her judgment. After all, she had earned her position through intelligent decisions. Meanwhile, Bucky’s intrigue grew. He stayed stood at the window, watching you more closely. An instinct coursed through him– he had to ensure you were safe from the predatory patrons. 

As the nights went on, the pressure mounted. Now and then, you’d catch a glimpse of Bucky observing from above, his presence felt like a warning but yet, a strange comfort. On this particular night, Natasha handed you a tray of drinks. 

“Serve them,” she instructed, nodding and pushing you by the small of your back toward a table of upstaters in the VIP lounge. “And remember; confidence.” 

Taking a deep breath, you approached the table. Keeping your hands steady despite the growing flutter in your stomach, you served them quickly and efficiently. The clients barely looked up at you, engrossed in their conversation, except for one. A taller man, with a gleam in his eyes, took an interest in you. His gaze lingered as you bent to place the drinks on the table. Suddenly, you felt his hand start to slide up the back of your leg. 

“Well, aren’t you a sweet little thing,” he murmured, his fingers tracing patterns along your inner thigh. “How much for you?” 

Fear and discomfort flooded your senses, causing you to freeze in the moment. Remember Natasha’s advice, you tried to remain composed. “Confidence,” her voice echoed in your mind. Straightening up, you forced a polite smile as you began moving away from his reach. 

His grip tightened against your skin before you could escape. “Don’t be shy, baby,” he cooed, a smirk played on his lips. “I don’t bite… hard.” 

“I-I’m not available t-tonight,” you stuttered, your voice betraying you. The fear gnawed at you. “An-another time, p-perhaps?” You tried to retreat again, but he wasn’t having it. His hand only tightened, and before you knew it, he pulled you closer.

“Come on,” he said, his smirk growing as he dragged you onto his lap. “Let’s have a little fun.”

Your heart began to race as you struggled against his hold, panic surging through you. “Please, I–” 

Just then, a shadow detached itself from the darkness. Emerging with a swift and decisive stride, Bucky’s expression was a mask of controlled fury. His presence commanded the attention in an instant. 

“Let her go,” he was cold, authoritative. The man flinched under the carried weight of Bucky’s tone. With an intensity, promising trouble, his eyes locked onto the man’s.

The man’s confidence wavered, faltering his grip as he met Bucky’s gaze. “Hey, I was just–”

“Not interested,” Bucky cut him off, no argument brooked in his tone. Reaching out, he firmly but calmly pulled you away from the man’s lap. “If you have any more questions, you can take them up with me.” 

Realizing he was outmatched, the man grumbled and slunk back, he was deflated. Guiding you away from the table, Bucky’s touch was gentle. He led you out of the immediate fray, to a quieter corner. 

“Are you alright, little pup?” Bucky softly asked, his voice laced with concern.

You nodded, trying to steady your breathing. Once you looked up at him, your eyes were wide and tear-filled, and your lower lip trembled slightly. “T-thank you, M-Mr Barnes, I didn’t t-think–”

Bucky’s expression softened, and for a moment there was a rare flicker of empathy in his eyes. “No need to thank me,” he interrupted, his gaze steady and reassuring. “Just doing my job.” 

Your voice was barely above a whisper, shaking your head. “I just… I don’t want to get in trouble.” 

“You’re not in trouble,” Bucky said firmly, his hand reaching to cup your cheek, his thumb reassuringly wiping a stray tear away. “You’re doing your best, and that’s enough. If anyone gives you trouble, you come straight to me. Is that understood, pup?”

Biting your lip to hold back more tears, you nodded again. “I understand, Mr Barnes.” 

“Good girl,” he replied gently, his protective gaze lingered on you a moment longer before he took a step back. His hand slipped away from your cheek as he straightened up, but his eyes never left yours. “Now, get back out there, there are drinks to be served.” 

“Y-yes, sir,” you whispered, wiping away the last of your tears, your resolve strengthening. 

With a final nod, Bucky turned on his heel and disappeared back into the shadows. Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and stepped back onto the floor. The crowd murmured, swelling around you. 

As you moved through the floor, you couldn’t help but feel the eyes of the patrons on you, you held your head high this time. Balancing your tray of drinks with newfound confidence and a determination to push forward. 

You caught sight of Natasha, giving you a slight nod of approval before her eyes flickered briefly toward the shadows, where Bucky stood watching. And, with each tray you served, your fear and hesitation diminished. 

---

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[macfrog]

moneyball cowboy like me chapter four

part iv of dbf!joel is yours!!! check out my masterlist to find the first three chapters for all your dbf needs. as always, thank you all so much for all the love n support. you guys make writing this series so much fun!! 🤍 i lowkey don't know whether or not i hate this chapter but i had to write it once the idea was in my head 🤷‍♀️ enJOY

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: when joel double-books you and your dad, you decide to teach him a lesson

warnings: 18+ minors dni!!! oral (f receiving), praise kink, lotsa teasing, lil bit of bratty reader, lil bit of dom!joel, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), consumption of alcohol, cursing

word count: 4.2k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

You raise your eyebrows at Joel innocently as you push the popsicle deep into your mouth, sucking as far as the back of your throat will allow, before dragging it back out with a pop. A thread of sweet, fruit-flavored saliva strings between the tip of the popsicle and your bottom lip as you pull it away. You run your tongue slowly over your lips and smile at him. He looks pissed. He can’t take his eyes off of you, or your swollen lips, but he looks ready to snap. “I found snacks, by the way,” you lull.

How slutty is too slutty? When you’re going over to your dad’s best friend’s to…Well, you’re not quite sure what yet. You’ve picked out a short blue summer dress, strappy back, with black lace panties underneath. If you’re looking, and the light is right, you can see them through the blue fabric.

Joel would, you know that much. That’s all you really care about.

You’re putting earrings on in the mirror when your dad knocks and edges into your room.

“Where you headed, kiddo?”

“Just out for a drink with Sam. Said we’d have a catch-up at the barbecue, so.”

He narrows his eyes.

“It’s not a date.”

“Hey,” he lifts his hands, “I didn’t say anything. When will you be home?”

“Dunno. Why?”

“I’ll be at Joel’s, so remember your key. Just in case.”

Excuse me? Did he just say –

“Joel’s?”

He nods, sitting down on your bed behind you. You stare at him in the mirror.

“What’s happening at Joel’s?”

“Rangers game. He’s having Bill and Hank and me.”

Just then, your phone buzzes. You subtly lean over and catch a glimpse of the screen before it fades to black again.

Joel: Call me when you’re alone. ASAP

You roll your eyes and let out a low sigh.

“Can you give me a sec, Dad? I think I wanna change my outfit.”

“Sure. I’ll give you a holler when I’m leavin’.”

He shuts your door behind him and you wait until you hear his footsteps recede to call Joel.

“Hey, baby, listen, I’m gonna have to raincheck.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Something’s come up.”

“Right.” Your tone is muted and flat. On purpose. Joel notices.

“So…we’ll figure somethin’ out, right? You workin’ much this week?”

You scoff. “I dunno, depends on when the next Rangers game is, doesn’t it?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then he takes a deep breath. “Kid, I’m so sorry–”

“Here I am,” you throw your arms up and march around your room, though you know he can’t see you, “getting ready, putting together the sluttiest-within-reason outfit I own, and all the while you’re gearing up to host my dad and your buddies.”

“…You’re wearing somethin’ slutty?”

“Not anymore,” you huff as you pull the dress off. “I’m changin’ into sweatpants.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’d still be into you in the sweatpants.”

“Shut up.”

He laughs. “I will have them out and gone as soon as the game’s done, and then you can come over, okay? Sound good?”

“And you’ll make it up to me?”

“I intend to.”

“’kay. Just know you’re gonna pay for this.”

He says through a chuckle, “See you later, baby.”

You hang up.

You rake through your drawers for something a little more comfortable to wear, settling for a floral skirt and off-shoulder top. Equal parts casual and suggestive. Perfect for payback.

Joel knows he’s gonna pay. He just doesn’t know when.

“Hey, hon, that’s me headin!” your dad calls up the stairs.

“Wait up!” you reply, grabbing your shoes and hopping out of your room. “I’m comin’.”

“You want a ride to Frank’s?”

“No, I’m coming to Joel’s.”

He watches you struggle down the stairs with one shoe on, brows furrowed. “You wanna…come watch the game? What about Sam?”

“He just cancelled.”

Your dad looks tickled. “Cheatin’ on ya, is he?”

You stand straight, finally having pulled your shoe on, and punch his arm. “I’ll be in the car.”

“Alright…” he mumbles, following you out.

----------

Joel’s face when he opens the door is a picture you never want to forget.

“Hey– I – did not know you were comin’.” He ushers you both in.

“Neither did I,” your dad replies, “she decided last minute. Blew off some date with that boy from Frank’s for this.”

“It was not a…” Your sentence ends with a sigh as you follow him inside, looking up at Joel as you pass. He knows damn well you didn’t even have plans with Sam, never mind a date.

“Big Rangers fan?” Joel calls from behind as the three of you head for the living room.

“Yes,” you reply, trying to sound as matter-of-fact as possible.

“Big enough to schedule a date during the game?”

“I’m sure I’m not the first to do that,” you hiss through your teeth, and he gives you an amused grin.

Bill and Hank haven’t arrived yet. Your dad sits in his usual recliner seat and sighs. You and Joel share the couch, where he turns on you to interrogate you more.

“So, what’s with the change of heart?”

“I, uh…I didn’t know it was this game.”

“And what game’s that?”

“The…Uh…You know. Rangers.” You shrug.

“Name three players.”

“That’s sexist,” you reply, pointing a finger at him.

Your dad cackles, rocking back and forth in the chair. “Beers, Joel?”

“In the fridge,” Joel answers, eyes still on you.

Your dad, who’d be oblivious to a hurricane outside if it weren’t for the warnings on the news, waltzes past the pair of you, locked in a death stare.

“You’re here to cause tr–”

“Trouble, yeah.” You flash him an innocent smile. “You caused it first.”

The doorbell rings and Joel doesn’t move, eyes still dancing all over your body; your shoulders, your hips, your thighs peeking through the slit in your skirt.

Your dad calls through from the kitchen, offering to get it, and you hear the rumble of Hank and Bill’s voices.

When Joel’s eyes meander back up to meet yours, a dangerous look in them, he leans in close. You tilt your jaw to allow him access, but his lips never touch you.

Breath hot on your skin, his Southern drawl whispers, “I started it, and I know how to finish it, pretty girl.”

Then he stands and heads to the hallway to meet his guests. You clamp your legs together.

Bill roars your name when he sees you. “I didn’t fuckin’ know you liked the Rangers!”

You stand and nervously accept his arms over your shoulders, squeezing you so tight it takes your breath away. Joel stifles a laugh in the doorway.

“I just wanted to be around for all the fun,” you almost gasp when he releases you.

Hank is older and smaller in frame, and he gives your hand a little squeeze as he passes by to the couch. “We’re up for it tonight, kiddo,” he smiles sweetly, “it’ll be a good’un.”

“Bill, beer? Hank?”

“Bourbon for me, Joel. Brought my own bottle.” He hands it over.

As your dad squeezes past to join his friends, Joel clicks his fingers at you and jerks his head toward the kitchen. Your jaw falls open with mock offense.

“Dick,” you whisper as you pass.

“Needed help from my waitress with the drinks,” Joel murmurs with a smirk, the two of you heading through.

He opens the fridge and reaches up to grab three beers – Buds, you notice – from the top shelf. His shirt lifts a sliver from the waistband of his jeans, exposing the tan skin beneath.

Your head cocks as you stare at him, gripping onto the worktop, probably more to stop yourself from approaching him than to look casual. But when Joel turns back around, he reads you like an open book.

“Quit starin’,” he mutters, nudging you to shift out of his way.

You don’t budge, so Joel shifts further up the counter. When you slide up to follow him, pinning yourself between him and the marble surface, he scoffs.

“Stop that,” he whispers.

“Stop what? Thought you knew how to finish this?”

“Alright,” he hums, arms reaching around yours to crack the beers open in front of you. Your back is flush against his chest.

“Then,” he mumbles, chin hooked over your shoulder, “we take this,” he reaches for a whiskey glass and Hank’s bottle of Yellow Rose, sliding them over in front of you with one hand. He takes your hands in his, using you like a puppet to pour Hank’s drink.

You can’t help but giggle as his stubble grazes your cheek.

When you turn your head to look at him over your shoulder, you feel an unmistakable swell behind your ass. Joel’s breath falters for a brief second.

You want more. To be frank, you’d take him here and now if it weren’t for his buddies in the next room. But this isn’t about what you want right now. Not yet.

You push off the counter gently, your ass touching Joel’s crotch, grinding into him. His jaw tightens, teeth lock together, and he emits a low growl. He doesn’t move; just stands with his arms around you, hands gripping the worktop, holding you in place as your hips rut on his hardening bulge.

The TV is switched on and you hear a familiar commentator’s voice.

“Joel!” your dad yells from the living room.

“Had your fun?” he grumbles in your ear.

You shake your head. “Not yet.”

He moves his arms then, letting you go, taking his and Bill’s beers and Hank’s bourbon, and backs away. His eyebrows are cocked, and you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face.

You watch him until he disappears into the living room, and snap out of your daze. I’m not here to be wooed by him.

I’m here to make him finish what he started.

When you enter the living room, beer in hand, all four men are literally on the edge of their seats, as far forward as they can get without actually sliding off of Joel’s couch.

You notice a space between Joel and Hank, and slip between the coffee table and Hank’s legs. He moves back to allow you the space to squeeze by and slot in on Joel’s left.

As you fall down into your seat, all eyes glued on the TV screen, your right hand comes up to balance yourself – Who are you kidding? – on Joel’s thigh. The inside of Joel’s thigh.

His head jerks down to stare at your fingers, locked around his leg. Checking nobody’s looking, you move it slightly upward. Closer to his –

“What are you doin’?” he whispers through gritted teeth, low enough that the other men don’t hear.

“Watchin’ the game,” you reply, innocent and sweeter than sugar.

His free hand takes hold of yours and slides it off of his thigh without looking, eyes always on the room around him.

You breathe a laugh as he readjusts in his seat, sitting up awkwardly straight and keeping his legs a safe distance away, parallel to yours.

You’re just getting started.

----------

Let’s be frank about it: baseball is fucking boring.

Well, let’s rephrase. It’s not that you don’t like watching it; you’re sure that, in more appropriate circumstances – relaxing on a lazy Sunday, or at an actual game, where the atmosphere buzzes with excitement – you could enjoy it.

But right now, you’re sat with your dad’s buddies, an ache between your legs that you can’t fix, and the only person who can fix it, is refusing to even look at you.

Given the situation at hand, you can’t really fault him for that. But you’re still a little mad.

When they roar at the screen for what feels like the thousandth time, you decide to take yourself for a quiet jaunt to the kitchen.

“You got snacks?” you ask Joel.

“Cupboard above the microwave,” he replies, gaze locked on the game.

You saunter out of the living room, finishing the dregs of your beer, and place the bottle in Joel’s sink.

Reaching up to search his cupboards, you find one bag of Cheetos and another bag of pretzels. You toss them both on the counter, and they land a little bit away from Hank’s bottle of bourbon.

You pick it up, reading the label. You’ve never really been much of a whiskey drinker, but you’re bored, and it’s here, so you may as well.

You pour a little into the bottom of a glass and lift it to your lips, giving it a good sniff before you take a sip. Your face screws up immediately, swallowing just to get the liquid off of your tongue, feeling it burn its way down your throat.

“You okay in there, kiddo?” your dad calls, hearing your coughing, and you splutter a “Yep!” in response.

Would it taste better with ice, you think? Maybe if you could get used to it, it wouldn’t be that bad. You amble over to Joel’s refrigerator and haul the freezer door open, in search of ice cubes, but finding something even better.

You lift the box, sliding one of them out and unwrapping it. When you knock the freezer door closed with your hip, you strut through to the living room and stand behind the couch in the doorway.

No one notices you sneak in; they’re all waving their fists and yelling curses at the TV.

“What’s goin’ on?”

Four heads turn to give you an update on the game, and three hastily turn back when the crowd suddenly begins cheering.

One head, though, whips straight back to you. Stood in his living room doorway. Sucking on a popsicle.

You raise your eyebrows at Joel innocently as you push the popsicle deep into your mouth, sucking as far as the back of your throat will allow, before dragging it back out with a pop. A thread of sweet, fruit-flavored saliva strings between the tip of the popsicle and your bottom lip as you pull it away. You run your tongue slowly over your lips and smile at him.

He looks pissed. He can’t take his eyes off of you, or your swollen lips, but he looks ready to snap.

“I found snacks, by the way,” you lull.

“Yeah? Good.” He twists back around to face the television, a hand running across his jaw. He shuffles in his seat again, just as awkward as he is uncomfortable.

You let out a quiet giggle and meander gleefully back through to the kitchen.

Not long after, you’re at Joel’s counter eating some of his pretzels when he and your dad stalk through, followed by Bill and Hank.

“Game over?”

“No, kid,” Bill chuckles, “seventh-inning stretch.” He yanks open Joel’s refrigerator and takes three more beers, passing them around.

He perches on a bar stool next to you, bringing a hand down on your back – loving, of course, but in typical Bill nature, kinda painful.

“We ain’t doin’ too bad,” Hank muses as he pours another whiskey, and your dad nods silently.

Your eyes flit between the men, now deep in conversation about the game, then land on Joel, leaning against the doorframe sipping on a beer, his eyes on you.

You lean over the counter, popping your ass out, and make him watch as you open your mouth, extend your tongue, and place a salty pretzel on it, closing your lips around your finger and licking it clean.

His expression never changes. Just watches like you want him to, beer bottle clutched in his fist.

“I’ll take these.” Bill’s hand swings across and scoops up the Cheetos, and before you know it, they’re making their way back out of the kitchen.

Joel’s eyes bore into yours as your dad, Bill, and Hank filter out past him. He’s mad, you can tell that much. He paces over to you.

“Knock. It. Off.” His voice is a low growl.

You shake your head. “No can do.”

He sighs, gripping your wrist. Before you can take a breath, he’s dragging you out of the kitchen and upstairs, where he makes a right and almost shoves you down the dim hallway.

“The hell is your game?” he hisses when you’re out of earshot of the others.

“Having fun, what are you doing?”

“I’m trying to keep everybody from seeing the fun you’re having. Touchin’ and rubbin’, lookin’ at me like that in front of everyone. The damn popsicle.”

“You liked that, huh?”

“You gettin’ off on this?”

“Mhm.” You nod a little too desperately.

“Well, quit it. When we’re alone, fine, do whatever you want. Not when your dad’s watchin’.”

“My dad ain’t seeing none of it and you know it.”

He runs a hand through his hair and brings it down over his eyes. Seeing him this stressed and undone over you, over what you’re doing to him, sends pulses of electricity through your body.

“What the hell am I gonna do with you, girl?”

You shrug. “Maybe you should punish me.”

“Maybe I fuckin’ should,” he spits, turning away from you.

As if just hearing what you said, he turns on his heel, staring you down with an expression you read to mean one thing: he’s fucking considering it.

“Maybe I fuckin’ should…” he whispers again.

You try to keep your cool façade up, but the way he’s looking at you, eyes dark, jaw clenched, towering over you and cornering you against the wall, has you so wet and needy that you can’t pretend anymore.

“Joel…”

Whatever you were about to say is cut short by the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs. Joel reacts before you do, reaching behind you to pull a door open and backing you into his linen closet, quietly following you in and closing the door again.

There are just inches between you both, pressed chest to chest in the tiny confines of the closet. Joel’s head tilts and listens for Hank’s figure, stumbling back and forth across the landing in pursuit of the bathroom.

“Where’d you say it was, Bill?” he calls downstairs.

“First door on the right, dumbass!” Bill’s voice shouts back up.

Joel’s fist suddenly wraps around the handle, his eyes glued to the wall above your head, listening intently. He’s making sure Hank doesn’t try the wrong door.

Which, of course, he inevitably does.

It rattles some, but Joel’s grip stops the handle from turning. He glares up, shaking his head, mouthing profanities. First door, you fuckin’ moron. You stifle a laugh behind both hands.

“Hank!” your dad’s voice shouts from downstairs. “Not that one, idiot, the one next to it!”

Finally, the door stops trembling.

“I see it now, sure enough,” Hank mumbles, and you both listen to him spill into the bathroom next door.

You let out the breath you’ve been holding in your chest. Joel lifts his hand off of the door handle and places it around your jaw.

“You’re gonna be real quiet, alright?”

He’s speaking so low and so quiet that your eyes track his lips to read the words he’s saying.

“Gonna do what I say and keep that pretty little mouth shut.”

You squirm under his touch, hands gripping his shoulders, desperate for him to kiss you.

Instead, he holds your jaw tight and forces you to look at him.

“Say it.”

“I’ll be quiet,” you breathe, “I’ll be good. Just fucking touch me.”

He runs his tongue along your bottom lip then, asking it to part, and when it does, pulls you roughly against him, free hand dropping to your ass. His tongue battles strong against yours, bittersweet with the taste of beer.

You feel yourself intoxicated with the taste of him, the smell of him, the feeling as his hips purposefully rut into yours. You want him to mark you again, give you something to hide, something to make half-assed excuses over when people spot it. You want him to make you his.

You moan into his mouth, hands finding his hair, and he grips you tighter.

“Shut – the fuck – up,” he snaps between kisses.

He pauses only to listen to Hank tumble out of the bathroom and back downstairs, then gives you a peck on the lips with a cocky smile.

Suddenly he’s at your neck, lips kissing, tongue licking, teeth grazing, and then he’s making his way down, over your breasts, breath hot and unsteady on your heaving chest.

You can hear the booming laughter of the men downstairs. Their shouts and calls at the television. It all echoes up the stairs, floating in under the slit of light from the hallway outside.

Joel’s on his knees now, placing delicate kisses up your thighs. His hands pull your weight onto his shoulders, fingers taking hold of the hem of your skirt and hiking it up. When he reaches your underwear, he looks up, a dark look in his eyes. A question.

“Quiet,” you mutter, nodding, and buck your hips toward him in attempt to hurry him the fuck up.

He smirks at your neediness and kisses you over the lacey fabric of your panties. You bite your lip to keep a moan from escaping your lips. Joel’s eyebrows raise, waiting for you to make a sound. When you don’t, he pulls the fabric back.

He positions himself perfectly at your sex, pulling your thighs a little wider apart over his shoulders. Your head falls against the wall behind you, but your eyes stay locked on him, watching every little move he makes.

He starts by placing his lips against your clit gently, and your eyes roll to the back of your head. He’s soft, warm, but with a hunger for more.

He sucks there for a minute, your hips rolling against his mouth, vision becoming clouded with stars in the darkness of the closet. Your hands tease his hair, gripping and pulling harder the more pressure he applies to your core, the closer he drags you to your high.

When he pulls away, a tiny gasp passes your lips. You expect him to get mad, punish you for making noise, but he just grins to himself and dives back in.

His tongue licks along your folds and you have to bite down on your sleeve this time. It’s no use, your moan breaks free and fills the tiny space, but Joel’s groaning too as he tastes you for the second time in three days.

“So – fucking – good for me, darlin’,” he whispers when he comes up for air, then gets right back to it.

His fingers grip your thighs so tight it almost hurts, keeping you steady. His head drops a little lower, and you feel his breath across your lips.

“Joel,” you moan, and he looks up. “Need your tongue.”

When he drags it between your folds and dips ever so slightly inside you, your back arches, shoulders digging into the wall. You’re doing everything not to scream, his tongue lapping you up, nose rubbing against your clit, but you’re nearing closer and closer to your orgasm.

“Keep – going – fuck, Joel,” you breathe, eyes screwed shut, hands tangling in his hair, pulling his head closer against you.

“Shh,” he’s cooing now against your cunt, pulling a hand under your thigh to insert two fingers as his tongue massages your clit. “I know, I know,” he says, lifting his chin. “Poor baby just wanted some attention, huh?”

You smile, eyes closing in bliss as his tongue reattaches to your core. You whimper his name as your walls start to close around him.

Just then, a roar lets out from the living room, and the coil snaps. You cry out, moaning Joel’s name as you cum on his tongue, your sweet noises drowned out by the thunderous cheers from downstairs.

You swear you feel Joel smirk against your wetness as you unravel for him.

You’re panting, hands still clinging onto his hair for stability, as he pulls away from your cunt and leans back. He gently rolls your thighs off of his shoulders and helps you to stand, before his tall figure straightens up in front of you.

You instinctively grab his shirt and pull his lips against yours, wanting to taste yourself on his tongue. Joel’s breath hitches when your teeth graze his bottom lip and you pull away, releasing it.

“I fucking love this,” you mutter, and he laughs.

“Yeah? I just missed a whole inning ‘cause of you.”

“Worth it.” You smile as he opens the door, checking the coast is clear before letting you out first.

“Where the hell you two been?” your dad asks as you both rejoin the group.

“Missed one hell of a play, you pair.” Hank raises his glass toward the television.

You sit a little distance from each other on the couch, your needs fully satisfied, and Joel clears his throat.

“Was showin’ her my new six-string.”

You notice him out of the corner of your eye licking his lips. Fucker.

Your dad shakes his head with a laugh, spinning the recliner back to face the screen. “First baseball, now guitars. What has gotten into you, lately, hon?”

“Hey, Joel?” Bill sits forward, leaning over the coffee table to Joel, who lifts his head in reply. “You mind showin’ me that six-string after the game?”

You choke on your beer and Hank’s hand comes up to clap you on the back. “You alright, girl?”

“Maybe, maybe,” Joel replies, trying to ignore you, coughing and spluttering at his side.

With a few more good whacks from Hank and a clean sip of your drink, you recover just enough to join the conversation.

“It’s a really neat guitar, Bill.”

----------

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[thegnomelord]

for the prompt game, if it's still open, maybe 8 with Ghost? maybe with hatefucking and at the point you're both at it's basically a routine but all of the nasty words and cruel moments are really just because you're both brutes that have trouble expressing emotions properly, and all you really want is just some kind of deeper connection with each other, but with your shitty use of words, arguing and eventual growling into into his mouth as you shove him down onto the nearest flat surface is the only way for you to get that. and perhaapps at one point, one of you, reader or ghost doesn't matter, let's something softer and more caring slip through the angry facade? ofc if you already have one for 8 or you just don't like this idea you can im really sorry and you can ignore me, no pressure and I love all your writing :')) <3

Okay anon holy shit this is GOOD! You should think of writing yourself like what I'm seeing in this prompt is good shit :D Play the game HERE

Prompt: "If this is a joke it isn't funny."

CW: NSFW, Sub Bot Ghost, Dom Top MReader, hatefucking, degradation, confessions, soft sex,

It always starts the same; Simon's roughly patting your shoulder and telling you to not cock it up, your equally harsh response for him to keep up with you, rough voices hiding the unsaid 'be careful's. Insults like 'dumbass', 'moron', 'dead weight' crackling over the radio when the other's pinned down by fire, the electric static and suppression fire muting the worry in your voice, the hint of care in Simon's tone.

And it always ends the same; harsh stares across the room while you debrief Price, casualty numbers turning into critiques of the other— you should have noticed the terrorist, Simon should have kept the sniper in mind — prickling barbs and venomed words turning into shoves and punches, leaving bruises on each other's skin instead of the kisses you want to lay down.

Soap loves comparing you to dogs, and that's what you are— animals; talking would kill you both so you end up expressing yourselves through teeth and claws. There's blood on your tongue as you push Simon onto the bed and he pulls you down with his teeth digging into your bottom lip, rough fingers pulling away clothes only to push into bruised flesh, drawing hisses and growls.

'I want you' Ghost wants to say, instead "Stop being a pussy," comes out, blunt nails dragging deep scratches down your back. 'I'm happy you're alive' "You fuck as bad as you fight." Simon tastes blood as he kisses you, both of you struggling to pin the other to the bed.

"Shut up." 'I missed you' you snarl and pin him on his front, trapping his massive arms behind his back so he has no support, his head pushed into the pillows and arse high in the air, your thigh parting his legs. You huff a laugh when you see his cock already hard, hanging uselessly between his thighs. "Slag, good for nothing but taking it up the ass." 'I care for you'.

'You're important to me' Simon swallows the blood and spit in his mouth, jerking in a half-hearted attempt to free himself. "'least ah have a use," he growls, chest stuttering for breath as you bear down even more weight on him. You push your fingers into his mouth to wet them and Simon bites down, loving you with his teeth first, the sting of pain binding you together.

"Yeah, as a cocksleeve." 'I'm sorry' You don't give him a warning, just pull your fingers from his mouth and push into his ass. It's only enough lube to not tear him, but the stretch hurts, burns, and Simon both loves and hates how this roughness makes his cock hard and heart flutter.

"That-hah-" Ghost pants into the sheets, eyes prickling with tears with how he tries to keep them open, body forced to submit to you as your fingers stretch him, fuck him, tenderly brushing against his prostate before pushing to the last knuckle, pain and pleasure burning up his spine. "-that's not true."

Pulling out your fingers you give him a sharp slap on his ass, "Sure is," You use what saliva you have on your hand to wet your cock, swirling the drool in your mouth before you spitting right on his hole for extra wetness, your sudden action making his spasming hole clench and relax reflexively. "Look at how you're clenching." You mount him, pushing your weight down on him until he can barely breathe, cock bobbing against his hole. "Acting like such a bitch!"

You ram in him to put emphasis on the word and Simon bites his tongue so hard it bleeds, resisting letting any noises out. He's never vocal in bed, no matter how hard you fuck him, how many bruises your hips leave on his ass or how many hickeys you lay on his throat, how often your balls slap against his, he never utters more than a low groan.

But he wants to; good god Simon wants to tell you how good you feel, how every brush of your cockhead against his prostate has him seeing stars, how much he loves feeling you pound into him, who bodies bound into one by such a primal connection. . . but he can't, his mouth clamps up when he tries and even if he manages to spit something out it just comes out as venom, earning him firm slaps on his ass and your weight bearing further down on him.

You spill into him, pinning him so hard beneath your weight he can barely breathe, only remembering to rub him into an orgasm when your balls are good and empty, cock plugging his hole full of your cum. Your hands are harsh, his panting ringing in your ears until his cock twitches and he cums onto the sheets beneath him, whole body shaking to hold his moans in.

You collapse onto him, just enough sense in your head to roll you two onto your sides so he isn't laying in his spend or suffocating beneath you. Uncomfortable silence rings in your ears as you pant, bile churning in your stomach; This is your usual, soon enough Simon will tell you to shove off, he'll get up, take a piss, and leave.

And this song and dance will repeat until one of you dies.

Even without sight you feel Simon open his mouth, vestiges of harsh words burning on his tongue. Maybe it's post-orgasmic bliss that makes you speak, "Hey," Your hands tighten around his middle, "Stay the night." You curl around him like a lover; something you know you're not.

He shuts his mouth so quickly you hear the 'click' of his teeth, whole body freezing because this is as new for him as it is for you. "If this is a joke," He growls, turns his head just enough for you to catch his glare. "It's not funny."

Your tongue burns with the usual words— 'Only joke here is you' — but you don't, instead a slow and low "I'm not kidding." escapes you, like something forbidden, something to keep secret lest you get divine punishment.

Simon's mind buffers like an old computer, too many thoughts stuffing his head that he can't understand a single one. This is too far removed from the usual, hummingbirds knocking on his skull as a warning. But his body relaxes while he's still thinking, a stagnant breath escaping his lungs. "Fine."

You think of saying something, but it's better not to. Instead you huddle closer to him, still connected in a carnal way but now it feels so much more. . . intimate. Your hands wander over his toros, a gentle exploration instead of a race for release, your fingers carding through his body hair down his happy trail and up again.

Simon's head tils back to give you access to his neck, your lips soft against his skin as you kiss the bruises you'd left, both of your bodies slowly moving to close the small space between you two, urged to share your warmth.

You shift your hips, only realizing you're hard again when Simon moans. Moans. "Sorry," You duck your head, hands gripping his hips to pull out but he stops you, a rough sound in his throat.

"No," Simon doesn't look at you though the blush across his face is easy to spot. "Keep going," Tilting his hips back into yours tears a moan from both of you. Your cum eases the slide in, his walls stretched and pliant, wetly sucking you in like a needy thing.

Another time you'd have laughed at how desperate he's acting, but the low moans and a little "Fuck, just like that," you earn by rolling your hips has your mind shutting off. You can't believe how vocal he's suddenly become, getting louder the slower and gentler you move your hips, your cock slowly pushing in and out of his hole.

You bury your head in his neck and blindly stroke his leaking cock, kissing the skin under your lips, your eyes closed shut as you thrust into him slowly, your tender and slow movements pulling moan after moan out of him. His hand winds back to cup the back of your neck, pulling you up just enough to give you an awkward kiss but it's sweet and raw and so desperate—

You don't notice he's cumming until his walls clamp down on you, Simon whispering "I love you," so soft and quiet under his breath that you don't hear him, too busy filling him up a second time, but your mind buzzes with warmth all the same.

You lay as you were, somehow so exhausted that even moving an inch is anathema to you. Both of you, it seems, if the way Simon's back is warm and pliant against your chest, his breathing slow and steady. Tomorrow you'll need to talk (or do your best substitution of it), but for tonight, you can hug him close and finally have an answer to what it would feel like to have him close without the sex, to just be with him. . .

[polly-pocket13]

Give me a chance to show you how beautiful you are

bakugou katsuki x fem!chubby!reader 

tw: weight, self-doubt, self-hate, eating disorder, cursing, acne, bad english and bad grammar

a/n: just a friendly reminder that you are enough and beautiful just the way you are.

You are standing in front of your mirror and looking at yourself. 

You sighed. 

Your skin is getting worse again.

You gained weight.

Your tights are too thick.

Your belly is too chubby.

Your arms to giggly.

Slowly, your eyes started to tear up.

Why couldn't you be like the other pretty girls?

Those girls with the flat stomachs and clear skin. 

Those girls with beautiful tights and slim arms. 

Those girls who always look and act like a real lady.

Those girls who always seem perfect.

The next day, you started eating less and exercising more.

You began to isolate yourself from others and feel more and more ashamed about yourself.

Like right now, you were in your room again and stood before your mirror and looked at your imperfect body.

“Y/N? Is everything okay?” you suddenly heard Bakugous voice behind you.

You didn't even notice that he knocked or entered your room.

“Bakugou, what are you doing here? Of course, everything is alright.” you told him and forced yourself to smile.

“Y/N, stop fucking lying to me. I can see that something is wrong, and I can see how, you force yourself to smile. I have known you long enough, to recognize a real smile.” he grumbled.

“I don't know what you mean.” you said to him.

“Don't play dumb, Y/N. Please tell me what is wrong.” he spoke to you.

“I am fine.” you lied again. 

You weren't fine at all. 

“Fine? You look to me like the absolute opposite of fine.” he said to you angrily.

You were overwhelmed with emotions.

You slowly started to speak, “Can't you see? I am the problem. How I look. How I act. Everything about me is just imperfect.”

You started to cry again.

“Who the hell told you such a bullshit. Tell me so I can break his nose.” he told you aggressive.

You replied quietly, “Kacchan, just forget it.”

“You don't want me to know? Well, then I will find out myself. It can't be that fucking hard to find an asshole without eyes.” he slightly shouted and wanted to leave your room.

“It was me, okay! I tell my self everyday I am not enough! So if you want to break someone's nose, feel free to break mine.” you said to him. 

He immediately turned himself to you. A second later, you could feel his arms wrapped around you.

Now, you started to cry even more.

He pulled you closer to him.

He whispered in your ear, “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met in my life.” 

“You only say it because we are friends and I am crying. You don't mean it.” you mumbled.

“Tsk, stupid gorgeous Woman. Why don't you believe me? I would not fall in love with you if you were not the most perfect human being in the world,”

he started tell you.

“I wished you could see yourself through my eyes. Then you would see that you are perfect from the bottom to the top. 

You would see how your eyes sparkle, when you talk about something you love. How you smile makes everyone else smile too.  How you just make everyone else to a better person, especially me. You would see how all stare at you if you dress up in your pretty dresses.  Damn it, Y/N yo drive me crazy every day. Your curves, your beautiful thighs, your soft belly. Just fucking everything.” he ends his “speech”.

You were shocked. You just stared at him for a moment.

“You like me? Like, really like me.” you asked him. 

“Typical Y/N. I told you lots of other important things and you just remembered one. Yes, I like you. Like, really like you.” he answered you. 

“I think I like you too, but I can't see myself through your eyes. I am just imperfect for me.” you told him.

“Give me a chance to show you how beautiful you are. Okay?” he asked you. 

“Okay.” you answered. 

Since that day, he has been proving to you every day how beautiful you are to him. 

And you slowly start to believe him and love yourself as you should because you are truly beautiful just the way you are. 

[leighsartworks216]

The Sound of Being Loved

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Possibly OOC. I'm posting this at like 12am and I am so tired sleepy but I needed to finish this Or Else

Warnings: some hurt/comfort, talk about The Scar™️

Word Count: 737

Masterlist

AO3

Astarion let out a stiff breath as your fingers brushed over the scar. The poem. The sigil. Whatever it was Cazador'd carved into his back.

You'd asked him about it before. He'd answer curtly and bitterly - as he’d always done when his master was the subject of conversation. But that was so long ago now. At least, it felt quite long ago. He couldn't really be sure. All he knew was things were finally dying down and becoming normal. As normal as things could be, anyway. And you couldn't stop yourself from asking again.

That's how you ended up straddling his thighs as he laid chest-down on the bed.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," you reminded him softly. You kept repeating the phrase when he tensed beneath your fingers, or got that quiet, distant aura about him.

He hummed, turning his head to peek over his shoulder at you. He offered the most reassuring smile he could muster. "Go on," he encouraged. "He's dead - it doesn't matter anymore."

You tilted your head. Sharp eyes studied him, searching for any hint of a lie. He sighed quietly as your hand massaged the back of his neck. "But it still happened," you said, "you still hate it."

He smirked, but his quiet voice gave away the false confidence. "You know me too well, darling."

"Yes," you leaned down to kiss his cheek, "I do." He turned his head slightly more to catch your lips for a momentary kiss. Your lips hovered over his, eyes boring into his soul, searching. "I can stop."

"No. Please. I... I want you to know every part of me. I trust you."

You kissed him once more, languid and sweet, before sitting back up. He closed his eyes and tried to relax under your fingers. They danced across his back, tracing each line in their circular pattern. One hand slid to his waist to thumb circles into his side. He wondered why for a moment. Surely it would be easier to feel each infernal letter with both hands? Then he realized: it was a distraction. You were giving him something to focus on while you studied his back. His undead heart stuttered in his chest.

“I could translate it,” you whisper. It’s a gentle offer. “If you wanted to know what it says.”

Cazador is dead, he reminds himself. Whatever the bastard carved into his skin, it shouldn’t hold so much power over him anymore. But the thought of knowing exactly what was written there… His lips pursed.

You pressed a kiss to his spine, in between the circles of text. He lets out a breath. “No. Let it die with him.”

You’re quiet as you go back to tracing. He wonders if you’re translating it in your mind. He… doesn’t mind the thought - not as much as he thought he would. He trusts you, enough to know you would take the words to your grave. They would never be used against him, held over him as leverage. They’d just sit in a corner of your mind and collect dust, until their meaning is lost forever. He doesn’t mind that at all.

Once you’ve felt all of the letters, your hand traces the circles themselves. Starting right at the center, you go out ring by ring. Where scarred lines branch off, you ghost your touch up and down the ridges. There are several at the bottom of the scar. It almost looks like dripping wax, sealed into his skin forever. Imagining what it was like hurts too much.

He peeks over his shoulder again as he feels your hands, full, flat-palmed on his skin, sliding over his sides. You lay on top of him, sliding your arms around him, squished between his stomach and the bed. You’re so warm. Your head rests between his shoulder blades, breaths sliding across his back and shoulders like a warm summer breeze. His body fully relaxed into the affection. All tension faded away, and he allowed his eyes to close in the comfort.

“I love you,” you hum near his ear. “My beautiful star.”

Astarion smiles. “I love you, too. My dearest blood donor.” He relishes in the way you laugh against him, full and bright and free. And he hopes, when he’s lived for centuries more, and loses the spark of life in his eye, he remembers exactly how it sounds to be loved.

[lnfours]

hi lovie! congratulations on the milestone 🧡

could i please get a 🍊 + “i hate changing these stupid batteries, i can never reach the smoke alarm.” “get down, then, i’ll do it.” (because lando is a short king lol /j)

anonymous asked:  “i hate changing these stupid batteries, i can never reach the smoke alarm.” “get down, then, i’ll do it.” 🍊

no ur right, he is a short king, but it's ok bc he's still taller than me (sadly..)

also i had no idea what to do for this so.... enjoy???

11.8k friends to lovers sleepover

you walked into the apartment, throwing your things by the door before calling out, like you normally did, "i'm home!"

"in the kitchen!"

you followed the sound of his voice, rounding the corner and shockingly finding him on the top step of the stool you kept in the closet, amusingly watching as he tried to reach the smoke detector. you bit down on your bottom lip, suppressing a laugh when he jumped at the sound of it chirping above him.

"i hate changing these stupid batteries, i can never reach the smoke alarm!" he complained, sighing as he looked at you with a faint hint of defeat.

"get down, then, i'll do it," you said, moving to step on the stool when he finally climbed off, "here, gimme."

you motioned to the batteries in his hand which he gave to you as he stood behind you on the stool, carefully watching as you reached towards the alarm on your tip toes, ready to catch you if you took one wrong step. but you held your own as you unscrewed the cover, taking the batteries out before putting in the new ones. he watched with amazement as you had done what he had been trying to do for the past thirty minutes in a few seconds flat.

he offered you his hand, which you took, as you stepped down, looking up at the alarm and waiting for a chirping sound to ring through the room. when it wasn't heard, you smiled over to him as he shook his head in slight defeat, "how would you survive without me?"

he rolled his eyes playfully, "i think i would've just thrown something at it until it shut up."

you laughed softly as he moved about, carrying the stool with him to put it back in the place where it belonged, "i think you'd be a lost cause, honestly."

"most definitely."

[yazmarina]

touch tank

for hit play, a drabble event.

—"cause he's so pretty when he goes down on me, gold-skinned eager baby, blue shirt out the laundry" (touch tank by quinnie)

zak o'sullivan (f2) x afab!reader

warnings/notes: smut, cunnilingus, fingering, squirting

a/n: this is so very special to me because this song just screams zak for me. thank you anon for requesting zak for this <33

"What are you doing?"

Your boyfriend merely grumbles at your question as he drapes himself over your frame, wiggling his way between your legs, his head now cradled against your chest.

"Zak, come on please, you're infectious, you're not supposed to—okay, Zak—"

"I missed you," Zak interrupts, burying his face against the fabric of your shirt.

"I know," you sigh. "But we agreed that absolutely no cuddling in bed until you're better."

Zak snickers. "Like that's possible."

"Zak."

He lifts his head to look at you, a pitiful pout on his full lips. He looks so much like a puppy in this moment, eyes wide and pretty, though obviously fatigued from the sickness weighing him down.

"Thank you for looking after the flat," Zak blurts softly, placing a kiss on your chest, at the base of your sternum.

You run a hand through his hair, gently scratching against his scalp, Zak's eyes fluttering close.

"Of course. I need to take care of you," you whisper, running your thumb over his cheek, at the prominent bone that gave him the handsome look you adored so much.

"I don't like it," Zak admits. "Makes me feel useless."

You giggle. "Well then, once you're better, you best believe all your laundry will be waiting for you."

"I hate laundry," Zak complains, pouting even more.

"I know," you say with a laugh. "That's why I did it this time. Couldn't fit all your race stuff and team kits into one load. I had to do three, Zak. Three."

Zak stares at you for a moment, eyes wandering over the planes of your face, before shifting to stare directly into your own irises. His hands gently take hold of your sides, rubbing up and down, hiking your shirt up little by little as he goes.

"I don't like where this is going," you warn, moving to stop him. Zak slips further down the bed, his face now level with your navel.

"Zak...," you begin.

"You've been so great while I was away and sick. Let me do something for you. Please?" Zak's fingertips ghost over the tops of your thighs. He gently pries them apart, moving down again so he's face to face with your pelvis.

"You're ill, babe," you reiterate, bottom lip catching between your teeth as Zak's thumbs hook into the waistband of your shorts.

You sigh, knowing there isn't any stopping him once he's put his mind to things. He tugs your bottoms and underwear down, helping you lift your hips up before tossing the garments to the side.

"It's not like I'm kissing you on those lips, babe," Zak reasons with a mischievous glint in his eye. "I'm kissing you down here."

This earns an exasperated roll of your eye. "Get on with it, then."

Zak grins, leaning down, tongue darting out to lick at the heat between your legs. You gasp softly, the warmth a startling sensation. Your legs are pulled even further apart, Zak's mouth now latched onto your clit.

"Oh, fuck," you whimper when you feel his tongue flatten against your sensitive nub. He suckles on it gently before flicking repeatedly, just as he knows you like it. You shiver, never getting used to how good Zak does this.

You peer down at him, the top of his head and his eyes the only things visible from your vantage. Zak peeks up at you and your breath catches in your throat. Fingers are soon tangled in his mop of dark hair, twisting as he pushes his tongue into your waiting hole.

Without breaking eye contact, Zak starts to fuck into you slowly, that tongue of his pushing you closer and closer to release.

"Baby," you whisper, the rush of blood in your ears nearly deafening in comparison. "Fuck, babe, you feel so good."

Zak hums against you and you whine, hips bucking up involuntarily. He laughs, pulling away for a moment, lips and chin glistening with your arousal. He makes a show of licking it off his mouth and you shudder, gently tugging him back down.

"Fingers, Zak," you choke out. "Use your fingers."

Zak immediately slicks up his pointer and middle finger with his spit, teasing at your entrance right after. You're about to cuss him out for taking too long when you feel both enter you at the same time.

You're rendered speechless once more as Zak fucks you with his fingers, his mouth soon joining, resuming its ministrations on your clit.

You feel the world spin around you, every inch of your skin on fire. You can sense it, the tightness in your abdomen. The pressure only builds, greater and greater with each curl of Zak's digits inside you, with each swipe of his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves.

It's all getting too much, like something might rip out of you, your whole body tingles and you're sure you're hurting him with how tight you're clutching at his hair, and then–

You see white. Your body explodes with euphoria, a cry of Zak's name escaping your lips. Tears are blinked out of your eyes, your vision blurry as you're unable to focus on what's in front of you.

Your chest is heaving as you're slowly brought back down to Earth. Your fingers loosen around Zak's hair, an apology already on the tip of your tongue. Zak looks up and the gasp that you let out is almost comical.

"Oh my god, did I do that?" You ask in disbelief, eyeing the sheets that are soaked with your release. Zak squints at you, one eye closed, obviously coming out as, well, collateral damage.

"Don't know who else, babe," Zak teases, using his shirt to wipe at the remnants around his face. The dark blue fabric around his neck comes out almost black.

"But I'd like to argue that I did that, too."