#pre roll machines

[cannatron]

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[gamblersdoll]

thinking about ex boyfriend! bakugou who is so fucking smug because he was your first and doesnt ever leave you alone… smut included.

an: this shouldnt have taken all day, but today was pretty shit. 😀

you roll onto your right side, feeling the vibration of your phone buzzing. it unlocks looking at your face identifying, and you groan in annoyance. “hello?”

“mornin’ , sleepin’ slut. bad night with the new guy?” you recognize the voice, bakugou. “just wasn’t doin’ nothin’ for you, huh?” he laughs a little bit, a sigh afterwards.

“do you realize what fucking time it is?” you ask, squinting to look at the white numbers in the corner. “it two fifty three in the goddamn morning.”

“and i bet he’s gone by now, isnt he?” katsuki asks, an expectant huff.

“who?” you ask, almost damn near impersonating a actual owl. “because i dont know who the fuck you’re referring to. ive been at home all day.”

“yer’ new little boy toy. i knew youd whore yourself out to make me jealous.” he says, biting his lip when he heard you starting to argue back and get loud. “yeah? im fuckin wrong?”

“very much so, very slow at that.”

“i mean, we wouldnt be here had you not gotten ‘fed up.’” he reminds, biting his lip and tugging at his hero pants when you scoff. “all we gotta do is get back together and y’know..”

“yes, lets get back together mr.dynamight who liked to get an attitude when things dont go his way or will purposely lie about shit to make me jealous, i love you.” you say sarcastically, rolling your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose.

“really?” he asks, a hand groping himself when he waits for your answer.

“no.” you say, pressing the end call button and tossing the phone into the laundry hamper. sleep was good when you didnt have an ex boyfriend calling you in the buttfuck hours of the morning, but he pestered you more. you obviously hear his calls going to voice mail, but its good that the ringer turned off when you threw it.

‘one new voicemail. should i play?’ the fax machine asks, replying with a ‘sure.’ out of pity, was the pussy that good he was obsessed? or was he desperate?

‘you know you want me back, princess.. just call me back and show me how much you miss me.’

yeah fuckin right.

you listen closer, hearing heavy breathing and… slick? was this fucker only booty calling you at fucking three in the morning for this? is that why he called you?

‘not just callin’ ya because im horny or nothin.. but god, do i miss seeing you.’ as soon as you thought the worst. ‘miss seein’ yer pretty face.. or seeing the dumb shit you send me at work.’

you ponder on his words… but had he not been a bit of an asshole, you wouldnt be here. all of this was because he wanted you jealous, and ended up you spitting in his face then leaving.

‘need ta tell ya somethin anyway..’ he mumbles, a groan from his lips. you knew what he was doing, it slightly turned you on. ‘never slept with her.. just lied so you can show me how you can be crazy ‘bout me.. it was stupid.’

yeah, it was. who the fuck lies about that?

‘miss you so damn bad..’ he says, probably pre nut clarity. he moans a little bit, heavy breathing from him stroking his fat cock. ‘cmon baby, talk to me.’

and an idea pops in your head, you finding some really old photo of you and izuku.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐛 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit

word count: 4.1k

summary: joel agrees to go out to tommy’s favorite bar, where he watches you ride a mechanical bull and wishes you would ride him.

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, dual POV, no defined reader age or physical appearance besides outfits, alcohol use, joel getting slapped, tommy is a little shit, first date anxiety, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, praise, pet names, girl on top, couch sex, unprotected p in v, teasing, deep throating, more men whimpering and begging 2k23. let me know if any warnings are missing!

author’s note: look, i know i’m in the middle of my spooky specials but i saw two very specific tik toks that left me with the need to write this 😵‍💫 also this post layout is inspired by @bits-and-babs, whose works and aesthetic are chef’s kiss.

“Why did you pick this place?” Joel grumbles, hand wrapped around a sweating bottle of beer. People keep jostling him as they squeeze past, forcing him to keep his elbow tight to his side to avoid having his beer be collateral damage.

“You’ll see,” Tommy says with a cryptic wink. Joel rolls his eyes.

Tommy has dragged him out to a saloon style bar, complete with swinging wooden doors and longhorn skulls decorating the walls. Everything is shiny dark wood and western motif, down to the saddle style barstools. Most of the patrons have leaned into the theme, too — tassels, leather, cowboys hats, and ostentatious belt buckles.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen!” A man’s voice calls out over the speakers. “The show is about to begin!”

“Show?” Joel asks dubiously. Tommy only grins at him, dragging him by the arm towards the back of the bar.

He weaves through the crowd until they’re only behind a few rows of people that have gathered around a mechanical bull riding ring, of all things. The floor of the ring is inflatable and in the middle sits the brown bull figure. Joel catches his first glimpse of you, a gorgeous woman in denim cut offs standing beside the bull. Your black leather halter top plunges low to expose your cleavage and stops short of the waist of your shorts, a tantalizing strip of your stomach on display. The black leather of the top matches your black leather boots and the cuffs snapped around your wrists.

“One of Salty Saloon’s very own has stepped up to take the bull by the horns tonight!”

You lift a hand to wave, bright smile on your face as you take in the crowd. Your eyes land on Joel and for a brief moment he swears he stops breathing. He can’t hear anything the emcee is saying, all the noise around him just a dull buzz as he watches you swing yourself up onto the back of the bull.

“Alright, alright, alright! Our rider’s goal is to stay on for one minute using only one hand! If she falls before the buzzer, y’all get nothin’. But if she makes it, shots are half off for the rest of the night!”

A cacophony of cheers erupts around Joel and you straighten your spine, holding your hand out with a thumbs up. The music starts, some pop song he’s heard on the radio in the morning when he’s taking Sarah to school, and the mechanical bull turns in a slow circle. You have one hand twisted in a leather strap, the other raised above your head as the bull bucks and swings, your hips moving smoothly with the machine.

“Goddamn,” someone says from behind Joel. “I ain’t ever wanted to be a bull so bad in my life.”

Me, too, he thinks.

Your thighs press tight against the sides of the bull as it swings around, turning you to face the section of crowd Joel stands in. You release the hand grip, both hands in the air now as you rely solely on your legs and core to keep you up on the machine. When the machine turns again, you manage to lift your body and swing your legs around to reverse your position, now seated facing the back of the bull.

“Alright, ten more seconds!” The emcee calls out. The crowd starts to cheer your name and Joel can’t help but join in, eyes glued to you as you continue to swing and sway like all the movements are nothing but second nature to you.

“Three! Two! One!”

A cowbell goes off, signaling the end of your ride. The bull slows to a stop and you sit there for a moment to catch your breath, waving at the crowd. The bar owner, Johnny, comes out onto the crash pad with a huge grin on his face.

“Great job up there, kid. Now go sell some half priced shots,” he says with a good natured pat on your shoulder.

You return to the bar, where the other two bartenders scheduled tonight field the after-show rush, lining up shot glasses and filling them in quick succession with the requested liquor. When you get behind the bar, a familiar head of curly hair catches your eye.

“Tommy!” You call, excited to see one of you favorite regulars. He shouts your name as you stop in front of him.

“This is my brother, Joel!” He says, slapping the back of the man beside him. You’d seen him in the crowd, a handsome guy with broad shoulders stretching a dark blue t-shirt, warm tan skin, and messy curls that speak to the family resemblance between him and Tommy. You reach a hand across the bar, Joel’s calloused fingers dragging against your palm as you greet the man.

“It’s nice to meet you, Joel. Can I get y’all anything?” You ask. Tommy grins.

“Let me get this man a slap shot!” He yells.

You glance at Joel. “That okay with you?” You ask.

His eyes are comically wide as he nods. You step back to ring the bell behind the bar, your fellow bartenders whooping and cheering, a chant of “SLAP SHOT! SLAP SHOT!” echoing around you.

Haley sets a glass of water on the bar for you and you grab a pint glass, filling it with ice and two ounces of Jim Beam and amaretto. You smack the steel shaker on top, grabbing both glasses and shaking them vigorously over your shoulder.

You strain the contents of the shaker into a shot glass, amber liquid flowing to the brim. When you’ve got everything ready, you leave the back of the bar and squeeze your way through the crowd until you’re in front of the two brothers and can hoist yourself up onto the bar.

“Alright, Joel, are you ready?” You shout. He looks a little confused, brows pinched tight over kind brown eyes, but he nods anyway, holding his hand out for the shot glass. Tommy watches with a shit eating grin. “Three! Two! One!”

Joel takes the shot and you follow it with a glass of water to his face and a slap across his jaw in quick succession. Tommy is howling with laughter and Joel’s face is one of pure shock, red blooming across the skin of his cheek. He turns to his brother.

“Tommy, what the fuck!” Joel shouts. His hand wraps into the neck of Tommy’s shirt. “You little fuckin’ shit!”

You have the sinking realization that Joel wasn’t prepared for what a slap shot entails. You had just assumed this was something Tommy had told him about, having been to the bar so much the last few months.

Joel looks mad as hell, his shoulders tense and you worry he may actually throw a punch at Tommy. You hop from the bar and get between the two men, pressing a hand to their chests and pushing them apart.

"You, come with me," you say, pointing to Joel. "And you," -- you jab a finger into Tommy's chest -- "are on my shit list."

You take Joel by the hand and guide him to the back office, shutting the door and muffling the noises of the bar beyond it. His face is still dripping wet and the water dripping from his chin has gathered into a sizeable spot on the collar of his shirt.

"I am so, so sorry," you start, rifling through the storage cabinet for a bar towel. You hold it out to him, avoiding his gaze. "Tommy comes here so much that I just thought he'd told you about what a slap shot was. I should have told you, oh my god."

"Hey, it's okay. I ain't mad at you," Joel says, running the towel over his damp face. "Tommy, though. I'm gonna kick his fuckin' ass later."

"Still," you mumble, twisting your hands together nervously. "I'm sorry. Is your cheek okay?"

He rubs the towel over his head to dry his hair a bit, the action leaving him adorable mussed, curly strands sticking up in every direction. You're staring at him, maybe a little too much, but who can blame you? The man is hot.

"Yeah, trust me. I've had worse," Joel replies with a laugh.

"You get slapped by women often?" You tease.

"The number of times ain't just one."

"Oh, a bad boy. Mama warned me about guys like you."

He laughs again, long and low, running a hand through his hair. "Well, thank you for the towel."

"Right. And your next drink is on me. As an apology," you tell him.

"I'd rather get your number," he says. "You know, as an apology."

You raise your eyebrows at him before turning to the manager's desk, grabbing a marker and tugging the cap off with your teeth. You slide a hand down his arm, lifting his forearm up so that you can write down your number across the smooth, tan skin.

"I'm off next weekend," you comment when you've recapped the marker.

"I'll keep that in mind," Joel replies with a grin.

Joel's nervous as he waits outside of your apartment building in his truck, fingers tapping a nameless tune against the steering wheel. It's Saturday night and he's here to pick you up for dinner at a restaurant in downtown Austin, one that required he dig out the old black button down he keeps shoved in the back of his closet for parent-teacher conferences and funerals.

The front door to your building opens and you emerge, dressed in a pretty red wrap dress and black heels. Joel gets out of the truck and jogs around to the passenger side to open the door for you and he's surprised when you lean up and kiss him on the cheek.

"Hey," you say in greeting, climbing into the truck and settling into the passenger seat, your purse on your lap. Joel can't help the dopey grin that's surely stretched across his face.

“Hey, yourself. You look nice,” he replies. He shuts the door and jogs around the the driver’s side.

“You don’t look so bad either,” you tell him as he starts the truck up. He can feel his cheeks get warm and he hopes that you can’t see him the proof of his nerves in the dark cab.

At the restaurant, the host leads you both to a small table towards the back of the restaurant, pristine white tablecloth topped with a small vase of flowers and a flickering votive candle. A waiter in a white button down comes by to take your drink orders before disappearing the the kitchen, leaving the two of you regarding each other in silence.

“Look, I gotta be honest about somethin’,” Joel says, leg bouncing beneath the table. “I’ve got a kid. Sarah, she’s thirteen. Light of my life, you know?” He takes a deep breath before finishing with, “And I don’t think I’ve even been on a date since she’s been born, so this is just…a little new to me.”

“You have a kid?” You ask. For a moment Joel worries that he may have ended this before it could even get a chance to begin, but then your face lights up with a sweet smile and you ask, “Will you tell me about her?”

Joel does. In between ordering and eating your delicious meals, you and Joel discuss anything and everything. He tells you about Sarah and his contracting work, while you tell him about your full time job as a pharmacy technician, the gig at the bar a part time thing on some weekends. He nearly makes you snort your water out of your nose with a story about rescuing Tommy from the bathroom of the girl he’d been seeing when her long distance boyfriend, who Tommy didn’t know existed, showed up at her apartment.

“Oh my god,” you exclaim breathlessly. “And he just jumped out of the bathroom window?”

“To be fair, she had a first floor unit,” Joel confirms. “His royal pain in the ass still made me take him to urgent care because he thought he broke his ankle.”

“You’re a good brother,” you say with a smile. Joel feels the warmth of it in his veins.

After dinner, the ride back to your place is quiet, the comfortable silence filled with the low music from the radio. In a moment of bravery, Joel reaches over and lays a hand on your low thigh, just above your knee as he drives. He refuses to look over at you, but from the corner of his eye he sees you look down at his hand before looking back out the window.

He counts that as a win.

He pulls up the curb outside your apartment and kills the engine. You speak before he has a chance to agonize over what to say.

“Will you walk me to my door?” You ask.

He feels relief and anxiety in one fell swoop. He agonizes internally over whether to kiss you goodnight as he follows you up the stairs to your apartment, the buzzing in his brain momentarily silenced while he watches your hips sway as you climb the steps.

You stop on the second floor, guiding him down a long hallway to a door marked with a black metal number three. You turn to face him, looking up at him through your lashes.

“This is me,” you murmur. Joel swallows nervously.

“Right. I, uh…I had a really great time tonight,” he says.

“Would you…want to come inside?”

Joel’s brain short circuits. “Would I—? Yeah.”

You turn to unlock the door, pushing into your apartment and Joel follows you inside. The apartment is dark but you quickly turn on the lights as you move further inside, illuminating an open living room with a dining nook. There’s a door off to the right that he assumes is your bedroom and an open kitchen to the left. It’s small, but it’s cozy, bursting with colors and fabrics and mismatched furniture.

“Well, this is home,” you say with a shrug. You set your purse down on the small circular dining table. “Can I get you anything to drink? I’ve got beer, some liquor on the bar cart over there if you want to have a look.”

“Beer is fine,” Joel says, taking a seat on the comfy looking couch. You return with a bottle of beer, passing it to him before settling in beside him, kicking off your heels and drawing your legs up beneath you.

He takes a sip, fortifying his nerves. He wasn’t lying when he said it’s been a long time since he’s been on a date, but even sex has been a distant thought for the last year or so. He doesn’t want to mess this up.

“So,” you start, your elbow pressed into the back couch cushion while you lean your face into the palm of your hand. “You wanna know what I think?”

“‘Bout what?” Joel asks.

“You.”

“You got a report card ready for me already?”

“I think” — you take the beer bottle from his hand, setting it on the coffee table — “you’ve spent a long time being a caretaker. Right? You’ve got Tommy, who was already a handful. Your daughter, who’s obviously priority number one. You’ve got a business to worry about, workers to care for.” You shuffle closer on your knees, swinging a leg over his and settling yourself onto his lap. “This okay?” You ask.

“Yeah,” he replies, probably a bit too enthusiastically. His fingers curl into the couch cushions and he wants to reach up to wrap his hands around your waist but he’s not sure if he should.

You play with the collar of his shirt. “What do you think about having someone take care of you for a change?”

Joel’s stomach flips, cock jumping in interest as the blood in his brain rushes south and leaves him only capable of responding with a mumbled, “Oh?”

“I just think you deserve someone treating you real nice,” you say with a shrug. Deft fingers work at undoing the buttons of his shirt. “Especially when I was so mean when we met, slapping you across the face like I did.”

“Told you not to worry ‘bout that,” he replies, head dropping against the back cushions. “S’not like I didn’t like it.”

“You like to be roughed up a little, Mr. Miller?”

“Maybe.”

Your grin is wicked as you drag your nails down the now exposed skin of his chest. He hisses at the sting of it.

“Interesting,” you murmur. You lean close, chest pressed against his, hands coming up to frame his face. Your nails scratch through his beard now and he groans his appreciation.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks. “Please?”

You respond by pressing your lips to his, chaste as first. Your mouths move together slowly, feeling each other out. It’s you that takes it deeper, tracing your tongue over his bottom lip and dipping it inside to tangle with his. He wraps his arms around your low back, holding you tightly in his lap as he consumes you, drunk on the feeling of your breath in his lungs.

You drags yours lips away from his with a slick sound, trailing them along his jaw and towards his ear. You nip at his earlobe, teeth gentle and breath hot before whispering, “Can I suck your cock, Joel?”

A whimper claws it’s way up Joel’s throat as he nods, already unable to form words. He’s no stranger to turning into a puddle for a pretty woman but he’s certain this must be a new record.

You slip from his lap and kneel on the floor, pushing his legs apart so that you can settle in between them. Your hands reach for his belt, tugging on the buckle and pulling it loose so that you can pop the button of his jeans and tug the zipper down, the metallic sound loud in the quiet room.

Your fingers curl into the waist of his jeans and Joel lifts his hips a bit to aid you in tugging them halfway down his thighs. His cock tents his boxers in an obscene way, a wet spot already staining the fabric. You run your palms up his thighs before bracketing his member between your hands, lightly running your thumbs up his length.

“Christ,” Joel says, teeth digging into his lip.

“That feel good?” You ask.

“Uh huh.”

You smile beatifically before leaning forward, warm breath on his covered cock as you press gentle kisses through the fabric. Joel’s hips twitch and he lets out a deep groan.

You tug the elastic of his boxers over his length, tucking it beneath his balls. He’s practically vibrating with need but you continue to take your sweet time, pressing more kisses along his shaft, tracing the tip of your tongue over the prominent vein.

“You have a pretty cock, Joel,” you say, wrapping your hand around the base of him to hold him steady. It’s a struggle to keep his eyes open but he doesn’t want to miss the sight of your tongue lapping at the bead of precum gathered on his flushed tip, or the way your own eyes flutter shut as you let out a little moan of appreciation.

You wrap your lips around his cock, taking him inch by agonizing inch into your warm mouth and Joel feels any semblance of sanity disappear from his lust clouded brain. Your eyes stay fixed on him as take him in as far as you can, throat fluttering around the sensitive head when you swallow before pulling up, twirling your tongue around the tip, and plunging back down.

“Christ,” Joel groans, reaching out to cup your cheek. “You look so goddamn good like that.”

You lift off his cock and take it in your hand, moving it across your lips as you ask, “Like what?”

“Chokin’ on my cock, sweetheart,” he growls.

“That was nothing.”

Joel’s about to ask what you mean when you lower your mouth over his length once more. He can feel you flatten your tongue, your throat and jaw relaxing enough to take him to the very base, your nose tickling the wiry curls on his pelvis. He moans as you swallow around him, breathing through your nose and holding yourself there for a moment before coming up with a gasp, tears gathered in the corners of your eyes and spit making your chin shiny in the low light.

“So…I could keep doing this,” you tell him, “or…”

“Or?” He asks.

“Or…you could let me make us both feel good.”

You stand up, your hands untying the knot that holds your dress together so you can push it off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. You push your panties down your legs and unhook your bra, leaving you gloriously naked in front him, every inch of you like a piece of art meant to be admired. Joel’s hands, greedy and unfulfilled up until now, reach up to grip your hips and pull you onto his lap, your pussy hot and wet against his cock. He lets his hands wander over every inch of exposed skin, relishing the way your ass fits in his palms and the way you hiss when his thumb caresses a tight nipple.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he moans, his lips against your rapid pulse, teeth ghosting the thin skin of your neck. “Need you so bad, baby.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” you whisper, reaching between your bodies to hold his throbbing cock steady, notching it at your soaked entrance and beginning a slow slide down.

Joel is panting against your sweat slick chest, mumbling desperate words into your skin as you take him inside of you as slowly as you can, thighs burning with the effort. When you’ve finally seated yourself on his lap, his head drops back to the cushion, eyes squeezed shut tightly and fingers nearly bruising on your thighs.

“Don’t move, don’t move, don’t move,” he begs. “Oh, fuck, feels so good.”

Where he’s desperate for you to stay still, you’re already desperate to move. His cock is perfect, thick and long with a slight upward curve, pressing up against your g-spot with stunning accuracy. You’re certain this won’t last long for either of you.

You rock slowly, forward and back, little movements of your hips. Joel lifts his head, looking down at where your bodies are connected with dark eyes. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, tangling your fingers in his hair and giving it a sharp tug that has him hissing your name.

You start to move more quickly, rolling your body in smooth waves over his. He’s panting as he looks up at you, sweat gathering at his temple, and his hands grip your ass and follow your movement reverently.

“So fuckin’ good,” he moans, “you’re gonna make me come, baby, goddamn.”

You speed up, bouncing on his lap now. Your couch creaks the slightest bit, protesting your movements, but you don’t care — all you care about is the man beneath you and the desperate little noises spilling from his lips as you make good on your promise to take care of him.

“Touch me,” you command. “I’m so close, Joel, please.”

He’s a good listener, your Joel, his thumb immediately finding your clit and circling it with messy movements that drive you wild, that tension in your muscles coiling tighter. Joel’s hips flex into yours with each drop down his length, the room echoing with the lewd sounds of skin against skin and the chorus of whimpers that spill from both of you.

“Joel, Joel, Joel,” you chant. He wraps his arms around you, really thrusting into you now as your own movements falter and you collapse forward, head buried against his neck as you come, trembling with the strength of it.

It’s not long after that he goes still, cock pulsing inside of you as the aftershocks of your orgasm wash over you. You stay slumped against each other, catching your breaths and waiting for your racing hearts to come back down to earth.

“That was…,” Joel says with a breathless laugh that shakes his chest. His fingers play up and down your back, soothing and gentle. “Goddamn, that was amazin’.”

“Yeah?” You ask, lifting your head. You smooth his messy hair back from his forehead. “You weren’t so bad either.”

He nips at your neck in retaliation, making you laugh and squirm away from him.

“Do you have to get going?” You ask.

“No,” he replies. “Tommy’s watchin’ Sarah for me tonight. He owes me one. Besides, I’m ain’t done with you yet.”

“No?”

“Not even close, darlin’.”

Joel Miller masterlist

All masterlists

[jamescandy]

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[euthymiya]

part one ; office mate! gojo ; company heir! gojo ; female intern! reader ; fluff ; pre getting together

Satoru is good at getting things he wants. It’s not because he’s spoiled (although he’s that, too) but rather, it’s because he’s persistent. Annoyingly so. Persistent in that way where he doesn’t necessarily earn what he wants, but scores it just because the other party is tired enough to cave for the sake of some peace.

Case example: you.

You sit across from him as he happily sips on his excessively expensive coffee from all the extra syrups.

“How can you have that much sugar?” You cringe.

He raises an amused brow as he hums, “Because I don’t choose to be miserable. You should try it sometime.”

Glaring, you roll your eyes before taking a sip of your own coffee. Satoru is at least nice and chivalrous enough to pay for your coffee—although, knowing what you do now, it’s not exactly as though he can’t afford it. You’re pretty sure being the heir to the company you intern for means he’s loaded in enough money that a simple iced coffee isn’t too much of a dent in his pockets.

You give him an unimpressed frown before getting to the heart of the matter. “Why didn’t you tell me your dad owns the company?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes,” you hiss, “I’ve been passive aggressively calling you a lazy asshole for two months!”

“Do you change your mind about that?” He asks infuriatingly calmly.

“No,” you admit. You take a long look at him before nodding in confirmation as you repeat, “No, I don’t.”

He pouts a little at that, still cute and aggravating at the same time. “Hey,” he says, only a little wounded and a whole lot excessively dramatic. You can tell he didn’t get a lot of attention growing up with the way he pulls theatrics. Something about the psychology of unmet emotional needs as a child from your one semester of psych in college comes back. “You don’t have to say it so condescendingly.”

“Well, you are lazy,” you point out. He shrugs because…well, it’s a fair point. “But now I know why.”

“So what, if you knew my old man was our big boss, you’d be nicer to me? Is that it?”

You crinkle your nose and give him a look of disbelief. “No,” you say—it’s almost amused. The first ounce of humor you’ve shown around him at all. “But I wouldn’t have wasted my energy caring that you’re a deadweight in the office.”

“Ouch,” he pouts, “I bought the coffee machine on our floor!”

“It’s getting rather faulty,” you hum, “You should consider investing in another one for us.”

Satoru likes that about you. You’re interesting. Interesting not because you’re exceptionally smart or all that impressive—not that you’re bad by any means. Being accepted as an intern here must mean your resume has a degree of prestige to it, but you’re just like any other person in the building. Except, instead of shrugging off his bratty, obnoxious self, you seem to care a great deal about what he does.

It greatly amuses him enough that you’ve sparked his interest.

“You’re fun,” he chuckles, “I like you. You’re not boring.”

“Just what every woman wants to hear,” you bat your lashes, sarcastically giving him a dreamy sigh, “Not boring. How charming of you.”

He grins wider, and something in your heart does a little bit of a clench. It’s so…pretty. Everything about him is pretty. The clean, pristine button down with perfectly ironed pants. The soft, messy hair that somehow adds to his expensive look rather than take away. Those bright, piercing blue eyes that feel like you’re lost in infinity when you look into them.

He’s pretty. Pretty annoying, too—but pretty all the same.

“I’m working on it,” he murmurs.

“What? Your manners?” You snort.

“My charm,” he corrects.

“We might be here for quite some time then,” you tease. You don’t know what it is. Falling into a bantering back and forth with him is so easy—so amusing and, if you’re honest, a tiny bit exciting.

Maybe a background of wealth and fortune makes a man appealing like that. Or maybe he’s just likable. You’re not sure yet.

“You’re saying you’ll be here waiting for me to get there?” He raises a brow, winking as he adds, “So maybe you’re charmed after all.”

“That’s a stretch,” you pretend to scoff. Nevermind the hardly hidden smile on your face—that means nothing. “I just want to watch you fail, that’s all.”

“And if I succeed?” He challenges, looking at you expectantly.

You roll your eyes, deciding to indulge him in whatever petty games he has going on. “In what, being charming?”

“Yes,” he nods, “What if I succeed in being an irresistible dreamboat of an office neighbor?”

“I doubt that’ll happen,” you bite your lip in an attempt to fight back a large, dimpled grin. It’s funny, you think—just up until a few hours ago, all he ever managed to do was pull your lips into a scowl. Now, it feels like it’s impossible not to stretch them into a smile. “But, if it does, I suppose I’ll eat my own words.”

“No,” Satoru shakes his head, lips curled into a serious, unsatisfied frown, “No that simply won’t do. I need better than that.”

“Okay,” you finally laugh. It’s radiant. It comes from your belly and vibrates through your chest. He’s somehow good at it—just one coffee grab during your lunch break, and he’s already managed to earn the sound of your joy so easily. Something about that tickles a weird, unfamiliar spot under your ribcage. “Lay out your terms.”

“You have to be my girlfriend if I manage to make your eyes turn into hearts over my handsomely unbeatable appeal.”

It’s cheeky, his grin. Wide, confident, and still boyishly hopeful. You start to wonder why you ever disliked such an easy to fall for smile.

“That’s pretty bold,” you note.

“I’m bold about the things I want.” You pretend that those words don’t make your heart do a helpless flutter.

“Okay,” you nod, agreeing as you take a final sip of your coffee and hand him the empty cup, “I’ll agree to these unlikely terms. You can start by bringing me another coffee.”

“You got it, boss,” he salutes before doing a giddy little jog to the counter and ordering you another coffee. It’s cute. It has your heart in a scarily fast chokehold.

Somewhere in the heat of the moment, as you watch him fumble over his wallet and almost drop his card while he goes to pay, you think he may have already won the terms to this ridiculous agreement.

But you won’t tell him that, you think. Just to drag out the eager, hopeful look in his eyes that dart over at you and shoot you a sly wink.

———————————

here is part two as promised for @enyathedrakaina bc they sent me cat pics

[oreo-creampie]

“𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cam girl!reader, daddy/princess, satoru jerks off on live, squirting, edging, overstimulation, orgasm control, dacryphilia, light mind break, praise & degradation go hand in hand, anal, oral from the back, jerking off

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧: Hi, I love your works, would you consider writing about where the girl is a camgirl and the jjk men taking turn to make her cum and squirt by tipping her so they basically control the toys she has in her? I feel like you would be the perfect writer to write that kind of stuff.

𝐟𝐞𝐲: hi! :) I did this one separately, where they control when you cum, and they are either watching or recording with you. Since I don’t think they could all make the reader character squirt five times back to back. Hope you don’t mind the change and enjoy it anyway.

𝐒𝐚��𝐨𝐫𝐮

Come bidding war night Satoru dominated your stream. Making tonight another to add underneath the 'sugardaddy_69 bullies whore into tears' playlist.

Gliding his fist along his veiny long cock, his tip getting pinker the longer he pushes off cumming. He isn't letting you cum despite how you're begging. You sound too sexy, "Please daddy, need to!" The control he has over your pleasure is too sweet.

If only he could replace the dildo slowly fucking your beautiful, dripping wet cunt. He could squeeze your squishy thighs, bite your hip's soft crease, and take his time ruining you on camera.

Clinging onto the blanket beneath you, your slick dripping down your trembling thighs. "Please Daddy needacum I'm so close." You're slurring your words together, crying in desperation. Turning the toy off when he doesn't respond fast enough. Spreading your lips apart showing the camera your spasming cunt.

mommy_milkers22 donates 3,000: let her cum already got damn! wana see her pussy gush!

Gliding the still, long thick dildo into your cunt with a loud squelch. Turning the machine, it pace gets faster with each stroke. Your eyes roll back, and your loud moan almost makes him cum.

Quickly Satoru pays more than enough to get his way. Turning on his camera, already perfectly angled. It would be easy to get you to film with him after you took one look at his muscular body and long, veiny cock.

sugardaddy_69 donates 10,000: nice try, her cunt is mine. don't cum yet, keep fucking your beautiful cunt n check my account for my live stream

Leaning back and stroking his cock, watching you struggle to focus. Loudly moaning, gliding his hand along his cock. Pre-cum pearling on his pink cockhead. "Been edging myself too. You've been such a good girl. Cum right now and I'll fly you out to fuck you senseless." Your beautiful cunt gushes.

Satoru tugs on his fluffy hair, biting his lip, the veins in his cock pulse, and thick white cum spurts on his chiseled abs. Giving himself a few more strokes until it's too much. Smirking at your answer in his post nut haze.

𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢

Trembling, your cunt clenching with each quick stroke. Gliding your dripping wet cunt on his veiny, thick cock by your hips. The sweet ache of Toji's merciless way of using your squelching cunt like it's a fleshlight adds to the pleasure.

Creaming on his thick cock, "That's how many?" Your toes curl from the way his cock head brushes your cervix. He's going painfully pleasurable deep into your cunt. You can't focus on coming up with an answer when his cock is stirring your pussy and brains up.

"If you can't count, you can't cum. Don't make me stop when your slopping cunt is trying to milk my cock." Whining, clenching his cock, eliciting a raspy groan from Toji.

Moaning, "Fiiive!" Slamming you down hard on his cock, rutting his hips up. His skin slaps yours. Your eyes roll back, toes curling, thighs trembling. "Nnn Daddy don't stop! Want everyone to see how big a slut I am for your cock!" Getting off on knowing there are several thousand people masturbating to you getting fucked stupid.

Toji grunts, "This is how you're supposed to fuck a whore." Rubbing your clit, your cunt spasm, clenching Toji's cock like you're pulsing. The building pleasure is too intense and you want it to crush you, and make your brain dead. You didn't need to think, you need to cum on Toji's thick cock.

"Look at your sloppy cunt taking my cock." Toji turns his head. Your cunt is so beautiful stretched wide by Toji's wet, veiny pale cock fucking into you. His cock is so big. How is your pussy fitting all of him?

Your tight cunt tugging he tries to bottom out. He groans, "Love the way she's too tight to let me go. Might have to stuff you full of cum." The thought pushes you over the edge. Thick cum gushes on Toji's cock, dripping onto the floor.

The computer chimes, "addicted_towhores420 paid 2,500 said: don't stop, break her cunt, cum in your whore. I want to see it drip out from between her lips when you pull out and she's gapping from being used." Your cunt clenches around Toji's cock.

"Please cum! Please cum! Wanna fill your warm cum drip outta my pussy." Fucking you faster with each word that comes out of your mouth till you can't speak. Moaning loudly, you can't think with how roughly Toji is fucking your overly sensitive cunt.

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮

There is nowhere to move despite not being tied up. Trapped between Suguru's handsome face and the edge of the bed. Bent over occasionally reading the chat and watching Suguru eat your cunt till she's sloppy on stream.

He's filling your asshole with a pulsing, thick dildo. You could feel its powerful vibration in your cunt, clenching Suguru's pierced tongue. You're losing your mind from Suguru's relentlessly stoking your sweet spot with his hard metal tongue ring.

Your thighs are trembling. Rutting your hips against the edge of the bed. Clawing at the sheets. Reading out, "Can't believe she's trying to run away." Furrowing your brows, clenching Suguru's tongue. The soreness to your abused cunt adds to your pleasure.

Looking at the camera whining, "Can't help it. It's too much, Daddy's tongue feels too good! Can't cum! Wanna cum! Too much! Already cummed too much!" Your jaw drops and intense pleasure consumes you.

Squirting on Suguru's face, he tightens his grasp on your squishy thigh. Fucking the dildo into your ass quicker, twisting it. Both holes clenching, quivering, desperately trying to jerk your hips away.

You push Suguru's head back, tangling your fingers in his long hair. He groans into your cunt, gliding his tongue out. Licking your lips clean, rubbing your sensitive clit. Crying, glitching away from the intense pleasure.

Burying your face into the bed when he pulls away. Your wiggles settle into quivers, "We not done yet sweetheart." He pushes the dildo up to the hilt. Groaning, " Can't get enough of makin' you cum. Need to feel your sloppy cunt squeezin' my cock till it's too much for me to handle."

Lining his cock up, swiping it between your plush lips. Nudging barely the tip into your sensitive cunt, his fat head warm and soft. The temptation of the pleasure stretch his thick cock gives has you pushing your hips back.

Wrapping his hand around your neck, gradually choking you. "Good girl, take your daddy's cock. I'm gonna fuck ya till you can't walk, break your beautiful cunt, fill her up, then eat her out some more." Lifting your body, holding you off the ground, keeping you bent over, fucking you like he hates you.

Oreo creampie’s m.list

[delusionalwriterr]

Gym Buddy

Pairing: Beefy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You have a hard time keeping your eyes off of your gym crush.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: none

A/N: Shoutout to my gym girlies out there, this one's for you 🫵🏻

Masterlist

———

“What are we hitting today?” your friend asks you as you both enter the gym. You look over to the receptionist and greet him with a smile. Adjusting the gym bag on your shoulder, you turn to your friend and shrug. 

“I was thinking legs?” you suggest as the two of you head to the locker area. You usually go to the gym alone, but today was thankfully one of the rare occasions your schedule aligned with your friend’s so you took this opportunity to invite her to the gym with you�� something you used to do back when you were still in college. 

Your friend nods in response before beginning to stuff her locker with the stuff she didn’t need, you mirroring her actions. “Quads, hams, glutes, or all of the above?” she chuckles, pulling out her shaker bottle and scooping in some pre-workout. 

“I did quads last time, are you cool with hams and glutes?” you ask to which she nods again. “But you can do quads if you want.” 

This time she shakes her head, “Nah, you know me. I can never say no to a good glute workout.” She turns to her side and nudges your hip with hers, drawing a chuckle from you. 

You walk towards the workout area, your eyes scanning the room and immediately stopping by the benches. You feel your heart hammer in your chest as you watch him do bench presses— his chest puffing out and leaving no room for imagination thanks to the compression shirt he was wearing. 

Bucky Barnes started going to your gym a few months ago, and to say you were shocked to see him there the first time was an understatement. Not that you were complaining though, but you practically fell off the treadmill you were using when you saw him walk in for the first time donning an oversized shirt, a pair of sweatpants, and a baseball cap. 

Safe to say that he is definitely your gym crush, and you would be lying when you say that you look forward to going to the gym just to see if he was there. 

Your gaze stayed on him as your friend led you to the Smith machine. You glance at his face, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and mouth letting out huffs of breath as he raises the 100kg dumbells above him. 

Goddamn. 

Your attention is brought back to your friend as she begins loading the bar with a few weights to start your first exercise. You snap out of your daze and help her by loading up the other side before finally beginning. 

Taking turns, the two of you did a few sets of back squats, but your mind was definitely elsewhere. You desperately tried not to look at Bucky for too long, afraid that your friend might notice or worse, you get caught by Bucky staring at him. 

“Okay, what’s up? I feel like you left your brain back at home,” your friend joked as you took a break before starting your next exercise. You roll your eyes, taking a swig from your water bottle, ignoring her question. 

Your eyes subconsciously trail to Bucky, once again. This time, he was hunching over the bench as he stared at his phone, chest rising and falling at a steady pace. Your friend follows your gaze and hums in realization. 

“Ah, I see,” she pipes up with a smirk on her face, “you got hots for the Avenger.” 

You laugh softly, turning back to her and shrugging your shoulders. “Guilty as charged.” 

“Why don’t you go for it?” she pesters, causing you to rapidly shake your head. “No way, I’m scared he might just glare at me or something.” 

She scoffs before beginning to look for other plates to load the smith machine. She looks around your area only to find none that would suffice for your next exercise. So she scans the gym in search of heavier plates only to find a stack of 25’s that were conveniently placed beside Bucky. 

She smirks before trudging her way towards him despite your attempts to pull her back. “Come back here!” you whisper sharply, but ultimately give up once she reaches him. 

You see her gently tap Bucky on the shoulder, prompting the super soldier to turn and face her. You feel your whole body tense and your face starts to heat up. You watch as your friend points to the stack of plates beside Bucky and you see him nod and begin to stand up. 

Oh god, is he coming over here? You thought to yourself. Sure enough, you see your friend and Bucky each pick up a plate and head towards your direction. Your eyes briefly meet his, causing you to turn away and act busy by scrolling through your phone. 

You feel your heartbeat quicken as you see them grow closer through your peripheral until they are standing right in front of the machine. “Thank you so much!” your friend smiles as they both load the weights onto the bar. “I would’ve asked my friend to help me out, but the pre-workout hasn’t kicked in for her, you know?” she jokes, earning a soft chuckle from Bucky and a glare from you. 

“It’s no problem,” Bucky says, gaze shifting between the two of you, a shy smile on his lips. “Have a nice workout,” he adds, before heading back over to the benches. 

Your friend turns to you, a wicked smile on her lips. “See? He won’t bite,” she chides, causing you to roll your eyes before heading to the machine to start RDLs. “Unless you’re into that sort of stuff,” she continues, earning a smack on the shoulder from you. 

“I’m never working out with you again.” 

—

The next few days were not as uneventful as you’d hoped. You thought by going to the gym alone like you usually do would mean that you’d have more time to just subtly watch Bucky from across the room without worrying about any friends that would force you to interact with him. 

But just a few days after your initial interaction with Bucky, you were put in a situation where you had the chance to look at him up close once again. 

You were doing tricep pushdowns on the cable machine when you felt a hand tap you on the shoulder, causing you to jump. You turn around to meet the pair of blue eyes you so desperately gazed at all the time. 

You were frozen in your spot as you took in how attractive he looked in his compression shirt, arms bulging by the sleeves. You were snapped out of your daze when you realized he was talking to you. “I’m sorry, what?” you asked sheepishly, removing one of your earphones. 

Bucky smiled shyly in return. “Are you using the other cable?” he asked, pointing at the machine next to you. You shook your head, heat rushing to your face upon the thought of him working out beside you. “No, go ahead.” 

He smiled again before positioning himself beside you and starting his workout. You tried your best not to get distracted by the godly sight next to you, but you didn’t muster enough courage to talk to him after that. 

The next time you talk was the week after that. You were doing a particularly heavy set of dumbbell shoulder presses (while keeping note of Bucky somewhere behind you doing bicep curls). It was already your third set, and you were aiming to push out 12 reps until you started to feel your weaker arm give out. 

You braced your core harder as you pushed yourself to get the last rep in until you saw Bucky drop the dumbbells he was holding to rush behind you. “I got you,” he mumbled, lightly placing his hands just below your triceps to give you stability. 

You tried to ignore your heart that was hammering in your chest as you were finally able to fully lift the dumbbells over your head. You moved to lower them to put them down, but Bucky suddenly wrapped his hands on your wrists. “All you, give me one more.”

Jesus Christ. 

You pushed yourself one more time, ignoring the pain in your shoulders as you gave it your all. Once you finally put the dumbbells down, you turned to him. “Thanks,” you smiled, which Bucky returned. 

“No problem,” he replied, but before you could say anything else, he was already walking back to his spot to continue his set. You were extra energized to workout that day. 

Which brings you to a week after that. You were just stepping out of your car when you spot Bucky getting off his bike. You subtly watch as he took his helmet off, and revel in the way he tied his hair into a small bun by the nape of his neck. 

God, you were down bad. 

You were too busy trying not to drool and fail to notice that he was actually staring back at you. It wasn’t until he gave you a shy nod when you snap back to reality and return the gesture but throwing him a sheepish wave. 

“What are you training today?” he calls out as he watches you take your gym bag from the trunk of your car and slung it on your shoulder. “Oh, I’m doing pull today. What about you?” you ask, silently hoping he was planning to do the same. 

“Mind if I join you?” he asks which practically made your heart do backflips. Trying to hide your giddiness, you give him a short nod as you and him begin to make your way inside the gym. 

You enter and greet a few familiar faces as Bucky follows suit before stopping in front of the lat pulldown machine. “Are you okay with starting with this?” you ask. 

“What, no warm up?” Bucky asks in return, prompting your cheeks to heat up. “I don’t warm up,” you start, “And before you lecture me, I know it’s bad… I’m just too lazy to do it.”

He chuckles softly at this as he begins to take off the sweatshirt he was wearing to reveal that he was wearing a muscle tee underneath, leaving almost no room for imagination. “S’okay. I’m too lazy to warm up sometimes too.” 

You laugh as you take a seat in front of the machine, pick a favorable weight, and begin your set. You weren’t going to lie to yourself, the thought of Bucky Barnes standing just beside you to watch you do your set was both nerve wracking and motivating at the same time. Sure, you wanted to impress him with the amount of reps you could push out, but the way he was staring at you was also making your knees grow weak. 

Thankfully, you finish your first set with minimal struggle before standing up and gesturing for him to go next. “That seemed a little too easy for you,” Bucky began, “I know you can lift heavier than that, doll.” 

You try to ignore the way your stomach flipped upon hearing the pet name and reply with a playful scoff instead. You take a swig from your bottle as he starts his set. While lifting the whole stack, you admire the way his back muscles expand and contract without focusing too much on the soft grunts that were leaving his mouth. 

Did it suddenly get too hot in here? 

After a few more workouts and taking turns checking each other out, you both decide to end the day with a set of hammer curls. You watch in awe as he begins to work with a pair of 80kg dumbbells, making your weight look puny. 

“If you don’t mind me asking,” you huffed as you continue your set. You see him slightly turn his head towards you in acknowledgment. “Given that you literally have a serum that makes you… you know, strong enough to lift a truck—“ he laughs at that, “why do you still work out?” 

He ends his set and places his dumbbells back on the rack. “Well it sort of feels like therapy for me. When I go to the gym, it’s like— are you done with these?” he stops, pointing at the dumbbells you placed down while he was talking. You nod and before you could protest, he picks up the pair with one hand and places them back on the rack for you. “Anyway, when I go to the gym, I can forget about everything, you know? It feels nice to leave the rest of the world behind and pretend like everything is normal in my life,” he finishes. 

Bucky lifts his metal arm in front of him. “This doesn’t really help with that though,” he adds, letting out a sad laugh. Your heart clenches at his sentiment, but before you know it, you blurt out, “Do you wanna get coffee after this?”

You widen your eyes at your sudden forwardness. A few weeks ago, you could barely approach him to ask help in re-racking weights, but you also never really imagined you would one day do pull with him, too. So this was sort of like a seize the day kind of thing. 

Bucky, too, was caught off guard with your invitation. He never really talked to anyone when he went to the gym, preferring to just keep to himself, but there was something about you that pulled him closer. Maybe it was how friendly you were with everyone in the gym or how he saw you continuously push yourself to your limit in every exercise you do, but he was always intrigued by you. 

His therapist told him to step out of his comfort zone more, so with a smile, he replies, “Only if you let me be your gym buddy from now on.” 

Your smile reaches your ears as you offer him your hand, which he gladly took, “Deal.” 

———

A/N: This really gives off crack energy, but hope you liked it either way ◡̈

[midnightarcheress]

i know i just said that i was on a break, but casino!141 was giving me an itch, so here we are. phone writing, bear with me.

cw: nsfw. slightest dub-con at first? poly!141 is arising. cockwarming. simon talks you through it. f!reader. 3 | more casino!141

your footsteps echoes in the hallway, soundwaves ricocheting on the walls of the far too quiet casino. it's strange being there during the day, accompanied only by the more avid gamblers who need their fix, even when most lights are off.

"come in." John's voice travels from inside the office after your brisk knock and you open the door, quickly stepping in the room and opening your mouth to speak, but your jaw closes shut when you realize you're not alone with him.

he's sitting behind a desk overflowing with papers, cigar long forgotten on the ashtray, but your attention is diverted to the masked individual standing beside it, hazel eyes boring into your skull with an unerving stare. "hello, Ace."

his voice can't be described as tranquilizing, but the tone is a stark contrast from the glare. it's almost tender, alluring, and for a split second you forget what you were going to say. "uhm, Kyle said you wanted to see me?" your head turns back to John, offering him a timid smile.

"yes, that's correct." he leans back on the chair, rolling his tense shoulders and tilting his head in your direction, "Simon and i are working through some documents, you know, bookkeeping, management, the boring stuff behind the slot machines," you nod, attentively listening but not truly following, "and i'm needing some of your assistance."

"i'm sorry? assistance?" your brows knit together, confused by his words. he chuckles, index finger raised in the air motioning for you to come closer, and you swear you hear Simon snorting at the interaction.

you walk to the table and stand on his side, eyes darting between the pile of files and the malicious glint in his blue irises. his hand meets your waist and your sight drops from his face, down to his torso, down to his... bulge. "you see, Ace, you're always so good in helping me concentrate during the games, we might as well try something new, yeah?"

his fingers graze your hips, tracing down your sides and reaching behind your thighs, causing a shiver on your spine. "John, i–" a soft 'shh' comes out of his lips, and he starts unbuckling his belt, raising himself just enough so that his trousers can come to his knees.

heat spreads up your chest, your neck, your cheeks, and your vision swerves to the ceiling, mind racing with embarrassment and bewilderment. from the corner of your eye you peek into Simon's direction, and to your surprise, he's completely unfazed.

Price drags you closer, hiking up your shirt just enough to expose your belly, pressing long kisses on the flesh while his hands knead your ass. you shouldn’t give in so easy, you have a better judgement than that, but his touch is so enticing, soft, easily mistaken by loving, that you find it hard to define what's right and wrong – or to define if you really want this.

when he pops open the button of your pants, you know you're done for. even if your brain settled for a 'no', he wouldn't care, considering the amount of pre-cum leaking from his throbbing cock. the damp spot between your legs wouldn't care either.

he pulls your bottoms down slowly, trailing pecks from your navel to your mound. you're nervous, dangerously close to a cardiac arrest when he flips you around hastily, slap on your ass cheek making your body jolt forward.

a firm hand guide your hips to his crotch, while the other positions his cock on your entrance, teasingly stroking the folds to gather your slick. "deep breath for me." he's gentle, pressing kisses on your back while you sink into his length, the pain of the sudden stretch being easily overpowered by the wave of pleasure washing over you. "that's it, love." he groans, squeezing your waist when you finally hit the base, "now just sit pretty while i work, hm?"

you nod, pathetically so, biting your bottom lip to swallow back your moans. you imagined it would be big, and maybe you just needed to be prepared, but fuck, you were filled. John started ruffling through the papers again, meticulously skimming the words like his tip wasn't brushing your cervix whenever you dared to adjust yourself.

"you have to stop squirming, Ace."

your head snaps up to the side the sound came from, and you face Simon's piercing glare. he still holds one of the documents, but his focus is solely on you, an underlying primal desire hidden behind his gaze that makes your stomach flutter.

he chuckles, leaning in front of you, arms almost close enough to cage you over the table. "does it feel that good? having Price's cock stuffing your sweet cunt?" he patronizes, tapping your cheek to get your attention back on his eyes, "i bet it does."

if you had the energy, you'd curse him out, but you're lost in how good you're feeling, even with minimal friction. you look up to him, pitifully doe-eyed as a moan escapes your lips, "go on, pretty girl, feel it. it's pulsing, isn't it? each vein hitting the perfect spots." you grip the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white from the strength, desperately trying to ignore the smallest twitches of his shaft inside of you, "you want him to move, right?"

you hum, writhing on his lap to convince John into forgeting whatever business he has to do at the moment and just fuck you already. "you'll have to wait, Ace." you whine, looking over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of him. his gaze doesn't shift, but you note the slight blush creeping up his collar and you smirk, content that he seems to be suffering too, even if it's barely.

"if you're lucky, he might reward you later. throw all of that shite on the floor and bend you over the table." your walls immediately clench at the idea, coaxing a grunt out of Price. "and you are a lucky girl, aren't you?" a breathy 'yes' comes out of your mouth, and Simon's thumb brushes your lower lip, smearing the tiny drop of spit on the corner over your pout.

your thighs tremble, clit aching and begging for some stimuli, toes curling at the mere thought of being fully claimed by John. "be patient." he deigns, and you don't miss the smirk marking the black fabric of his covering. bastard. his hungry expression only makes you wetter, needier, disoriented by lust, and you absentmindedly nod, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves and wait. painfully wait.

but the action ultimately falters the second Simon's low whisper reach your ears, striking you like electricity, "good girl."

ideas for this are always welcomed mwah

[pricegouge]

cw: fat femme reader. shitty tinder dates. alcohol mentioned but not consumed. that's it. written on my lunch break and unedited so mind the mess

divider by @/cafekitsune | taglist @pricegouged

You're on your second drink when you swear off dating apps altogether. 

Dylan - fine, normal, everyday, run-of-the-mill Dylan - had exposed himself fairly early as too fine and normal, and therefore boring, which wouldn't have been too big a problem if he hadn't also been leaning further and further into the asshole category with each passing minute.

The snide little comment about your weight would be enough to send you packing early under any normal circumstances, except you'd been an idiot who'd let him pick you up so you needed a ride home, and why pay for an Uber when you can be mean right back?

It takes you a moment to arrive at that conclusion, though, stopping mid sip of your water to arch your eyebrows at this pathetic little thing before you with enough force to have him backpedaling. You watch him flounder for a moment, considering your options, not listening at all as he tries to clarify that he's 'into it, though - big girls, that is'.

You roll your eyes away from him, pretend to watch the highlight reel of last night's match from where it plays on the outdated CRT in the corner. It's not even a good place for a date, really, a self-serve popcorn machine in the corner offering pre-fingered snacks and a low liquor shelf behind the bar suggesting you'd best be thirsty for something with no more than three ingredients. You're not exactly the snooty type, but you suddenly realize you should maybe learn to know your worth better because you cannot ever sit across the table from someone who's read The Game ever again. One more time might kill you, funeral expenses legally billable to Neil Strauss and everything. 

Except your new standards will have to be enacted in the morning because you suddenly refuse to spend a fucking dime on this terrible outing.

Dylan still looks slightly panicked when you turn back to him with a shy little affected smile and a demure batting of your eyelashes. You watch in real time as his expression shifts from pure panic at a gamble ventured and lost, to surprised delight when he thinks it's paying off. You let him keep thinking that, draw quiet and reserved the more dinner draws on though jokes on you there, because that just means you have to hear him talk more and it's a struggle to pretend you don't find the damn coasters more interesting than him at this point. 

(They're cardboard and growing waterlogged from condensation, the local brewery's logo becoming easily peelable. It's become your mission to get a clean pull by the end of his long winded ramble, though he's so invested in hearing himself talk that you surpass your goal twice, peeling both the front and back off the coaster and sticking the limp paper to your glass, pressing out air bubbles with your fingers like you're carefully applying proper labeling. He doesn't stop talking until your glass is labeled front and back, real professional.)

When he asks if you're ready to go you perk up like a dog hearing its favorite word. You wanna go for a ride? Hm? You ready to go home, girl? Your nod is bobble-headed, eager. You let him misread it because you're an asshole and because you did say in your profile that you weren't looking for hookups so really it's his own fault if he blue balls himself. 

The ride back is short, easy. You don't know if it's better or worse that he doesn't bother flirting with you here or test your expectations with a cheeky little hand on your thigh. Instead, his grip remains carefully at ten and two and you're grateful he's not touching you, really, but you know what he expects from you in a matter of mere moments, hours, whatever, and it pisses you off that he doesn't even bother warming you up to the idea by grabbing a feel of those 'big thighs' he's 'into.' So you let yourself stew, fuel for the fire, and you fiddle with his heat controls just because you can. 

If he was so dead set on ending this night all hot and wet, you could help him with that at least.

Sweat beads at Dylan's temple when he pulls into the intricate webbing of drives which make up your apartment complex. It's a nice enough place, one you can only afford with the help of one too many roommates. The steep rent is worth it though for nights like tonight, when apprehension begins to pool in your belly as you try to steel yourself for the small confrontation you're about to initiate. Dylan may have been a little weasel but he wasn't exactly contentious so you're not expecting anything too major to come of this, but it's reassuring to see so many people still out and about enjoying the cool fall evening. It's still fairly early, mothers only just heading back from the park with their double wide buggies taking up half the drive. They shoot Dylan ugly looks as he passes, just a hair too fast for their unofficial neighborhood watch. At least you know they'll be on your side if he really starts to act up.

Dylan does not need reminding which specific branches lead to your building, rolling to a stop next to your own car which you try not to look at with any familiarity. You may have already made the mistake of giving him your address, but every morsel of information he might glean about you now feels like a theft, and even what you had for breakfast is suddenly a dark secret you'd like to keep from him for no real reason. 

It's hard looking at Dylan now too, the shyness you'd been playing up before all of a sudden a very real obstacle as your eyes wander your building's facade, as if even you aren't certain which bay window is yours. Your lights are all off, you note with some annoyance, your roommates not home despite the fact they said they would be. 

'Up all night waiting for you,' Carren had winked, her big cheeky smile something you've never had cause to mistrust before. You gotta work on your naivete. 

Your eyes keep moving, resolved not to give away even your apartment number by being too obvious. They catch on the patio next door, however, when you spot your neighbor Kyle sitting on his Adirondack chair, smoking a cigarette as he watches this new car pointedly, doing nothing to hide his curiosity. 

If you had been smart you would've told Dylan to pick you up a few buildings down so he wouldn't even have the proper section, but the relief you feel at seeing your sweet, hot, extremely fit neighbor outside playing guard dog more than makes up for your mistake. So much so that your fingers don't falter when they find the handle, emergency release ready to be disengaged. You turn back to Dylan with a too-sweet smile and thank him for dinner again, already leaning out the door when he stutters something about having a good time.

"Yeah, me too," you call over your shoulder, beelining it for Kyle's patio because you've had enough drinks in that vacant chair across from him to know you're always welcome, especially in a situation like this. Sure enough, Kyle perks up when he sees it's you climbing out of the strange car, and then furrows his brow over your shoulder when you hear Dylan climbing out after you. Some snivelly little creature you've been trying to kill since you turned eighteen holds the reins when you turn back to him despite your better instincts, your need to avoid a scene outweighing everything else in that moment.

Your date's facade is visibly crumbling now, his frustration obvious in the set of his jaw and the sweat at his temples. You wonder if perhaps the thermostat had been a bit much and then immediately decide you don't care when he stammers something about maybe coming in for a glass of something nicer than what the restaurant had to offer. 

Presumptuous. "I don't," you blurt, only continuing when he blinks at you in confusion, "drink anything nice, that is." Across the lawn, you think you hear Kyle snort.

"Uh… coffee?" Dylan asks, just as stubborn as you.

"Gave up caffeine," you lie, trying not to think about the lovely mocha creation Kyle will likely offer you momentarily when you tell him you've got a splitting headache.

To his credit, Dylan doesn't quite pout. "Right. Well. Do this again sometime?"

And you're already on a roll with the lies so you just carry right on with them, chirping out a high, "Sure!" before trying to turn on your heel.

But you're out of niceties when a firm grip on your shoulder keeps you in place, Dylan's scraggly mustache looming into your space as you watch his lips pucker in horror. 

"Oh I'm good, thanks!" you squeak, yanking yourself out of his grip. A laugh bubbles out of you afterward, uncomfortable but still amused by your own reaction. Your satisfaction only grows when Dylan begins to look genuinely pissy. This was exactly what you wanted to avoid but you're past the point of caring.

"Is that it, then?" Dylan huffs, taking a daring step forward. 

You slide back, lock step. "'Fraid so."

"Even after I bought you dinner?"

"And made me feel bad about eating it?" You scoff. "Yeah."

"I drove all the way out from -."

"What's all this?"

You're not sure who jumps more at Kyle's sudden appearance. He hovers by your shoulder, a silent type of fury pulling at his pretty face. You forget sometimes he's military, his general geniality always setting you at ease. It makes this new version of him all the more frightening, a lethal force sitting pretty at your side. 

This is what makes the rent worth it, honestly.

"Kyle, this is Dylan. My date for the night."

Kyle hums, clearly unconcerned with the specifics. "Well, night's over."

You smirk up at where the sun still lingers over the horizon, pale behind its cloudy cover but present all the same. "Indeed."

"Piss off, mate," Dylan tries, his voice sterner than you'd originally given him credit for. 

You raise your brow at him but Kyle doesn't even bother. He turns to you and smiles, eyes crinkling around the corners, much too tight to be natural. "Luvie, will you go get us some drinks? Sliding door's unlocked."

Part of you rankles at the dismissal, but a bigger part of you does indeed want to be done with this horrible man so you nod, wave a sarcastic two finger salute at Dylan and finally make your way back across the lawn, slipping into Kyle's warm and cozy apartment with a sigh of relief. 

For all the friendly patio drinks you've had with him since moving in, you've never actually stepped foot in Kyle's place. You take a moment to admire it, noting the cleanliness and a tidiness which undeniably spoke of a military career. Still, small concessions to his personality dotted the walls and surfaces. A fresh laundry scented candle, a stack of blu-rays, framed pictures of people you've never met all grinning happily. You spot Kyle's same smile reflected back at you from all these different faces, his entire family evidently blessed with that thousand watt grin and you wonder how one camera could sustain all those lumens being beamed at it.

The layout matches yours, simply reflected. You find the kitchen easily, again noting the cleanliness with a nod of approval. Someday he'd retire and settle down, make someone extremely happy. You could only hope you would be long gone by then because the jealousy might truly drive you to desperate measures. Like taking Tinder back up again, for example. The notion draws you to the kitchen window, quest for beverages all but forgotten when you see Kyle leaning over Dylan's shoulder as the latter man flips through his phone. You frown in confusion, drawing closer to the window as Kyle reaches out and starts poking around your date's phone on his own. It's cracked open, crisp fall breeze whistling through. It drowns out the noise of the conversation but you try anyway, ears straining for any word whispered between the two. A moment passes, another. Dylan becomes increasingly agitated while Kyle stays the picture of controlled severity. You don't hear either of them at all until Kyle's eyes dart to the apartment, finding yours instantly. You gulp, feeling as if you've been caught despite not actually doing anything wrong anyway, and suddenly Kyle's veneer breaks like a thunder cloud. He claps Dylan on the shoulder heavily, turning his beaming smile on the smaller man and calling him a good lad.

Dylan mutters something indiscernible and turns back towards his car, resolutely ignoring as Kyle calls out overly friendly farewells. The engine rips to life, a low growl which suggests it's in dire need of an oil change. Still, it bravely fires up and carries Dylan away, Kyle turning back to you with a roll of his eyes which seemed to say 'this fuckin' guy.'

You grin at him, rolling your eyes right back before ducking your head, suddenly bashful under your neighbor's full attention. Drinks forgotten, you meet him at the door and thank him profusely, ignoring the way he tries to wave it off as if it was nothing,

"No, seriously, Kyle, that was very much appreciated. Probably not necessary but appreciated anyway. Please let me know if there's ever a way I can make it up to you."

And now Kyle's smirk is salacious. Great. "Well, you can join me for that drink I requested to start," he laughs, waving you back into his apartment. "Then you can tell me what you were doing on a date with a guy like that."

"Hm," you hum, already given in but thinking of how you can get what you want out of him first. Your scheming has already worked out so well for you tonight, after all. "Sure, but first you gotta tell me what you were doing on his phone."

He doesn't even miss a beat. "No can do. Top secret stuff."

"Oh," you scoff, allowing yourself to be corralled toward the couch. It's surprisingly soft, instantly cocooning you the moment you slump into it. A woven blanket hangs over the back of it which you wonder if Kyle would mind you using, if he'd get a kick out of returning from the kitchen to find you curled up like you owned the place. Probably, he wouldn't because he's much too nice to you always. "Potential terrorist threat was he?"

"He did fit the profile," Kyle calls back from the kitchen. 

You laugh, decide if he's allowed to call your date a terrorist then you're definitely allowed to use his blanket. His fault for leaving the window open on such a cold day. As expected, Kyle seems completely unbothered when he returns moments later, your favorite mocha monstrosity in one hand and his standard plain, sweetened coffee in the other. He holds your drink out of your reach teasingly however until you admit you'd met Dylan on a dating app and he tuts, relenting your drink to you almost as an apology for what you've had to go through.

"Why are you even on those things?" he asks, slurping at his coffee noisily. It's a funny habit of his, one he somehow manages to make endearing. 

Though, looking like that, you imagine he could probably make booger picking endearing.

"Well, Kyle, some of us aren't quite as naturally charming as you."

He smirks, doesn't bother to deny it. Cocky asshole. "Don't sell yourself short, I'm sure plenty of men would love to have their blankets stolen by you." He winks, hand reaching out to pluck at the weave which drapes over your shoulder. His hand lingers there, warm even through the layers, and your laugh dies in your throat, comes out as a strangled scoff.

"Well. Keep it a little warmer in here and your guests wouldn't have to make themselves at home uninvited."

Kyle's smile is softer this time, dangerously handsome. "You're always invited, pet."

And try as you might to be witty, you can't quite come up with a response to that. Kyle doesn't seem to need one, though, slurping at his coffee as he settles in, far too close. The hand which had been at your shoulder settles lower, palm warm where he kneads at your thick thigh experimentally. You'd laugh at the irony if your brain wasn't too busy turning somersaults trying to make sense of what's happening. Surely your neighbor Kyle - sexy, sharp, nice Kyle - isn't coming onto you.

Right?

But then he's leaning forward and placing his mug on the table, his thick fingers guiding your own mug to your mouth for a quick, stunned sip before pulling it away again and placing it next to his own. He's facing you now, full on, his big dark eyes gleaming with mischief. 

"I was making him delete all your contact info. Earlier. And then I made him deactivate his account," Kyle laughs, an infectious thing which gets you giggling too.

"Not willing to subject other girls to him?"

"I don't take chances," Kyle confirms, voice solemn as a vow. "But what about you, pet? What do I gotta do to convince you to delete yours?"

Given you'd already planned on deleting it, you should really just tell him you've already learned your lesson and there's no need to do anything at all. But your scheming has only yielded a fifty percent success rate tonight and you'd rather go for broke than break even so you just smile, wondering if Kyle saw your no-hookups stipulation on your profile before making Dylan unmatch earlier. 

You hope not.

"I don't know, it might take a lot of convincing."

[apas-95]

the more well-known the agency confronting you is, the less trouble you're usually in. like if it's the cops at your door, it could just be a noise complaint. FBI might just be there for tweets. obviously, still bad, but... here, a comparison. if you have a run in with the CIA you're probably in trouble, but if you have a run in with the Office of Naval Intelligence then you've definitely fucked up. did you know the USPS has its own investigative force? and you might be thinking like, oh, as in some dudes in baby blue button-ups who search for missing mail - but no, these are uniformed, armed federal agents with all the authority that entails. they've got squad cars and such. and, like, these guys are serious. back in the late '80s to the early '90s, when electronic mail sorting first started to be rolled out, there were consistent issues with the machines having trouble scanning letters. it wasn't a super common problem, but it happened a lot, in multiple states. anyway, the USPS eventually realised two things - first, that the problems persisted even after the machines themselves were replaced (at great expense); and second, that they were really limited to michigan and some surrounding states, with only rare occurrences elsewhere which might be unrelated. anyway, that was enough to get the United States Postal Inspection Service to take interest. if somebody was sending dangerous materials though the mail which were messing with the scanning machines, it was probably endangering postal workers too. this was pre-9/11, so the idea it was terrorism wasn't taken too seriously, and the investigation didn't get much support. anyway, it takes months of waiting for machines to break down, cataloguing the mail they'd been handling, cross-referencing it, etc, to narrow down the source of the mail to somewhere south of detroit. kinda goes cold for a while, since the mail's scanned in big batches and finding the common link takes a *lot* of data and work. anyway it's like october '91 now and they think they've finally got it. they've found a specific batch that's tripping the machines up, and they're going over it with a fine-tooth comb when an agent's pager starts freaking out. after experimenting, they realise that whatever's fucked with the scanning machines has also fucked with the pager, and they realise it might be putting out radiation. biiig 'oh shit' moment. they isolate the whole batch and get a big medical checkup, but they're alright. geiger counter picks up nothing. what they *do* find, however, is that there are like 60 letters in there that are each putting out small amounts of non-ionising EM radiation. so, basically safe to handle, but together they're enough to flip some bits in the janky '80s tech they've got and cause occasional scanning errors. and, get this, they're all from the same address. they track this place down, and it's this guy running a sort of bird sanctuary in his backyard. he's australian, and sells like, courses for avoiding getting attacked by birds - and he spends a lot of time hanging around these birds, right? so they take the guy in for questioning, and they literally can't even have recording equipment on the table with him without it glitching, he's almost cooking popcorn here. they question him, and he tells them about his business, how he like, teaches people specific hand gestures to scare away birds and whatever, and they start grilling him on whether he's been exposed to any chemicals or anything, because of the letters. and the guy, when he hears about the letters, suddenly goes like 'ohhh', and explains. cus he gives people grades on their performance and sends them a handmade certificate after they complete the course, right? so they're like 'why the fuck are your letters irradiated' and he just tells them 'Thats My Crow Wave Gradiation'

[cannatron]

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[ham1lton]

A SUB ABOVE LOVE.

pairings: oscar piastri x reader.

summary: ❝ oscar likes his job. it might just be making sandwiches with the world's worst playlist as a backing track, but it relaxes him. that is, until his boss makes him take the newbie under his wing, and you're the worst worker he has ever seen in the history of the store. how can you fuck up a sandwich? ❞

— part of the raceway retail series! check it out <3

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

“she’s fucking awful.” oscar moans as he assembles lando’s sandwich. lando usually gets lunch for free at his restaurant, spice ‘n sizzle, but he insisted he had to try something new today. so here he was, exploiting oscar’s worker discount.

“how can she that bad at making sandwiches.” lando rolls his eyes as he taps on his iphone. “mate c’mon, it’s not exactly rocket science now is it?”

“these ovens have pre-timers on them,” oscar explains as he puts lando’s sandwich inside one of them. “it’s all pre-set. all you need to do is press the button for the sandwich you’re attempting to make. she burns the sandwich every time.”

“maybe the ovens are broken?”

“oh yeah?” oscar pulls out lando’s sandwich which is a perfect crispy golden brown. lando shrugs.

“douché.”

“you mean touché?”

“yeah, same thing.”

oscar just rolls his eyes. he wraps the sandwich tightly and puts it through the till. lando presses his phone against the card machine until it makes a ping noise. after a few minutes, oscar has taken his break while lando eats. mostly to complain.

“y’know we live together,” lando licks some sauce from his thumb. “you can complain to me whenever. you didn’t have to take a break to do this.”

“i need to finish complaining or it’ll bottle up and i’ll get even more annoyed. then i’ll explode and die.” oscar deadpans. “do you really want a dead flatmate in this economy lando?”

“probably not.”

“thought so.”

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

“so! how is work?” your friend says as she sits next to you on the couch. you smile.

“it’s good. great even. there is this guy, oscar, and he’s so nice. practically does my job for me!” you scroll through youtube on your television. she hums.

“see? you got all worked up for nothing.” she smiles as she squeezes your arm affectionately. “everything seems to be working out great! wanna get takeout?”

“get it from spice ‘n sizzle please! i’m craving it today for some reason.”

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

author’s note: this is the snippet for my oscar story. the full fic will be out soon! <3

[zegrasdrysdale]

we now need a fic of how Jamie reacts when you wear the Canada jersey👀👀

[ oh canada ] j. drysdale

paring : Jamie Drysdale x fem!reader

summary : Jamie finds his girlfriend in his Team Canada jersey and shows her what he thinks of her in it

warning(s) : smut ! slightly dom!jamie, fingering, p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), pet names during sex

author’s note : ask and you shall receive anon (with canada’s loss in the quarterfinals at the wjc, i had just the idea for this request). this was also mostly written pre-jamie trade so … yeah

༺═──────────────═༻

It wasn’t long long after the horn before the first wave of notifications began rolling in.

WJC SHOCKER: Team Canada Loses to Czechia in the Quarterfinals

Team Canada went 3-1 During Preliminary Round; Loses to Czechs in Quarterfinal Match

Czechia is Moving On! Czechs Celebrate Shock Victory Over Reigning Champs

She isn’t from Canada and doesn’t quite understand why the entire hockey world goes crazy for the World Juniors tournament every year, but her boyfriend is from Canada and he played in the World Juniors tournament in 2021. He gets into it every year, and even places bets with his teammates that have played in the World Juniors, mostly Trevor and Mason though.

Jamie’s team lost to the US in 2021, and it was a rough loss for the entire team. He’s told her so many times that he wishes he was able to do more to help his team win.

She didn’t meet Jamie until after the tournament but he is always talking about it. She knows how much he loves the World Juniors, and she knows how much he hates watching Canada lose.

The idea doesn’t come to her until she’s digging through their closet to find something to wear to go out with her friends later that night. She finds Jamie’s Team Canada jersey in the back with his old Ducks jerseys.

A smirk forms on her lips as the idea slowly forms in her head. She grabs the jersey from the closet and a pair of lacey red panties from her underwear drawer and puts both of them on. She wears nothing but the panties under the jersey.

If Jamie comes home from watching the game with his teammates all mad that Canada lost to Czechia, he won’t be as soon as he sees her in his jersey with barely anything on underneath.

The game ended fifteen minutes ago so Jamie will be home any minute since he was just down the street at Trevor’s with Mason. She makes her way out to the kitchen to make some coffee since he was out early this morning for practice then went right to Trevor’s for the game.

She stands in the kitchen in front of the coffee machine when the front door opens. She hears Jamie’s voice before she sees him.

“No, Z,” he is saying. “I am not going to wear your jersey for arrivals at our next game. I never agreed to- um, we can argue about this later.”

Jamie must’ve seen her because he hangs up the phone really quickly. She turns her head and sees a flustered Jamie Drysdale standing behind her in front of the door. His eyes rake her entire body. Her bare legs and loose jersey that is too big on her. Her hair is in a bun on top of her head so his last name can clearly be seen.

“Hi, baby,” she happily says. “How was your morning? I heard about Canada’s loss.”

“Yeah, it was a rough, uh, loss,” Jamie stammers. “Um, is that my Canada jersey? Why are you wearing it?”

She finishes making Jamie a cup of coffee and walks over to him. His eyes widen when he sees the Team Canada logo on her belly. “I thought you might be a little upset about Canada losing so I wanted to surprise you,” she explains as she hands him the cup of coffee. “Are you surprised?”

Probably out of instinct, Jamie takes the coffee from her. His eyes are on the jersey on her body. “I’m definitely something,” he mumbles. “Jesus, (Y/N).”

The most innocent smile forms on her face. “Glad I was able to surprise you,” she says. “Do you want something to eat? Or did you eat at Trevor’s?”

“I was too stressed out to eat at Trevor’s,” he replies. “I can grab a snack or something later though. I’m a little tired between being up early for practice then yelling at Trevor’s TV.”

She shakes her head. “I can grab you something,” she tells him as she heads to the cabinet. “Do you want sweet or savory?”

(Y/N) reaches up to move things around to see what they have for snacks and feels the jersey ride up. Her ass is definitely exposed and Jamie probably has a nice view of the lace panties that are under the jersey.

There’s the sound of a mug being put down behind her then there’s a hand on her ass and a hand on her waist on top of the jersey. Jamie presses his entire body against hers.

“Did you actually wear this jersey to surprise me or did you wear this jersey because you wanted to get fucked?” he asks in her ear. “Because I’ll gladly bend you over the counter right now and give you what you want.”

She turns her head and meets Jamie’s eyes. There’s a fire behind them that she rarely ever sees — usually after a rough loss. His usually bright eyes are dark with lust.

With a moment of hesitation because she’s unsure what she’s going to start, (Y/N) softly says, “I always want to get fucked by you, but this was genuinely meant as a surprise. I always want you though. Counter or no counter. Jersey or no jersey. I want you."

Jamie processes what she said and blinks before he turns her around. His eyes drop to the jersey that practically swallows her. She doesn't understand how Jamie finds this attractive. It's big enough on her that she could get away with wearing it as a dress.

"You look so pretty in my jersey," Jamie tells her. His voice has dropped to a whisper. "The things I would do to you in this jersey."

"So do it and stop talking."

His lips are on hers as soon as the last word passes her lips. The kiss is rough and feverish as soon as their lips connect. She lets out a soft groan as Jamie presses himself completely against her. He slots a thigh between her legs and she has to refrain from grinding against it.

One of Jamie’s hands cups her jaw while the other is on her thigh. He lifts her leg up around his waist and she jumps onto the counter behind her without breaking the kiss. She grips the collar of his t-shirt and his hands slither up underneath the jersey.

He cups one of her breasts and groans when he realizes that she isn’t wearing a bra under the jersey. She swears she feels the bulge that’s resting against her thigh grows a bit at the realization.

When she smirks into the kiss that follows, Jamie nips at her bottom lip. She yelps in surprise but he quickly kisses it softly.

Jamie pushes the jersey up her body so she leans forward a bit so he can get it over her butt since she’s sitting on it. She laughs and wraps her arms around her boyfriend’s neck so she doesn’t fall.

The laugh is quickly cut off when he slides his fingers down her belly and into the waistband of her lace panties. She gasps when his fingers run through her already soaked folds. She spreads her legs wider for him without Jamie needing to ask.

He breaks the kiss and rests his forehead on her for a second. She leans backward until her back collides with the wall behind her. Jamie bites his swollen lip and hooks his fingers in the waistband of her underwear. He pulls the lace off her body and throws it somewhere on the ground.

“Tell me to stop if you get uncomfortable,” Jamie reminds her. “You know I will.”

“Get your fingers inside me, Drysdale,” she replies. “I’m about to do it myself in about two seconds.”

“That would be kind of hot.”

“Jamie!”

He smiles before he slips one finger inside of her to start. She sighs and leans her head back against the wall. He slowly begins to pump that one finger inside of her, then he adds a second one seconds later.

Her legs are already shaking as Jamie fingers her closer to an orgasm. He places soft kisses on the inside of the bent knee. Her one foot is on the counter so Jamie has better access.

(Y/N) has to bite down on the collar of the jersey she’s wearing to stifle any noises.

That doesn’t last long.

“Nuh uh,” Jamie says as he pulls the fabric out from between her teeth. “I wanna hear you, baby. Let me hear those pretty sounds you always make when you come on my fingers.”

She whines and bites her bottom lip.

A third finger is added and she lets out a noise that doesn’t sound human. It’s like a moan and a yelp at the same time, but Jamie seems to love it. She has to resist covering her mouth with a hand because of how embarrassing that sound was.

Then Jamie begins to curl his fingers in a “come here” motion. She’s immediately done for without warning.

(Y/N) involuntarily rolls her hips against his fingers and cries out Jamie’s name repeatedly. If she slams the back of her head against the wall, she doesn’t notice because her entire body is overwhelmed with pleasure. Her vision goes completely white for a second before she comes down from her high.

The first thing she notices is how shaky her legs are. The second thing she notices is Jamie licking her come off of his fingers. “Fuck, Jamie,” she mumbles. He smiles and sends her a wink.

“Think you can stand?” he asks after a moment.

She slides off the counter very slowly and carefully just in case she’s unsteady on her feet. Jamie helps her until she’s sure she’s steady.

Then he turns her around and wraps one arm around her torso. She gasps when his lips attach to her neck right under her ear. “Gonna give you what you really want,” he mumbles into her skin. “Gonna bend you over this counter and give you my cock right here. Gonna fuck you in my jersey.”

Goosebumps rise on her body from his words. It’s so rare when Jamie speaks like this but she loves it.

“Please,” she sighs. “Jamie, please.”

He sucks a mark into the skin right under her ear before he bends her over the counter. The sound of a belt buckle rings throughout the kitchen before it hits the floor. There’s a zipper being unzipped and movement behind her before she finally feels the tip of Jamie’s dick run through her folds and already sensitive clit.

Jamie lifts the jersey up and kicks her feet apart. She sighs when she feels him begin to fill her up. “Fuck,” she groans. “Come on, Jamie.”

As soon as he bottoms out, he begins rolling his hips. His cock is moving slowly and deeply at first. Jamie doesn’t wait to pick up speed and intensity.

Soft noises come from both of them. She squeezes her eyes shut and Jamie grabs a handful of his jersey that rests on her body.

She finds herself thankful that Jamie has a hold of the jersey because she’s afraid she’s going to fall with how weak and shaky her legs are. There’s nothing for her to grasp on the counter so she’s fully trusting Jamie not to let her fall.

Jamie lifts one of her legs up onto the counter so he can get a new angle. “Holy fuck,” she cries out. “Baby.”

“I got you,” Jamie assures her. “I have you. Relax.”

She rests her forehead on the cool, smooth countertop. That’s probably the only thing keeping her from sweating at the moment. Her nails claw at something to grip but she finds nothing.

The familiar knot forms in the pit of her belly. It threatens to come undone every time Jamie thrusts into her. She can tell he’s close to with how sloppy his movements get.

(Y/N) looks back at Jamie and finds that he’s taken off his shirt. His chest glistens with a thin layer of sweat. She bites her lip and rests her cheek on the counter.

“Come inside me,” she croaks. “Wanna feel you come in me.”

Jamie lets out a soft whine. “You can’t just say that,” he breathes out.

“I want you to,” she tells him. “Make me come on your cock then come inside me. Please, baby. Want you to.”

Her words must really affect him because he’s shooting into her seconds later. His thrusts are slow and deep so it’s not long before she’s coming after him.

He slouches against her back and presses soft kisses to the swell of her ear. She smiles and stands up. He slips out of her and he grabs paper towels to clean her up as she spins around to face him.

Jamie throws the paper towels out and (Y/N) runs her fingers down his chest and over his abs. “I will never get enough of you,” she admits to him. “That was crazy and you’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably good, I hope,” Jamie replies with a smile. “It wasn’t too much?”

She shakes her head and captures his lips in a lazy kiss. “I might have to wear more of your old jerseys if it means getting bent over the nearest surface and fucked,” she mumbles.

He laughs and picks her up. She helps in surprise. “We’re going to bed and we aren’t getting up for a while,” he tells her as he walks down the hallway. “No phones either so if you have plans, cancel them now because I’m not done with you in this jersey yet.”

༺═──────────────═༻

MASTERLIST

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[the-californicationist]

fluffy smutty dom soap just spoiling the everliving shit out of the female mc, like they've been lovey dovey so much but theyre finally getting down to businesssssssss (to defeat... THE HUNSSSSS)

idk if this is what you were looking for.... but!! 😅

TW: rough sex, collar, D/s, face fucking, boot-riding, female reader, unsafe motorcycle events, enthusiastic consent and prior boundaries

Backpacking

Soap’s hands grabbed yours and pulled them around his waist, showing you just how tight to hold on. You could feel the heat of his skin through his clothes, and you let your fingers tease the hem of his thin tee shirt, tracing little lines across his belly. 

You’d spent the whole day on the back of his motorcycle, speeding from one town to the next, packing his side bags full of trinkets and jewelry — anything you wanted, he handed over his card. A brand new baby pink helmet? Check. The safety jacket to match? Check. A white leather collar with the cutest little bell? Check. He was doing anything and everything he could to treat you like a princess, and as much fun as you were having, you could recognize a pre-apology from a mile away. 

He wanted to butter you up, to lull you into a false sense of relaxed euphoria, and then he’d pounce. You knew his patterns well. He’d compliment you, calling you the bonniest wee backpack he ever did see, telling you that you were his fit lassie, prettier than any other, and that you felt so good wrapped around him when he rode. 

Soap lifted up your legs and scooted you forward, jamming you up against him. Then, the bike roared to life, ready to take you home. You could feel the machine rumble beneath you, vibrating right to your very core. 

You dared move your hands lower, cupping his heavy cock in your hands, feeling him twitch, threatening to get hard behind the zipper of his jeans. 

“Lass,” he warned, flipping up the visor to his helmet while he waited at the red light. 

The light turned green and he flipped it back down, turning his attention back to the road. 

You moved your hands again, squeezing him and massaging him until he was throbbing. You knew you were in for a world of hurt when you got home, but that was miles away. When he sped up, you squeezed harder, finding his swollen head and torturing it with your fingertips, spidering your nails across the stretched denim, knowing he would feel the ghost of your touch against his skin. 

He was certainly bothered. You could tell he was gunning for home, taking all of the shortcuts, shifting in his seat. Then, a stop sign. It was the entrance to your village, and your house wasn’t far off. 

As he rolled to a stop, he didn’t say a word, but his masked face looked over his shoulder at you, and you could feel his eyes, fiery and vengeful. It made your legs tremble, knowing how he would punish you. 

The twists and turns to your home were achingly slow compared to your ride on the highway, and the anticipation mounted in your belly. He pushed the button for the garage and rode inside with you still on the back, which was not your normal procedure. Soap usually helped you down from the seat, sending you inside so he could get his gear off. But, you were trapped up there until he dismounted. 

He parked the bike and killed the engine. Then, he closed the garage, leaving you in the dim light, watching him swing his leg over the low handlebars and stand up. You moved to follow him, but he stopped you, shoving you back down with a wide hand on your hip.

“Nuh uh, I dinnae think so, bonnie. You’ve been a naughty wee backpack today, you ken?”

You pulled off your helmet, fixing your braid, peppering your words with just a little more attitude than they needed, 

“I just wanted —”

His hand darted to your neck with a violent snap, something you hadn’t experienced, and he startled you. It also made your body extremely pliant, and you felt your hole pulse for him, turned on by his sudden aggression. Soap’s helm was still on, and it muffled his voice, but you could still hear him, 

Your helmet fell out of your hands, and he caught it, setting it down with his free hand on the workbench. His other hand tightened around your neck,

“Take off your clothes, bonnie girl. Every bit.”

He released you from his grasp, but you were still trapped, forced to strip on the bike, unable to dismount as he was standing in your way. Soap was just watching you, occasionally palming his hard cock through his pants just as you had on the bike, hungry and fully in control. 

“Johnny, I promise…”

He grabbed your throat again, staring at your state of undress, just panties and socks remaining, and he barked his commands at you, 

“Kiss me.”

“What? With your helmet on?”

His hand constricted your throat even tighter as a warning, and he whispered in a deep growl,

“Like you mean it, bonnie.”

Unable to escape, you began to kiss his helmet. It was plasticky and dusty from the road, but you tried to comply, licking and sucking at the mask, leaving little trails of drool across the dark visor. 

“That’s it, baby girl. Show me how sorry you are. Your man treated you like a princess, hm? And you were a wee brat, rubbin’ my cock all the way home. Teasin’ me. Such a bad girl.”

“I’m sorry, Johnny,” you gave him your best doe-eyed impression, but it was no use. 

“You will be,” he growled. 

All in a flash, he shoved you over the seat of the bike, the engine still warm beneath the leather, soft and supple as you lay on your belly. From this angle, your ass was up in the air, your feet barely touching the garage floor, and your head was hanging off of the side, blocking your view. 

Then, a hard slap rang out through the garage. You heard it before you felt it, but the sting sent you reeling. You cried out with a shriek and he hit you again. It was the other cheek this time, but it hurt just as bad. 

“Johnny, please!”

You heard him rip off his helmet. It clattered to the floor and he reached over the bike, pulling you up by the nape of your neck, forcing you to arch your back, 

“Mercy? Where was my fuckin’ mercy while you were havin’ your fun on the M80?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I’m — nghh!” You whispered a slew of apologies, but you were silenced as you felt his cockhead being shoved roughly against your folds, pulsing through your tight muscles, popping into place with a hot, unbearable pressure.

Soap began to thrust himself into you, both hands tangled in your hair at the base of your skull, the full weight of his body rocking into you, threatening to knock over the bike. But, it was in its wheel locks, and it wasn’t going anywhere. You had received no kindness. No soft licks with his smooth, generous tongue, no delicate swipes from his finger. Johnny was making you take his cock raw… and you loved it. 

“Mmf-fuck!” He groaned, bending himself over you like a rabid dog, sinking his teeth into your shoulder with a sharp bite, holding you up with his enormous arms, your breasts swaying with every unforgiving thrust. 

“Is tha’ what you needed, hm? My bonnie backpack just needed to be stuffed full of her man’s fat prick, is tha’ it?”

“Yes-s-s-s, sir!”

“Takin’ me so well, princess. You ken I love it when you’re a good girl. Such a good fuckin’ girl.”

Every word that oozed from his mouth was punctuated by another overwhelming invasion of his hard rod, and even though you were intimately familiar with his size and shape, you couldn’t remember ever feeling him go this deep. He was relentless, and his pace was taking your breath away. 

Suddenly, you were lifted from the bike, and his hand forced its way into your collar, controlling your every movement. You were pushed to your knees, and you landed in a splayed, awkward way, with Johnny bent over you, snarling into your face,

“Find my boot with that wet little slit, princess. Find it. Tha’s it. Spread those legs. Show me you can be my good girl.”

You were cock-drunk and lost now that you were empty, but you did as you were told. You held onto his huge thigh and humped your hips down, trying to reach for the toe of his riding boot. When you found it, you noticed how he had it angled up for you, ready for you to grind yourself into it like the wanton little thing you were. 

When you felt the smoothness of the leather toe, you became all too happy to oblige, thrusting forward and back, rubbing yourself to an almost-orgasm on his boot. Just as you were about to tumble over the edge, you heard him chuckle, and you felt your neck being yanked by the collar, pulled face-to-face with his dripping cockhead. 

“Open up, bonnie.”

He didn’t wait for long. Johnny pressed his cock into your mouth, making you taste yourself, giving you a few shallow thrusts to get used to his thick girth. He still had his fingers laced through your new collar, and as he began to shove his length past your shining lips, the bell made a darling little tinkling sound. 

“Mmm,” he smiled down at you, petting the hair out of your face with his other hand, “There she is. There’s my good girl. My backpack loves to be stuffed. Loves to swallow my load, huh? Tell me how much you love it.”

“Mmph mmn mgh!” You tried to speak, but his dick was filling your cheeks, making it impossible. 

Another sharp yank on your collar got your attention, and your eyes darted to his, wide and full of wonder. He smiled, commanding you,

“Louder, bonnie. Cannae hear you clearly.”

“Mmph mmn mgh! Mmn mgh!” You were basically screaming against his flesh, struggling to push your voice out just like he wanted you to. You wanted to be so good. 

You continued to rub yourself on his boot, and you were getting close. You gripped his thigh tighter, fucking yourself with the smooth leather, chasing your high.

But, it was Soap who got you there. He grabbed you by the face and pushed himself down into your throat to his hilt, burying your nose in his curls, running his thumb over your tear-stained cheeks and coaching you through it, 

“Come for me, bonnie. Come right now. Tha’s it. Scream. Scream on my cock, you pretty little slut. Mngh! Tha’s it!”

Your body didn’t give you a choice. It was on his side, and it followed his orders. You felt yourself coming, shaking in your legs, gushing all over his shoe, staining the concrete floor of the garage, screaming like you were dying. 

He pulled himself out of you all in one, gentle go. Then, he started jerking himself off, keeping hold of your collar, fisting his cock onto your cheek. 

“Close your eyes, princess, and open up that filthy fuckin’ mouth.”

You obeyed, pliant as ever, and as you did, you felt his come coat your face, rope after rope, warm and creamy, getting all over your cheeks and mouth. You opened your eyes to look at him, and he was worn out, wrung like a rag, panting and dizzy. He used the tip of his dick to paint your lips one more time, and  you cleaned him up, laving him with your tongue from base to tip, letting his seed drip off of your nose and jaw, not caring how messy you were. 

While he was watching you, you swiped a dollop of his come up with your finger and began eating it from your hands, showing him your tongue, trying to please him with your loyal obedience. 

“Oh, fuck. Such a pretty girl. So perfect. Best fuckin’ backpack in the whole world, bonnie.”

AO3 Link

[domreader-headcannon-scenarios]

There's a whole bit about Satan and Sitri not knowing what a dildo is, and whether or not they call it something else in canon I like to imagine that they actually don't have toys in hell and they think it's just a silly human thing, cause if you want pleasure you could just ask for it, who cares.

Cue Ppyong coming back from earth with MC's hitachi wand in his little bag and MC getting evil thoughts.

The demon decides to humor them. Sure, whatever, you can use that little machine on them. They have a little pride about it, joking or not, mentioning how it won't compare to actually touching him, but go ahead, he's curious.

Maybe twenty minutes later and he's trembling, holding on to you like you're a lifeline as you use it on him. You tell him that this is the low setting and they whine.

Ah, this was meant to be a request, but it's kinda long now. If you understand where I'm going then can I ask for something like this to be written for Satan, Lucifer, and Gabriel but for the replaced god au, if you want? If you do decide to write for Gabriel you can make that a separate post if you need to.

I really love this!! (And spoilers but Mc summons dildos infront of Mammon, Satan, Sitri, Marbas, and Foras. None of them know what they were!

So like, I know there ARE sex toys in hell, but they don’t seem to have as many as humans! So that leaves so many thoughts!!

They’d be so sensitive to the vibrations at first…(I have a pastel blue/green one I’m using as reference;) )

-

Satan

Cw: overstim,

Satan lazily watched you prepare the hitachi wand, he was confused as to why you were lubing his dick, shouldn’t you prepare the toy to go inside him? “(M/c)? What does that thing do?” Satan asked in a bored tone.

“It vibrates.”

You turn it on, it’s the lowest setting but the toy is fully charged, so it’s quite strong against Satan’s unprepared manhood. He jumps and hisses as his body adjust to the sensation. You can see him lose focus for a few seconds before he grabs the bed sheets and claws into them. You grin and press it against the tip of his cock, Satan howls, thighs snapping shut around your waist.

“F-fuck! T-that’s strong…” Satan hissed out, trying to regain composure but unable to do so. He’s panting, his heart is racing and he’s positively dripping pre in response to the toy. He moans and rolls his hips forwards, his eyes blurring as he does so.

“Yeah, it’s used as a ‘personal massager’ for humans to get off on their own, or use on their partner like this.” You say calmly, slowly, intentionally pausing to draw out his torture. You were taking your time overstimulating him, it was fun!

“W-well if this is the strongest setting, t-then I have nothing to worry about!” Satan laughs out. Even as he’s clearly blushing, embarrassed and being overstimulated, he’s trying to act like he’s holding his own.

“Oh this is the lowest setting!” You laugh out. Lightly flicking the wand up one more setting. Satan whimper and grabbed your hand, the toy was vibrating so hard he couldn’t even keep his hand still, though he doesn’t tell you to stop.

“W-wait you can’t turn it up like that! He whines, nearly screaming as you press the wand down on his sensitive tip. His hips tremble and you can see the muscles in his stomach convulsing, you have to hold his cock still as it pulsates. He cums in your hands fast. Too bad for him you don’t stop, as his bliss wears off and the overstimulation kicks in, it nearly hurts to feel the wand vibrating in his cock.

Lucifer

Cw: overstim,

Lucifer didn’t think this through, he for some reason thought he could…tone it out? Lucifer upon seeing the wand was bored and laid down, acting like he’s rather sleep than entertain the toy. When you mentioned its intense he dared you to put it on the highest setting.

He thought he was being smart.

Too bad you two have the same brain cell.

As soon as you turned it on, he’s hissing, trying to wiggle away from the toy. His cock actually a quite a bit of pre out almost instantly. He moans and you can see the shock on his face, his eyes black, his iris no longer visible.

“T-turn it down!” He hisses, he’s confused when you don’t do anything, he tries to growl but you press the wand down on the tip of his cock, turning his growl into a whimper. “Turn it down-now!”

You laugh and press the lower button to turn it ‘down’. But nothing happens.

You mean forward and whisper into his ear, he can barely hear you over the buzzing of the wand and his heart racing.

“Lucifer. This IS the lowest setting…”

Lucifer whimpers in frustration and disbelief. This is a joke, you can’t be serious…but he hears the toy clicking, letting him know you’re not lying. He tries to ignore it, but he can almost feel himself going numb from the vibrations and he knows he can’t last long. He trembles and watches the toy, his cock is practically drooling out his seed…it’s pitiful…

Gabriel (Replaced god Au)

Cw: overstim

Gabriel was trembling, the toy wasn’t even on, you haven’t even done much more than stroke him until he was hard. When you place the wand to the tip of his cock, he whimpers.

You flick the toy on, as soon as it turns on he cums. You don’t turn it off, even as his orgasm fades he’s trembling with the toy on. He feels like he can’t stop cuming!

It hurts, but feels so good, he can’t believe…his Lord, His Master is giving him such amazing pleasure! He doesn’t know what he did to deserve it, but…he’s not sure he can handle it!

“P-please my Lord!!” Gabriel whimpers out, he’s desperately holding onto you, he’s kissing your neck, trembling and crying as his all six of his wings spasm behind him, flapping unevenly and nod nearly strong enough to lift either of you up.

“Shhhh….it’s ok.” You shush him. “I’m going to turn it to the next level, ok? This is the first level, there’s six more to go, ok?”

Gabriel trembles and hides his face. “I-I don’t know if can handle all of t-them!” He whimpers out. He hugs you like he’ll fall all the way to Hell if he lets go. “I-I’ll do anything for you…”

He bites his lip trying to ensure the vibrations. It hurts….but it feels amazing! He has to do this! He has to prove to you he can do this! H-he owes you everything!

-

[a-killer-obsession]

Q8 🦾

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I initially misunderstood what should be done.

{ A few words about you as an author. YOU ARE FUCKING WONDERFUL. I've often thought about such a thing as a collab. The arts' collab is cool, and I've had experience with it, so it's already become kind of boring. And I came up with the idea, why not make a writers' collab =∆ The thing would obviously be in demand, but it needs an approach and many, many nuances. I don't know why I'm saying this at all, because the idea is a bit damp, but I probably want to listen to someone else's opinion on this score.}

That was on me for forgetting to put it in the instructions, I've never done a request event before so I didn't event think of it. Thanks for sending the ask in, I really wanted to write this one, it got a bit intense but I hope you enjoy it 💕

Franky's Toy Room

Prompt: Quiet

Additional Tags: afab reader, she/her pronouns, forniphilic gag, impact play, fucking machine, shibari, rope suspension, butt plug, forced orgasm, vibrator, squirting, breeding bench, pre-ts franky, blow job, deep throating, praise kink, use of sir, touch of degradation, fingering, p in v sex, creampie, aftercare

WC: 2.3k

Event Masterlist

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

“Shhh baby, you're gonna wake the whole ship,” Franky tsk'd as you moaned around your gag, tongue fighting against the small silicone cock inside your mouth that was attached to it. Your body was held by soft royal blue ropes, your forearms bound together behind your back, your torso held up by a strong harness that suspended you from the ceiling, keeping your top half horizontal while your bottom half rested on your knees. The position you were in was essentially doggy style, but with the carefully tied harness supporting you instead of your arms, while a fucking machine Franky had made himself pounded into you from behind with a metalic groan and the wet squelch of silicone in your wet, abused hole. You'd already cum too many times to count, your ass red from the leather paddle he'd used earlier, accented by the large blue rhinestone at the end of the shiny silver plug in your asshole. The black leather padding of the bench underneath you was already soaked with a large puddle of your earlier releases, pooling underneath you and at your knees, dripping to the wooden floor below. He held a bright pink vibrator against your slit, your eyes rolling as you whined around the gag.

“Come on babe, give me another,” Franky hummed. You shook your head, eyes watering, relying entirely on the ropes to keep you upright as your legs turned to jelly, the vibrator against your oversensitive clit making you scream around the gag as you felt your coil somehow pulling taut again. You were sure this time you'd pass out. “Aw don't be like that, you're doing so super, I know you can cum again”

The speed of the fucking machine was increased, as was the intensity of the vibrator, and you went entirely silent as you came too hard to make sound, the air pulled from you as you shook uncontrollably and squirted again, barely anything coming out of you at this point from the sheer amount of fluids you'd already expelled. Franky's large hand supported you under your belly as your legs shook, not turning off the machine or removing the vibrator till your body went limp, hanging uselessly by the ropes. You barely registered the large dildo being removed from your gaping pussy, or the gag being removed from your mouth.

“Breathe, babe,” Franky cooed, loosening the ropes holding you gradually till you were a puddle of flesh resting in a puddle of cum on the leather bench. “Catch your breath sweetheart, we ain't done, you haven't even taken me yet”

You whined but didn't protest with a safeword as he easily picked you up and transferred you to a breeding bench, the padded leather supporting your weak torso on the higher section and your knees bent again on the lower sections either side, sore but thankfully no longer having to support any weight. Your arms were still bound behind you but it didn't matter, you were so dazed and fucked out that the whole Grandline could've come in and taken turns with you and you wouldn't have even noticed.

“So pretty,” Franky wiggled the plug in your ass, making you whine. He tutted in response, walking to your front and stretching your mouth open with a finger hooked in each cheek. “What did I say about making noise?” He tsk'd, “do I have to put the gag back in?”

“No sir,” you replied weakly, slightly slurred by the fingers in your mouth, doing your best to make half-lidded eye contact as you spoke, lest you be punished.

“Such a pretty mouth though,” he pressed his thumb down on your tongue, forcing your mouth wide open, the pad of his thumb swiping over the wet muscle. “Mmm, think I'll use it a little as well before I fuck your pretty pussy.” He pulled down his speedos and let them pool at his ankles, his thick cock springing from them, erect and red with need, as he stepped out of the fabric and kicked it away. He let his unbuttoned shirt fall from his shoulders as he pumped himself a few times.

“Open up doll,” he ordered, and you opened your mouth obediently for him as he stood at the front of the bench, lolling your tongue invitingly. He tapped the fat head of his dick against your tongue, smearing it with his precum that tasted artificial, a little like cola. It always made you wonder whether his cum was real or whether his testicles had needed to be rebuilt as well. You knew from the faint stitch lines down either side of his shaft that at least that his cock wasn't entirely natural. But hey, if you gotta replace your dick, may as well make it a monster. Franky was a big man anyway, his cock was proportional to the rest of him.

He grabbed your ponytail and pulled it hard, raising your head a little as he slipped his cock inside your mouth, the corners of your mouth stinging from the stretch. He wasted no time in making you gag, he knew you could take it. He loved the way your eyes watered as you looked up at him, his tip hitting the back of your throat and sliding down with every deep thrust he made, groaning as he pulled on your hair, his other hand supporting your chin so the pull wasn't too harsh.

“You're doing super, baby,” he purred, “just a little more of this, just wanna get warmed up before I fuck that tight little pussy of yours.” You whined around his cock, the vibrations making his eyes roll behind the sunglasses. “Good girl, doing such a good job babe. Fuck you're gonna make me bust down that whore throat of yours”

You knew him finishing in your mouth wouldn't save your pussy from further abuse, Franky could go as long as his cola reserves could, you usually gave out long before he did. Regardless, you wanted more of that strangely sweet, probably artificial cum, so you hollowed your throat and sucked hard, running your tongue against the underside of his cock the way you knew he liked.

“Fuck, [y/n]!” He shouted suddenly, groaning as ropes of sweet cum slid down your throat, his hips stuttering as he emptied inside your mouth, the last spurts spilling out over your tongue and face as he pulled out. “Bad girl,” he tsk'd, giving your face a playful slap, but you could tell as you licked your lips that you weren't really in trouble.

“Now who's loud?” You teased, earning a hard smack on the ass that made you yelp. Franky bent down so his face was at your eye level.

“Next sound and the gag goes back on,” he threatened, making you shiver. Your body was worn out but the way he spoke in that deep, dominant tone made your pussy throb with need, “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir,” you replied, licking a little more cum from your face as it dripped down your cheek.

“Good girl,” he gave your face a light slap, before holding your chin, thumb running over your drool coated lips, “can you take me one more time?”

“Yes sir,” you wriggled a little in your restraints, pussy clenching around nothing as you anticipated how good it'd feel to have him fill you, “please sir”

“There's my good greedy girl,” he smiled, letting you suck on his thumb for a moment before pulling it out with a pop. He moved to the back of the bench, cock still solid as a rock, pulling you by your thighs so your ass was right at the end of the bench. The bench itself was taller than average, he'd made it himself to be adjustable, usually set to this height which was the most comfortable for him to fuck in a standing position, usually for fucking you or Robin. She usually joined him in on teasing you, but she was feeling unwell tonight, so the cyborg had you to himself, deep in the hold of the Thousand Sunny, in what he called his ‘Toy Room’.

Franky stuck two impossibly thick fingers inside you, the width of them combined bigger than his cock, stretching you wide. The large dildo he'd been using earlier was close to his size, making sure you were good and stretched to take him, but he loved to stretch you wider with his fingers for a moment so he could watch your pussy gape and admire your pretty pink walls before he painted them white.

He slid inside you easily, burying himself to the hilt, and you bit down on your bottom lip to stifle your moan as your pussy stretched around him. He loved to watch where his cock was buried in you, the membrane that lined the entrance of your hole catching on his thick cock with every slow pull, like your pussy refused to let go of him. It drove him wild to watch the way his cock got shiny with your slick, a creamy ring forming at this base and catching in his curly blue pubes as you came again, less intense this time, lacking the energy to squirt anymore. He praised you anyway as your pussy fluttered around him, impressed you'd managed to cum again at all without him even needing to use his special trick yet.

“Good girl, [y/n],” he praised, making you clench around him as you muffled your moans against the bench, “I'm gonna let you make sound, but only if you can cum one more time with me when I tell you too. Can you do that baby? Cum for me one more time and let me hear you scream?”

“Y-yes ssi-r,” you stuttered, struggling to not cry out as his cock began to vibrate inside you, a fun little feature he'd added while he was augmenting it. It never failed to build you back up again, no matter how fucked out you were, so he always saved it for last. It was a bit of a Pavlov effect because of it, your orgasm building quickly under the promise that it'd be the last one and you'd be able to rest soon. One day he was going to figure out that connection and it was gonna bite you in the ass, you were sure Robin knew but she wasn't a snitch. He could tell you were close as your hands balled into tight fists behind your back and your face dug into the leather below you, breathing hard while your pussy fluttered around him.

“There's my good girl, I knew you could do it,” he groaned, fucking you mercilessly as he chased his own high, pulling slightly on the plug in your ass. “Let me hear you scream baby, and I'll give you this fat load”

Your whole body shook and you saw white as you clamped down around him, letting out a scream that would probably sound pained to anyone hearing jt without context. You would have woken the whole ship if not for the fact that Franky had secretly sound proofed this room, not that you knew that. You didn't have the capacity to worry about waking anyone right now anyway as your orgasm made you tremble, Franky bruising your hips with how hard he held you as he pounded into you one last time and roared, filling you with so much sticky cum that it overflowed and dripped onto the breeding bench, pouring out like a unclogged drain as he pulled out and you made a disappointed little whine. You practically squealed as he removed the rhinestoned plug from your ass, appreciating the way your ass gaped and throbbed around nothing.

“Good girl,” he cooed, running his hand up your back, over the ropes and to your hair, scratching your scalp pleasantly as he came to stand in front of you, his cock softening as he bent down to kiss you tenderly. He quickly set about untying the ropes that bound you, your whole body laying limb like a piece of wet laundry draped over the bench the second your arms were released.

“Good girl [y/n], you did so well,” he cooed, carefully pulling you upright by your armpits, before lifting you bridal style to sit in a comfortable armchair, a prepared towel already laid on it to catch any fluids. He sat you in a way where you were slouched slightly to put less pressure on your sore rump, and he slowly lifted your legs to rest over the arms of the chair so he could carefully wipe you clean, examining you for any injury before bringing your legs back together. He kissed you on the forehead and quickly redressed himself before getting you a glass of cool water. He held it to your mouth and tilted it for you a little at a time so you could drink, your arms aching from being bound. Once he was satisfied you'd drunk enough water, he set about examining every part of your body methodically, massaging sore areas with his large hands and rubbing muscle soothing balm into them. You were half asleep before he lifted you up and sat himself in the chair, draping you on your belly over his lap and the arms of the chair so he could check your backside. Satisfied that you were entirely taken care of, he helped you into a silk dressing down and held you carefully in his lap, cooing gentle praises and rubbing your back softly. Sex with Franky was always a marathon, but you also relished the soft moments afterwards, and you knew that once you inevitably fell asleep he would carry you carefully to his bed, tuck you in, and wrap himself around you protectively.