#shameless indulgence as always

[intheorangebedroom]

Hi!

Happy Frankie Friday again! 🧡

I was wondering if Frankie and Gabrielle has some rituals as a couple?

I imagine Frankie waking up before Gabrielle and watching her sleep, noticing how her eyelashes flutter in her sleep, counting the new freckles on her face, just admiring her unique beauty. Or making her coffee and place it in her room when he knows she needs some time alone. Or Gabrielle caressing his neck absentmindedly while they read next to each other.

Deadmantis my love, sometimes, if not often, I think you know them better than I do, and it's the warmest feeling 🧡

They do, they absolutely do have a lot of rituals. They've earned it! Besides, they're both very organised *cough* control freaks *cough* and anxious, so they need the routine. Everything you said, everything is true. It’s all of it, and then some.

Explicit routines under the cut 🔞

There are the ones that were born with your new shared life, easy and immediate, cosy and intimate, carved around your conflicting work schedules that only really allow the two of you to spend the evenings and Sundays together. 

Because you like to thread your fingers through his curls, because he loves that you do, Frankie now takes off his cap and hangs it on the coat rack by the door the very minute he comes home. It’s another two and half hours before you arrive. Wherever he is, in the house, the garden or the garage, you go find him first thing, sometimes before you even take off your coat, and a tender smile softens your face when your eyes land on the solid breadth of his shoulders. 

You place a kiss on his neck, on that larger freckle under his left ear, “Hey, Frankie,” and he can’t repress the slight flutter of his eyes when your hand runs through the thick locks on his nape, tugging ever so lightly, “Hey, baby.”

If he’s seated, you’ll expose the V-shape of his hairline and you’ll kiss it too. Your secret, you haven’t forgotten the first time ever you saw that part of his body, his hair was shorter, the room was hot and the future was yours. 

At night, you prepare the filter coffee machine so that he only has to start it when he gets up in the morning. Guatemalan coffee beans, always, freshly ground with the pricey coffee grinder you chose together.

You get up right before he leaves, so you can brew a fresh pot for him to take to work in a large army green thermos you bought. He’ll sip it throughout the day, thinking of you a little extra with every gulp of the bitter, hot beverage. 

Later in the evening, right before bed, he brushes your hair, and this ritual dates back to those blurry days when he stayed with you in your small apartment, in the aftermath of the brutal start to his new life, with your decision to stay. 

Now, you barely think about it, the familiar gesture the very definition of a habit. He’ll grab your old wooden brush, run it through your long, dark locks. Just a few strokes, as you tell him about your day or your plans for the week or a movie you saw, ending with a twist of his wrist so as not to straighten the loose waves that curl the end of your hair. 

When he's done, he braids it, and lifts it to place a kiss on the red birthmark on your nape, the one that's hidden in your hairline. He's convinced himself he's the only one who's ever seen it, the only being who knows of its existence. (He is). You fall silent, then. You close your eyes, listening to the quiver of your skin between his lips. 

Eating rapidly proved itself a challenge in the Tourneur-Morales household. Both of you love to eat, but neither of you like to cook. You both have lunch at work, and at night, you’ll just grab whatever’s in the fridge for a quick bite, but you hardly sit down to eat together. 

Sunday, however, is the exception. There’s nothing in the world that could alter the routine of your Sundays together. That day you used to dread, that day he thought he dreamed, that day now encompasses the very fabric of you. Shaped in rituals that speak of his instinctual understanding of you, of your trust and your affection. 

He wakes up first. He always does. More often than not, too early to wake you up too. With the remote that’s usually on his night stand, he cracks open the electric shutters. Just enough so he can watch the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of your back and the imperceptible flutter of your lashes. 

Elbow propped on his pillow, head leaned over you, he waits. For as long as he can. Before he has to open the shutters a little more, so he can count the freckles peppered across the bridge of your nose and your cheekbones. So he can see your skin reaching out for him even as you’re asleep when he brushes your naked arm with the tips of his fingers. 

When he blows softly along the curve of your neck, on the loose strands of hair that came out of your braid, you moan and stir, your hand chasing the invisible tickle. 

He chuckles quietly, then, because it’s only a matter of minutes before you awake. Before you stretch and arch out your back, instinctively seeking his heat behind you. Before you find him wanting you. 

And that’s the very first ritual, the one that originated in the orange bedroom, your island, somewhere in Brooklyn, standing out across years in your memories and imaginations.

It’s a moment of peace, between dream and consciousness, a moment so soft when time doesn’t count and has never existed, when there was never rain, loss or pain.  

When he draws you in against him and spans the expanse of your skin with his rough palm, down along your naked legs, back up to slide under the hem of your night shirt, well, his t-shirt, really, your hand covering his when he cups your breast, encouraging his hold to tighten. 

“Morning, baby,” he smiles into your neck, and you shiver from head to toe, pressing your ass into his hardening length. 

Some Sundays, he’ll cover your body in kisses before he does anything else. He’ll knead your breasts, your belly, your thighs with a slow but constant increase in strength, sucking in and biting in turns as you writhe underneath him, until you beg him to take. 

Some Sundays, he’ll dive between your hips before you’re fully awake and devour you in sloppy broad licks, his voice a hoarse growl when he tells you how good you taste in the morning, and you laugh, tugging his hair closer. 

Most Sundays though, it’s only a couple of kisses over the slope of your shoulder before he gently rolls you onto your stomach and cages your legs with his thighs. Before he slides off your t-shirt and lifts up your hips, your body pliant, sleepy, you’re smiling to yourself. 

He feels so big when he pushes into you with a strained groan; you feel so good when you pull him in tighter than a fist with a pained moan. 

His forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, he holds on to the headboard for leverage and thrusts in as deep as he can, slow and thorough, while you bunch up the sheets between your clenched fists, dizzy with sleep and the effort of taking him and time stretches around you like your cunt stretches around him. 

The round tip of his cock dragging along your walls, his warm breath grazing your skin, the peak of his nipples brushing against your back, the coarse hair of his lower belly scraping the soft swell of your ass… the sensations blend in, they will stay with you for the day, for the week, like the pleasurable discomfort when you sit, like his spend leaking down your panties. 

Like a secret. Like a dream. Like an answered prayer. 

When you finally leave the bed to cook breakfast together – eggs and bacon with fried toasts, and too much coffee – everything tastes different. 

Whatever you do next, he makes sure the two of you are back home by 6pm, because that’s when it starts, for you. You retreat to your room, hasty but firm steps, you shut the door behind you. For however long you need. Usually an hour, but he’s noticed it’s getting shorter, and he hopes it’ll keep decreasing, the amount of time it takes you to accept that you don’t have to fight your anxiety on your own. But as long as you realise he’s there, ready to help, on the other side of that door, he guesses it’s fine. Perhaps you need that reminder too. 

So he patiently waits, he’s done that before, he’ll do it again. Reading on the couch, until you practically leap out of there and jump in next to him, curling up into his side, placing his arm around your shoulders.

“I’m hungry,” you mumble, and he pulls out his phone to place the delivery order, always the same food from the same place, and when the doorbell rings, while he takes the bags pays, you go get your computer so you can choose what movie you’ll watch together. 

Sunday scaries are no match for his arms. Like a secret. Like a dream. Like an answered prayer. 

Oh and before I forget:

🧡HAPPY ❤️‍🔥FRANKIE❤️‍🔥 FRIDAY🧡

[projectbluearcadia]

Weird shower thought fantasy / crossover idea / headcanon

Partially in honor of the WHB devs finally releasing Lucifer (Selfie)

What In Hell Is Bad and Obey Me! actually take place in the same world, but WHB takes place before Obey Me, in the bad old days.

And God was upset that the kings had it so rough and reflected on himself a little. "Damn, I feel guilty about how those beautiful creations of mine died due to my negligence."

And so he decided they should be one big happy family.

He scoured Hell for what remained of the demon kings after a massive war that damn near destroyed both Heaven and Hell and gave their essence to his new creations. So, basically, he reincarnated them.

The birth/creation order was mostly determined by whose essence he was able to find first. Of course, that essence was mostly their sins that they left behind, so when they all fell from Heaven, they essentially resumed their duties as the seven kings.

And, purely because WHB Satan was (obviously) practically obliterated, God said "A'ight Luci's got a festering angie monster inside of him, so I'll just put what consciousness I could find from WHB Satan in there so it'll be kinda reasonable when he has to let it all out. Thank me later, son :P" <- the reason Luci became a single mother father.

Luci: Thanks a lot, God. First the virgin Mary and now this??

Funnily enough what God found was mostly WHB Satan's sweet side, which is the reason that OM Satan resembles (and likes) cats. The only one who didn't inherit the sin from his predecessor got it anyway because of his dad. Go figure.

The countries (Abyssos, Tartaros, Gehenna, etc.) no longer existed after the war, and Diavolo's lineage, which was probably descendent of one or more of the WHB's kings' vassals, was the one trying to pick up the pieces. The war continued because many of the angels were still complete dicks, but Diavolo's family eventually eradicated what had survived from The Big War™.

Excluding Gabriel, because Gabriel is a prick.

Which may or may not have been a factor in Lucifer falling from Heaven because he killed Gabriel on his way down. You know, because Gabriel was probably Lilith's executioner, given his history.

Then Diavolo, to signal the fresh start, said "We're not calling it Hell and Heaven anymore, now it's "The Devildom" and "The Celestial Realm." Less stigma. Very good."

And our dear Solomon? Well, you know how he is... I think there's definitely some things he hasn't told you...

Like how he was technically dead for a hot minute because of some magical mishap, which translated into a few thousand years in hell because of the way time flows there. His experiment gone wrong is also the reason why his appearance changed so drastically.

You'll ask him one day, "Hey, did you have purple hair in the past?" and he'll just start sweating profusely because he's very embarrassed about how often he did some *ahem* interesting things with the former demon kings. Asmo is the only one who still has that feeling from his past life :)

And, as far as how time flows and MC frequently traveling between the human world and hell in OM!, the travel is actually magically controlled by Barbatos, our resident overpowered god, who was annoyed by the time dilation/contraction and wanted to just visit his favorite tea shops in the human world whenever he wanted without f*cking around.

I mean, all of the demon kings knew how to go back and forth, but they had to do overly complicated shit to do it, so Barbie just said "sharing is caring" and perfected the magic by the OM! time period.

Of course there's an implication here that all events in Heaven/Hell are technically happening simultaneously from a human world perspective. Which isn't trippy at all.

And yes, OM! Barbatos and WHB Barbatos know each other. Because OM! Barbatos is (obviously) from a parallel dimension and took WHB Barbatos' name since he enjoyed the rose gardens WHB Barbie tended to. It's out of respect since he faithfully died for Leviathan in the bad old days.

Flawless joining of the worlds without a hint of plotholes (sarcasm).

(This is so random, but I hope y'all enjoyed my fever dream.)

[contentcrook]

INTRO POST !!!

Last time I did an intro post was last month, I'm aware. I just feel like I didn't put enough so... more !!

HI !! MY NAME'S MEMPHIS :3

My name is Memphis. I'm from Arizona, I'm bisexual, I'm learning Russian and Italian, I play bass.

I mainly post shit about msi >v<

I'm a minor !! Please leave me the fuck alone if you're not <3

Femcelz are welcome here, love you girlz !! (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

Things I love:

Mindless Self Indulgence, Morningwood, Rancid, Jack Off Jill, Rob Zombie, Mötley Crüe, Dax Riggs, The Doors, Sallyface, Red Dead (1&2), Farcry, Filthy Frank, Old Idubbbz, Leafy, Maxmoefoe, Anything4views, Jackass, It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia, Jackass, South Park, Harry Potter, Shameless (US), conspiracy theories, true crime, arguing with children on the internet because it's funny,

ANYTHING COOL !!

Shit I think is corny:

Limp Bizkit

I don't have a DNI, but if you're retarded or post nsfw I'm gonna block you

TALK TO ME, I'LL TALK BACK, I'M HERE TO MAKE FRIENDS <3

[thegracelessfaceless]

Coming Home From Work to Sal

Tw: drug use mention

It's been a long day

You might argue the longest

Regardless of the field you work in

Every interaction you had today was a difficult one

People where whiny and obstinate

Simple tasks turned tedious and frustrating

And the work hours just dragged by

Every second expanding and then collapsing on itself with each tick of the clock hand

Whatever they're paying you...

Today it just isn't enough

You want nothing more than this shift to end because at least you know that at clock out time, they can't exactly force you to stay

The moment finally gets here

Clock out time

And you beat feet to your ride home

And as you walk up the front steps

There he is framed in the doorway

Sal, hair mussed from his after work shower, baggy pajama bottoms featuring characters from Ricko's Modish Wife, and a band shirt for King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard

He holds the door for you and follows behind you as you shed your uniform on the way to the bathroom

And then listens as you unload your day

From the stupid overreaction about a small hiccup provided by Brandy in sales

To the complete Karen of an old woman who just kept haranguing you

To the fact that you totally overcommitted yourself with work duties today that were and weren't actually necessary

Sal diligently follows you from the bathroom and shower, to the bedroom (where he stole a few kisses and maybe a few squeezes too), to the kitchen where you both ate dinner standing up over the sink, and then finally to the living room

To console you on your bad day, Sal turns on your favorite guilty pleasure show

Even though watching it always makes him feel like happily slamming a door onto his head repeatedly

He engages in the show, and finds himself getting invested in it too

Also provided by Sal:

A foot rub after a long foot soak in the foot soaker Maple bought you for Christmas

Warm blankets

A big ol' bowl/joint/blunt/whathaveyou, if you partake. If not, Sal will have already handled this step himself before you got home

Your favorite snacks, along with some of his because he knows you secretly enjoy them

Hot tea/steamed milk/coffee, depending on your preference (Sal actually makes killer coffee despite not drinking it. He's surrounded by coffee drinkers, he had to learn at some point)

And then finally,

When you both retire for the night

Sal reads you a few chapters from whatever book he's reading

He could read you a stereo manual and you'd eat up every minute of it

You constantly suggest to Sal that he should make an ASMR channel on YouTube

Just his deep, raspy voice carefully articulating words so his Jersey doesn't show as much

Lulling you to sleep

And in those last few moments of consciousness, you feel Sal's lips press to your forehead

Goodnight Reader, I hope your day is better tomorrow and I love you

Vent section: For those of you who follow my blog and know my life, I work on a dementia ward. We got a new resident today. She is completely rude and hateful, incessantly talks, picks on/picks fights with other residents, argues for arguments sake, and biological functioned in the hall (TWICE). Needless to say, her presence has thrown off my entire work groove. I tried to compensate by deciding to do linens today, help out... For rooms 13-24... All of them. It was almost too much but I got it done right before my shift was done. I work 12 hour shifts so 15 loads was a completely doable task... Right? Anyway, while I was doing that, two of my residents (besties, Ms. Daisy and Ms. Eileen (all names have been changed for privacy and dignity)) managed to slip through the coded fire doors that lock down the hall (dementia patients wander and get lost easily, we have to keep them locked down for their safety). They didn't go far. The rest of the building caters to elderly people who just need a little help, and Daisy and Eileen went to the dining room on that wing. An elopement is when a resident manages to get completely out of the building, out in the world . So not even really an elopement. But mass panic ensued while we were trying to find out how they got out. Turns out they were camping the doors, and waited for a family member to come through and slipped out... Very crafty. One headcount later, administration finally left and it was back to dealing with the new lady, Glenda, who I'm sure will appear in many incorrect quotes on my blog. I normally completely loathe a new resident when we get them. As you can see, it throws off my whole day. I'll get used to her, figure out who she needs me to be, and be that person for her. I'm sure we'll end up thick as thieves. It's always the difficult ones that I end up liking the most.

[krenia]

what 3h of sleep does to an art style

[gottaarc]

I love just scrolling canon x oc tags because I love seeing art of characters I enjoy and I also love seeing people's ocs. It's like the best of both worlds

[kalloway]

:)

gonna try to be self-indulgent to fight depression, wish me luck boys

[peachpitfics]

Guilty as Sin

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Benedict Bridgerton asks you to accompany him to his private studio, to show you some of the art he's been working on. You find a little more than you were expecting.

Length: 3k

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Content Warnings: Oral sex (female receiving), Penetrative sex, Unprotected sex.

a/n: find pt 2 here!

Bridgerton master list

"Good evening, y/n," A proud voice echoed behind you, discovering your hiding spot in the darkest corner, admiring Lady Danbury's art to appear busy. You didn't bother to turn and greet him, he always seemed to find you at these social events, even if you weren't outwardly interested in him, he persisted. Benedict Bridgerton slid into the space next to you as if it were designed for him, cheekily scanning you face for a reaction.

You met at Lady Danbury's ball 3 seasons previous. Your brother was holding out hope for a match this season, ignoring your contentedness for your own company. Benedict had never shown any interest in any young lady - he did, however, find amusement in torturing you this way.

"Bridgerton," You barely mumbled a response, hoping he would find another to bother this evening. Yet there he remained, exchanging his attention for the painting you were looking at.

"There are far better paintings in this ballroom" He remarked, a little scoff sounding off.

"Yes, I am sure there are. However, this one is positioned perfectly" Still, you avoided eye contact and angled your body away from him. He was definitely not the same as the other Bridgerton men. Benedict was frivolous and artistic, lost in his own hedonistic world of luxury and pleasure. Perhaps it was jealousy that ruled your opinion of Benedict.

"Ah, yes. I truly have never seen a damp, dark corner without you in it, you know?" He chuckled, "Why do you pretend to be interested in art, when you could be watching whatever is unfolding behind you? I'm sure the numerous scandals and embarrassing events you would witness would be far more interesting" He asked, there was even a hint of genuine curiosity in his words.

You paused for a moment, contemplating even continuing this conversation or leaving to find your brother or mother.

"Actually, I rather enjoy art. I am more interested in sculpture or ceramics, but I will endure whatever I have to to get through this evening and every other evening like it this season" You spilled. Benedict was stunned, his eyebrows raised and his blinks steady in shock.

"I didn't know you had a like for such things" Benedict said serenely.

"Of course not, I am certain you thought my only interests were embroidery or pianoforte, like every other simpering mess in this ballroom" You thought your snarky remark was under your breath, but Benedict did manage to hear. He breathed a heady laugh through his nose and took a sip of his lemonade.

"Would you be interested in viewing some of my works?" Benedict pondered aloud, finally dragging your eyes to meet his. It seemed sincere - which was not something you often saw from him. Whilst he was a shameless flirt, you never indulged him like some of the other young ladies. It was obvious that he viewed you as some sort of challenge, but you would never give in.

"Is that a serious invitation?" You asked, taken aback.

"Yes, absolutely. Art is potentially the only thing I do take seriously. I would love to show you, if you would like to see it" He almost bowed, as if the pursuit of his art was the most noble thing about him. This shift in his personality made him less repulsive, it intrigued you. Turning to face him, for the first time in so many months, throwing off his balance slightly, you held your hand out for him to take.

"You would like to see it now?" His brow furrowed, eyes asking permission to take your hand and lead you out to the carriages.

"Why not? We've been to this ball numerous times before, it will not be getting any more interesting" With the softest of smiles decorating your normally sour face, Benedict took your hand and began walking outside with you, watching nervously as people ignored your presence.

"Will this not be damning to your marriage prospects?" Benedict leaned over to whisper in your ear, an element of concern riding along his words.

You gave him a pitiful smile, "What prospects?". Not a single soul noticed the two of you leaving the ball. Benedict held the carriage door open for you and held your hand as you stepped up into it.

"I've never slipped out of an event quite like that" He remarked, closing the door, sitting opposite you.

"Well, in truth, I thought perhaps someone might have stopped us, just because of you… But, I suppose, my power of invisibility is shared with the person I am escaping with" Your eyebrows flicked up. Benedict could not discern whether you were happy or not to fly out of the view of the ton. While it was a blessing most days, you were afforded your privacy and peace. Perfect silence. There were many other days filled with loneliness, the madness of having to hear your own voice in your head just to fill the quiet.

The carriage ride was slightly uncomfortable, the two of you had never had to be alone like this. You were delivered to Benedict's college where he had been studying art and he led you towards his private studio. Benedict's hand reached out for the door handle, stopping short, and spinning to look at you, back pressed against the door.

"I presume you understand I don't bring people here," He paused, his demeanour was soft and vulnerable, "Be gentle with me". He waited for acknowledgment on what he was saying, and with a nod of promise from you, he opened the door. You both walked inside in sweet silence as you took in the most beautiful sight. The room was littered with parchment, sketches, canvases. Drabs of colour, charcoal and lead lit only by low candlelight as Benedict struck the match. This was the most personal gesture of friendship you had ever experienced, it was like peering through window into Benedict Bridgerton's mind - a place he only has the keys to. Several desks were patterned around the room, a small platform in the centre of the room, drying racks on the far left. You were surprised by this unapologetically intimate space, and even more impressed by the immense talent you were witnessing.

"What are you working on currently?" You did not mean for the excitement of the room to fill you up so keenly. Benedict had such a hard time trying to read your reaction, your manner and tone were thrilling to him.

"Oh, please" He gestured towards a far table, where an easel stood facing the window, "I am learning about portraiture this semester. This is something I am doing for my youngest brother, Gregory, for his birthday" His hand sailed past your lower back, shuffling you both around. A deliciously electric pulse passed over your body, goose bumps erupting in a rolling wave quickly trailing behind.

"Benedict, this is incredible" You gasped, your hands covering your mouth with astonishment.

Oddly, he stepped back from you and placed his hand on his heart.

"What did I say?" You smiled uncomfortably.

His face softened, his eyes fluttering peacefully, "My name. That is the first time, you have ever said my name" A flash of teeth in his grin made your heart jump its next beat. There was a flush of embarrassment in your cheeks, your eyes flicked between Benedict's and the floor.

"I apologise" Admittedly, you had never given him a chance to show how utterly human he was. When he had asked you to come to the studio, you wondered whether the room would be filled to the brim of paintings of naked women. How wrong you were - finding yourself surrounded by paintings and scrawling's of every member of his family. You dug around, flicking through sketchbooks, diaries.

"Have you found a favourite?" He meandered around the room after you, hands tucked behind his back like a gentleman, observing.

"This one, is my favourite" You held up a side profile of Violet Bridgerton, done entirely in variants and shades of their family colours.

"I am yet to show her that one, do you think I should?" He asked, and you sensed he truly valued your opinion here.

"Yes! If I had half your talent, I would have filled my family's home with my work" You chuckled, laying the canvas down on the current desk you were visiting.

You moved around the other side of the room, noticing a section of the room more damp, and darkly lit, compared to the rest of the studio. There stood an easel with a large drape thrown over it, and several canvases stacked betwixt it and the wall. This struck a chord of curiosity in you that could not be contained, you almost dashed forward to pull the drape down.

"No! Wait, not those!" Benedict rasped, darting forward to try and stop you. It was too late, the cream-coloured drape had coiled to the floor and revealed what Benedict did not want you to see.

Brow furrowing, you stood back, taking in what you were seeing for the first time. Here, on the easel, an unfinished portrait, of you.

"That's -- That's private" Benedict cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Is this… me?" You didn't know whether to be flattered, impressed, or worried. Had he done this from memory? That was when it occurred to you to look down. Picking up, and flicking through the canvases, they were all you. There were maybe six or seven of them, all in different poses, of differing angles. Had he taken such notice of you to be able to do this from memory? The detail in your face, your hair and even dresses you had worn in past seasons.

"This is…" You shook your head, placing the canvases back. Benedict stood behind you, leaving a distance so as not to make this more uncomfortable than it already was. His hands were pressed together at his lips as if he were praying, wearily hanging on for your next words.

"No one has ever seen me like this, or rather, at all" You sighed.

"I see you as you are" Benedict replied too quickly.

"And how is that?"

There was a long pause, an internal struggle between what he wanted to say and what he should.

"I see… the raw soulfulness of your gaze. The divine sway in your walk. The sensual ruthlessness of your words. The confidence of your acceptance. I have watched, and waited, and wallowed in avaricious longing" Benedict heaved in a deep breath, "Every line, every curve, every shade I fear is a figment of my imagination until I see you again, just so that I might commit a little more to memory".

Benedict's eye cast low, his discomposure becoming more and more apparent. You were not to know that the one person you had been avoiding for the past several seasons had been perceiving you exactly as you had always dreamed. Perhaps it was not Benedict's personality that made you keep him at arm’s length, but rather your own.

You bound forward, slightly tripping on your gown, throwing yourself in the second Bridgerton brother's arms. In the instant he caught you, you planted the shyest of kisses on his unsuspecting lips. Benedict chuckled sweetly, lifting you to stand on your own two feet again, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you into to a longer, more fervent kiss. His lips were much softer than you were anticipating, gentle and cool against your own. Benedict's tongue dipped into yours, his kiss still passionately intoxicating. You parted for a moment, both of you breathing a little heavier now. Benedict took a step back, straightening his dress clothes and composing himself.

"I apologise, miss y/n"

"Why do you apologise? I am the one who owes you" You stammered.

"I am just glad that no one saw us, I will not have you ruined. I will not be the one that ruins you" Benedict stumbled over his words, words filled with such consideration and respect for you and your standing in society.

Panting still, bosom heaving over the corset, you thought about what he was saying. You thought about your "prospects".

Taking one large step forward, pressing your body against his, you leaned up as if to kiss Mr Bridgerton's cheek goodbye.

"Ruin me" You breathed, begged, into his ear, hands wrapping around his neck, your breath hitching in your throat as Benedict swooped you into his arms, carrying you to the nearest desk. He placed your behind on the edge of the desk, moving to sweep every piece of art clattering to the floor before turning his attention back to you. Your legs wrapped around his thighs, his lips crashing into you, his tongue fiercely caressing yours. Much to Benedict's surprise, you slipped your arms out of your dress, pushing the fabric down around your hips.

Stunned and dramatic shock shot across his face as he looked upon your upper body in your corset. Benedict blinked furiously, as if trying to regain control of his sense.

"May I?" He took hold of the fabric around your waist, pulling it out from under you as you lifted yourself slightly, signalling a loud yes. Sitting in your undergarments, Benedict wrapped his arms around your body, expertly fiddling with the laces as you nodded fervently into his delectable kisses. You grinned into his mouth, feeling the corset loosen quickly – he had done this before. Your fingers fumbled along the seam of his pants, unfurling the tucked fabric of his dress shirt, fiddling with the buttons of his overcoat.

Benedict stopped, throwing his coat across the room and removing his dress shirt as frantically as possible. It took only seconds for his eyes to widen at your naked body, sitting on the desk before him.

"Holy God" He exhaled, lunging forward, thrusting his hand into your hair, pulling you into a devilish kiss. His hands curved under your behind, lifting you forward to the very edge of the table before falling to his knees before you as if you were divine, and he, a devout worshipper at the altar. Littering kisses down your inner thigh, his nose nestling into the soft nest of hair at your mound, he breathed heavily, groaning with pleasure. Benedict's tongue slipped between your folds, circling the most sensitive spot on your body, your hands sliding into his hair, pulling gently as his pace quickened and steadied in a repetitive manner. Never had you felt so safe and yet so powerful, holding Benedict's head in place between your thighs. Letting out soft, melodic moans, tangling your fingers amongst his hair, finding your hips having a mind of their own as they ground against him. The sheer coarseness of Benedict's dawning facial hair and the soft, warmth of his darting tongue were plenty enough to push your mind to the edge of the human experience. Your head turned dreamy, light, whilst your body convulsed and squeezed Benedict's head between your thighs.

Panting softly, Benedict remained, placing delicate kisses where his tongue had just performed. As your body relaxed into him again, Benedict appeared from the floor, kissing you again, to lay you backward on the table, your own sweetness on your tongue now. He stood before you, bare torso, undoing his dress pants. Excitement pulsed through you, propping yourself onto your elbows to watch. You had heard other ladies discuss this in the depths of their personal conversations but had never really learned anything from them. It was a topic of great interest.

Freeing himself before you, your enlarging eyes took in his length as he held himself in his hand. "Allow me?" Benedict looked down at you, sordid passion aflame in his eyes. You gave a clear, concise nod. Benedict moved closer between your thighs, adjusting your legs, and placing himself at your entrance. With both hands sprawled over the space between your belly and your hips, Benedict slowly pushed forward, eliciting guttural moans from your lips. But he never looked away from you, he never closed his eyes for more than a half-second. His desire burned out of him, his eyes searing down on you and in helplessness, you exuded wanton need in return.

You wished this act were eternal, completely unending. Every thrust an indiscreet attempt at conveying his affections for you. His hand found its way to caressing your cheek, his teeth nipping at your neck as you moaned his name.

“Benedict” You sighed without inhibition. The sound of your voice sent Benedict into a frenzy, his thrusts harder now and full-fledged. His sinful grunts, echoing across the studio, came to a hot, explicit apex as he buried himself as deeply as possible inside of you.

He looked down at you dreamily, his eyes heavy with pleasure, running his thumb over your bottom lip. Benedict stepped away, reaching for his dress pants, and sitting on to the ground in front of you – you moved to sit next to him, surrounded by the tables previous contents.

“You are wonderful. I could never capture such an essence, in any art form. You are transcendent” Benedict’s words were slow, the ruse of his silly exterior worn away.

“I much prefer this version of you” You gave a smug smile, both of you avoiding eye contact.

“As I do you” He retorted, chortling alongside you. The long, comfortable tired silence between you was broken only when Benedict cleared his throat.

“Y/n,” Benedict spoke up, “I think—No, I am quite certain, I love you” He admitted, holding his hand out, bridging the space between your mostly naked bodies, waiting for you to take it.

“I do believe I too am guilty of loving you” You responded, laying your hand gently in his. Leaning to meet in the middle, sharing a sentimental, sweet kiss and smiling into each other. Benedict jumped up, pants still undone around his waist, he pulled you to your feet.

“Come, I should like to draw you” He posed you naturally on the platform in the centre of the room. You watched him scramble about the room, looking for his implements.

“Like this!?” You gestured to yourself, completely nude on the dais.

“Yes, precisely like this” Benedict growled ardently, putting his pencil to his parchment.

--------------------------------------

If you would like to be tagged in any upcoming Bridgerton fanfictions written by me, please let me know and I will add you to a taglist!

[spatialwave]

pretty little thing.

➸ ask: “❛ i need you. please. i'll be quick. ❜ with Viktor and a usually bold reader, but who’s right now just so needy for Viktor 👉��” – ➸ pairing: viktor x fem!reader ➸ word count: 1.2k ➸ tags: mdni! nsfw, fxm, shameless smut, porn w/o much plot, masturbation, oral sex, facials, submissive viktor, bold reader. ➸ notes: i genuinely never felt filthier writing something fjgnsdjfg–don’t LOOK AT ME. 😳 ask came from this prompt! askbox is temporarily open...currently taking a few modern au requests!!

Everything about Viktor drove you fucking crazy.

Those narrow eyes that pierced through you, sending cold shivers through your spine when they flickered up and down your figure. Slender, nimble hands that worked tirelessly to please you, fingers flitting between your legs, pushing inside you and curling against the bundle of nerves that had you crying out. His lips that praised you with words and left heady kisses along your skin and cunt, your thighs clenching on either side of his head as you rode the waves of pleasure coursing through you.

But–you drove him crazier.

A cocky smirk would creep to your lips when you sat idly next to Viktor, both silent as his free hand that wasn’t hastily writing notes over parchment danced along your thigh. Slow, meticulous movements that dipped between your legs, fingers running along the edge of your panties. He was good at silent asks, not much for words or begging, and you were always quick to indulge a man so deserving.

Bold enough to force him back on the bed, riding him until the early morning hours as the warm sun sprawled along your naked bodies and your hips ached and thighs cramped. Until he was a whimpering mess underneath you, strangled groans caught in his throat as he filled you.

You were much better with patience. You preferred waiting for his actions that indicated his desires, absent-minded touches that wouldn’t cease until you were on your knees blowing him. 

Viktor had been preoccupied all week, focusing his energy on the research with Jayce and leaving you to your own devices. The days blended into the next, and tonight, you were a pitiful mess. You hadn't felt this way in a long time. As you sank into the couch, book clutched tightly in your hands, you squeezed your thighs together, and you ached longingly—desperate.

You fixated on the words, but they danced along each page, twisting into an indecipherable mess and leaving your mind as quickly as they came. Pages and pages were left unread as frustration bubbled up in the back of your throat and a loud groan came through. 

Fuck this.

In a swift motion, the book was discarded to the floor and your hand slid between your legs, eyes falling shut as they slipped into the fabric of your underwear with familiarity. Tentative touches, gentle fingers circling your clit that was throbbing. Your other hand slipped into your shirt, fondling your breasts and pinching your nipple, wishing so badly that it was Viktor’s hands making you feel so good.

It was easy to fall into the rhythmic motions, an idyllic smile lifting the corners of your lips as your desires were met. Not in the way you would have preferred, but taken care of nonetheless.

Two fingers slipped inside easily, your cunt eagerly enveloping the digits. Not quite long enough to make the lasting impact Viktor could.

The click of a lock snapped your body upright.

Widened eyes shot to the door that creaked open, and your heart soared. A rare occurrence that Viktor would make it home before you had fallen asleep. Adjusting yourself, you pulled your hands from your body and stood up, the slick between your legs coating your panties and seeping through to the satin fabric of your sleep shorts.

“Hi, baby,” you chirped, voice laced with lust as hands haphazardly fixed your hair that knotted from your position on the couch. You were uncertain why physical presentation mattered when your lover’s face was covered in signs of exhaustion. Dark under eyes, tousled hair, and buttoned shirt untucked.

He looked far too good to remain casual. Fuck, you were feral.

Viktor locked the door behind him, a smile gracing his lips as soft eyes settled upon you and his weight shifted back to his cane, “Still up? I hope you weren’t waiting for me.”

Your eyes flickered to the clock, it was well past midnight.

“No,” you shook your head, wondering if your hot cheeks and heavy breaths hinted at your previous state. Surely, he noticed. “Just… couldn’t sleep,” you lied.

Oh, he noticed.

Interest flickered in his eyes, and a curiosity settled in his chest, but gods, he was tired. He couldn’t even think straight, surprised that he hadn’t fallen asleep at his desk in the lab like he had two nights before.

Viktor stepped forward, cane clicking along the wood, and he pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, “I’m sorry, love,” his gentle words heavy on your heart, “I’m exhausted.”

Two impatient hands flew to his vest, fingers toying with the buttons eagerly.

“Viktor,” you whimpered, pulling your head back so you could look into his eyes, pleading.

It was an unusual act to see you standing before him with your knees quaking as you begged. His cock stirred in his slacks, hardening at the mere sight of you acting so pitifully, ready to do whatever you needed to earn his attention. 

“I need you,” you mewled, fingers beginning to undo the buttons of his vest. Shaky fingers expertly removed each one with practiced ease.

“I–shit,” he hissed, cheeks burning a deep red as you began to sink onto your knees once his vest popped open.

“–Please, I’ll be quick.”

Viktor didn’t make any moves to stop you, his free hand lifting to cover the bottom half of his face as you dug past his belt. A moan muffled behind his fingers when his cock sprung free from the layers of clothing that had felt far too restrictive, and he fell back against the closed door. Your eager hands stroked him, milking out the pre-cum that you lapped up greedily on your flattened tongue.

He whimpered, cane discarded to the floor as he worked hard to keep his knees from buckling beneath him. Your only response was to keep going, lips wrapping around his cock as you took him in as far as you could. A repetitive movement as you bobbed your head and swirled your tongue around him, and fuck, you loved his moans.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, eyes fluttering as they rolled back, a hand reaching down to grab at your hair to coax you along him. Pushing himself down your throat, knowing very well you could take it.

You choked on him, the gags and whines from your throat sending heat right into his gut. The coil in his abdomen tightened as you swallowed around him, trying to milk out his cum that you were desperate to taste on your tongue. 

You were deserving of it, weren’t you?

Two hands pressed to his bare thighs, scratching at his pale skin as tears stung your eyes when he hit the back of your throat. You were greeted by a pleasantly hard tug in your hair, yanking your mouth from his cock just as he felt himself hit his release.

Groaning deep in his chest as he grabbed the base of his cock with his other hand, stroking as the splattering of hot cum decorated your face. He had been pent-up for so long that it didn’t seem to end, strings of it clinging to your tongue that you had cheekily stuck out, over your closed eyes and down your chin and jaw.

A pretty little painting.

Viktor was rendered breathless, his hand slowing as his cock twitched, and the remaining cum he pushed out dripped down to the floor between your knees.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, hardly able to make the words come to fruition through his heavy breaths.

Your eyes opened, smiling blissfully up at your lover.

“Let me fuck you, and I’ll forgive you.”

[endlessdreamworld]

God, I finally caught up on the HSR story and I'm so down bad for this man, this traumatized guy, my poor little meow meow.

So here's some yan! Aventurine X gn! reader headcanons that have been rotting inside my brain for the past few days. Bark bark bark rate up soon please haha!!

In the early stages of your relationship, his behavior matches his superficial self, the shell he shows everyone. One of his first gifts to you would be a credit card attached to his personal bank account. 'Don't ask! Just spend.' He'd get a hit of endorphins every single time he sees a charge coming through from you. He knows it's you because he named the profile attached to that card with some corny pet name with a slew of emojis beside it, taking up an obnoxious amount of space on the screen of his phone.

It doesn't take long for him to be utterly obsessed with you. How could he not? You're just so... everything! His everything. It's at this stage, the mask slips off. Material gifts are no longer enough, and the gifts he gives you are pieces of himself. He'll overrule whatever pet name you gave him in favor of honey -- a reference to his heritage.

And speaking of heritage, he's prepared quite the gift for your one year anniversary. Once the sun had long set on a sinfully indulgent all-day date, and after some desperate and incredibly needy sex when the two of you are tangled up in a knot of your sweat and burning feelings, he'll give you his present. Kakavasha, he'd mutter into the sensitive skin on the side of your neck mirroring his commodity code. It's one of the few things he owns that truly matter to him, and he can only hope you'll accept his humble gift.

He's needy, so very very needy in general, about everything, always, in every single way. Pathetically so. He can't hold your hand like a normal person, your fingers must be laced. Kissing? There's rarely a moment when you're not being kissed, and he's generous with the sheer variety he provides you with. Sometimes it's little soft sweet kisses that are more like whispers against your flesh. Other times, he'll kiss you on the hand or face only to never pull away as if he's moving into the real estate on your bare skin wherever he can find it.

And after a particularly horrible day, he'll return home without greeting you in his usual cheerful way. You'll immediately know something is up, even more so when he puts you into a vice grip, kissing you in such a way where it's like he's trying to suck the air out of your lungs. It's as if he believes you can baptize him with your spit and turn him into something worthy of walking around other human beings, a luxury he can never afford himself. On days like this, he feels so utterly unworthy of the life he's taken from the people who have been unfortunate enough to cross paths with him, one stolen day at a time. Of course, he's shameless enough to steal from you of all people -- the sweet little giving thing that you are.

He dreams about working up the nerve, or maybe stooping so low as to ask for your hand in marriage. Whichever comes first. It's something he would have thought a lot about up until that point. He's got more money than he could ever spend in his lifetime, even if one of his hobbies was lighting huge stacks of credits on fire just for fun. With that in mind, any gem no matter how priceless would be a bauble in comparison to what you deserve for putting up with him. Of course he could carve off a piece of his cornerstone, a piece of him, and give you a fragment of God to decorate your finger. But if life on Sigonia IV taught him anything, it's how quickly your most precious belongings can be taken.

So naturally, there's only one thing he could think of that would be more valuable than that, only one thing comes to mind that can't be taken. The idea came to him in passing, an idea that's quite literally staring him in the face.

He's tried getting rid of his commodity code in the past, but even with all of his money, there's nothing that can make it go away without leaving some sort of mark. It was just easier to accept it and it slowly faded into the background over time.

So what would be more valuable than a piece of him, a piece of God? Why, eternity of course, something truly priceless. It would only be proper to get your wedding band's tattooed. You'd even be considerate enough to encourage him to pick an Avgin pattern.

While the idea of a ring as a symbol of your bond is nice, a ring is an object. Objects can be stolen -- or worse, taken off. Countless times were the things he held dearest taken from him. Although those days are long gone, and even though he's a gambling man, he wasn't about to take any chances. Not now. Not with this.

Having your promise to love one another until death do you part sealed onto your skin would give him tremendous comfort. If anyone wanted to take this away from him, the symbol of his vow to you, they'd have to peel it off of his cold, dead body. But first, they'd have to manage to kill him, of course.

Aventurine is hard to get a read on, which is just how he likes it. He's been many thing: a scoundrel, a villain, a confidante, a friend, a rival, a whipping post, a beggar, a tool, a whore, a hound, a pawn, a con artist, and a killer; all things he wouldn't hesitate to become again if the situation demands it. It's in his nature to adapt to what he needs to do, and who he needs to become. But no matter how much of a shapeshifter he pretends to be, the core of his being is unchanging and inviolable, for better or worse.

He's still that scared, lucky, little shivering Avgin boy no matter how hard he tries to play dress up. He needs you to find Kakavasha underneath all of the masks and bullshit he hides behind.

Every day he bets on you to find him, the real him, and love him. The wager? Just the usual -- his life.

[innerfare]

Going Down On You - Part 2

Summary: how they go down on you

Characters: Shanks, Beckman, Mihawk, Crocodile, Doflamingo, Corazon, Smoker

Genre: pure smut

CW: NSFW // oral sex, shameless dirty talk, Doflamingo is a menace

——— 

Shanks: 

Swears it’s a hangover cure, and this man is hungover every single morning. He’ll wake up with a pounding headache, and before he’s even opened his eyes, he’s reaching for you. He’ll paw at you like a lazy animal until you remove your panties for him and he can fall face first into your delicious cunt. He’s trained your cunt like Pavlov’s dog, too, so that you wake up wet in the morning, your clit throbbing like an alarm clock. 

“Always ready for me,” he’ll mumble in his raspy morning voice. “Nice and wet. That's my girl.” 

You actually get a rash on your inner thighs from his stubble constantly rubbing against your sensitive skin, and you have to sheepishly approach Hongo for some sort of cream. Hongo has been on the Red Force long enough that he’s not phased, though you are so embarrassed you try to ban Shanks from going down on you for a while (spoiler alert: it doesn’t work). 

“I’d rather lose my arm than skip breakfast.” 

He’ll spend most of his time between your legs licking with broad strokes of his tongue, only pointing it and attacking your clit when you’re already on the brink of orgasm. He’ll finger you as you cum and won’t stop until you’re a crying mess, begging him to stop. Of course, he’ll only stop for as long as it takes him to get his cock out and push it in. 

Beckman: 

"Come here, babygirl. That's it."

Beckman drinks your juices like a nightcap. He’ll put you on his desk, the moonlight filtering in through the window and a lamp flickering in the corner, and unzip his pants to give his massive erection some breathing room before turning his attention to his babygirl. He likes to start slow, taking his sweet time with your nipples and leaving a trail of hickies around them, before finally burying his face between your shaking legs.  

“Give daddy a taste.” 

He’s nice and sweet about it, but don’t think he won’t hold you down if you start to squirm around too much. He goes down on you like you need it, not like you want it; he goes down on you like it’s for your own good. It’s for his own good, too, that thing that takes the edge off and helps him wind down after a stressful day. He wants your legs wrapped around his head and your hands tangled in his long hair. 

Oh, and he wants you to tell him that he owns you. Nobody else is allowed to taste your pussy; it's all his, and you'd better chant that while he draws your orgasm out of you.

Mihawk:

A proponent of fine dining. 

Will eat you out on the table, which kind of makes you feel like he’s doing it in public because his dining room is so large and there are massive windows with no curtains covering them; his insistence on you removing every article of clothing, not just your panties, and sitting on the table, feet on the edge, holding your legs as far apart as they’ll go only makes you feel more exposed. All the while, he remains entirely clothed. 

He’ll scold you if you wrap your legs around him. It’s his meal and he’s going to enjoy it precisely the way he wants, and the way he wants is uninhibited. He drags it out, too, edging you multiple times and lecturing you about delayed gratification if you complain. When he does finally allow you to cum, he tortures your clit for a moment after to be certain he saw you through your entire orgasm.  

Other times, he’ll be sitting in his chair and see you walk by and say, “y/n, come here.” He’ll have you strip down before laying you on the coffee table and working an orgasm or two out of you. Enjoys it so much that at times when he’s training or preparing for something, he’ll ban himself from indulging in your pussy because he needs to be focused. 

Crocodile:

Sir Crocodile has a big cock, but he normally stretches you with his fingers. Oral sex isn’t foreplay to him, it’s a separate thing entirely. He normally engages in it very late at night or very early in the morning when he’s exhausted and you’re half asleep. He’ll run his hand down your body, stopping briefly to massage your breasts, before pulling your legs apart. 

“Wake up,” he might grumble in your ear. Or he might not, instead waking you up with a few kisses to your clit.  

He probably kisses your pussy more than he kisses your mouth. He’ll make out with your leaky opening, swapping your juices for his saliva, part of him wishing he still had his other hand so he had more fingers to torture you with. But he’ll settle for one, going back and forth between your nipples and squeezing them until you cry out, then squeezing them some more.  

He doesn’t talk to you while he does it, a far cry from how he mocks and argues with you during penetrative sex. When he’s in an especially bad mood, he doesn’t take his hook off, and you wake up with it pushing into the soft flesh of your thigh, a silent warning not to close your legs on him. And when he’s finished, he’ll push you back to your side of the bed without a word. 

Doflamingo: 

Part of being his toy means being tormented with his tongue. He has a fucking giraffe tongue, and he puts it to good use, often laying back in bed and making you ride it like it’s his cock, moving it out of the way and then making fun of you when you struggle. He makes you talk to him the entire time, and when you’re not sitting on his face, you have to make eye contact with him. 

He’ll talk to you, too, and is so fucking patronizing. 

“Use your words, little one. Come on, you can do it. Don’t tell me it’s too much for you.” 

Uses a lot of different toys while he’s going down on you, typically a butt plug and nipple clamps. Has most definitely used a transponder snail to take pictures of your wet pussy, flush and swollen after he spent an entire afternoon tonguing it; the clicking sound of the snail camera was so humiliating but it made your pussy throb so much harder. 

One of his favorite things in the world is tying you up with his strings and spitting on your cunt. He has, on a handful of occasions, tied you up and allowed his subordinates to lick your pussy, but never lets them taste your cum; right when you’re on the edge, he’ll take over and make them watch while he takes your orgasm all for himself, usually with his cock. 

Corazon: 

Eating your pussy is his stress relief. The number of times you burned dinner because you were cooking and he came home in the middle and bent you over the counter for an appetizer is unreal. He always apologizes, but he doesn’t feel bad enough to stop doing it; he can’t stop doing it. And you’d be cruel to make him considering you can feel the tension leave his body as soon as his tongue runs through your folds. 

“I needed this so bad. Thank you so much.” 

When he’s not bending you over a counter, he wants you riding his face, and none of that hovering shit, either. He’ll wrap his arms around your thighs and hold you flush against his face, moaning as he laps at your folds.

“I can tell you need it, too. Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” 

He’s so sweet about it, it’s unreal. Smiles the entire time, places so many sweet kisses on your clit and opening. A big fan of the two finger and tongue combo. Can work an orgasm out of you in record time. Never fucks you without making you cum at least once on his tongue (he’s 9’7 and his cock is proportional). 

Smoker: 

Smoker almost always ends up eating his cum out of you. He’s gone for weeks, even months at a time, and when he walks through that door, you’re dropping your panties or he’s ending it all. He has so much pent up energy he absolutely has to fuck you, but that doesn’t change the fact that what he’s been jerking off to every night is the thought of tasting you. 

“Don’t think for a second we’re finished yet.” 

He’ll take breaks to kiss you on the mouth, making you taste yourself. And then he’ll work his way back down your body, leaving hickies on your neck and biting your nipples before he’s back between your legs again, pushing his tongue into your hole to get every last drop of both of your juices out, his thumb seeing to your aching clit. 

You won’t even make it to the bed, he’ll just fuck you against the wall or on the counter and then drag you onto the floor to lick your cunt. He’s attempted to get you to the sofa before, but you just end up pushed against it while still on the floor, or else bent over the arm or sitting on the edge while he kneels between your legs. 

Also, the two of you don’t shower together often, but for some reason, the times you do shower together, he always ends up with his face between your legs. You’ve wasted so much water because he can’t keep his damn tongue to himself. And when he’s finished, he always places a few sweet kisses at your entrance as if to reward you for behaving. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[saetoru]

do you ever think about drying gojos hair after you both took a shower together 💔

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ NEW PEOPLE — GOJO SATORU.

contents. established relationship, like two tiddie squeezes LMAO, it’s ridiculously corny and i need to be shot. lots of kisses. lots of (corny) banter. did i mention lots of kisses ????? also satoru is taller than reader. he’s 6’7 in my heart

“c’mere,” you mumble, holding the towel as you motion for him to bend down. satoru grins—it’s that wide, smug one with the slightest hints amusement that normally make you want to wipe it off his face.

but right now, you decide you’ll be nice. sometimes he deserves something nice. really nice, in fact.

“oh?” he hums, “need me to come down there? i wonder why.” he brows are wiggling, and his head is angled enough that his cheek is just in range for your lips to touch the soft skin. you huff, rolling your eyes as you plop the towel over his head and promptly cover his face.

not a lot of people catch gojo satoru off guard—but you watch him stiffen under the towel in surprise. you can’t see his face, but you’re sure it’s confused. the thought makes you giggle.

“not for a kiss, you idiot,” you snort, “i’m gonna dry your hair. don’t need you getting my pillow wet.”

“our pillow,” he corrects, “there’s no mine in a relationship, sweetheart. it’s just ours.”

“you’re lucky i let you have a pillow at all,” you mutter, pulling the towel back so his face is visible again.

and then, at the sight, your eyes soften—satoru looks beautiful like this. shirtless, just in a pair of joggers, pale skin slightly pink from the hot shower and damp stands of hair sticking to his forehead. you gently rub over his head with the cloth, drying it as he leans into your touch.

you can feel his lips hovering just above your own, eyes studying you carefully. you try to ignore it, the intensity of his eyes on you, the heat of his body just inches away from yours—instead, you try focusing on drying his wet hair as much as a towel permits.

“well who needs pillows anyway,” he hums, “when you have these.”

you hiss when his hand squeezes over your tits, making you slap it away as you scowl—of course, even when you try to be gentle with satoru, he doesn’t let it come easily. but that’s why you love him, you suppose—something about him, even despite the irritation that comes with all of him, calls for something gentle.

“satoru, you’re shameless,” you glare, “can’t you be normal for once in your life?”

“me, normal?” he gasps, “there’s nothing normal about me, sweetheart. i’m extraordinary—the strongest! the handsomest! and…” he drawls before he winks, “the luckiest too.”

he adds the last part with an easy grin plastered on his face, leaning in so that his lips rest over yours. he doesn’t kiss you though, no—he leaves that entirely up to you.

you decide to indulge him, just this once.

“oh yeah?” you murmur, lips still pressed against his as you speak. he hums, closing his eyes when your hands cup his face, your thumb rubbing over his right cheek gently.

“yup,” he breathes.

and then you kiss him, softly at first, pecking his lips at the corners before pressing a lingering kiss over them properly. his hands find your hips, grabbing them tightly as he pulls you in, lets your body press against his chest as he deepens the kiss and nips at your bottom lip.

you smile—satoru is beautiful like this. in the palms of your hands, wrapped around your fingers, yours.

“i wish i could say the same,” you sigh dramatically as you pull away, “but unfortunately you’re the only lucky one in this relationship.”

“i’m wounded,” he clutches over his heart, the towel falling from his head to drape over his shoulders. you can’t help but admire him—satoru is beautiful like this. he always is, you think. “and here i thought you were hopelessly in love with me—you even dried my hair. did that mean nothing to you?”

“yup. it’s not me, it’s you,” you giggle, “i think we should see other people.”

“oh yeah?” he chuckles—and then, his lips are on your face, kiss after kiss after kiss pressing to every inch of skin he can find. on your forehead, across your cheeks, down your nose and along your jaw, right until he’s back to where he started.

his favorite spot, the one he’ll never forget, committed to his memory. your lips—the same ones he loves when they’re curled into a smile, when they’re parted as the scold him, when they’re pursed into a scowl.

the same ones he could kiss now, and tomorrow, and the day after that, and forever if you let him. he’ll never get tired.

“yeah,” you giggle, squealing in laughter as he bites at your cheek playfully.

“that’s cute, sweetheart,” he says lowly, kissing down your neck until his nose brushes against your collarbone, “but they don’t call me the strongest for nothing, y’know. your new man can fight me for your hand—and he’ll lose.”

“you’re an idiot,” you laugh, fingers threading through his hair delicately, nails raking over his scalp—and it’s sweet, the sound of your voice, he loves the taste of it when it trickles from your lips onto his. so he presses his to yours once more, just to taste it again.

“i’m afraid love turns us all into fools,” he sighs, “that’s why you’re the biggest fool. don’t worry, i’d love me that bad too.”

“i’d be careful if i were you, toru,” you raise a brow, “or you’ll lose pillow privileges.”

“and that, sweetheart, is why i got these,” he says cheekily, hand creeping up to squeeze around your tits again—you’re tired of him. but you can’t get enough. you roll your eyes at everything he does. but every time, without fail, a smile creeps along the corners of your mouth too.

“i’m sick of you,” you mutter.

“what’s that? you’re sick? don’t worry, i know just what will make you feel better,” he says confidently—and then he kisses you again. and again—and you hope he doesn’t stop anytime soon.

the way this is so embarrassingly cheesy if someone called the police on me i’d go without a fight. like ykw sorry officer ur right my fault !!

[holybibly]

The summer heat seems to be getting unbearable by the day. And there is nothing better than indulging in unholy thoughts during these times. 

And here are your unholy thoughts for the day: Your roommate San fucks you in the shower when the tension between you two gets too hot for you to handle.

San was a great roommate—you might even say perfect—if it weren't for one thing: he was so damn sexy. The boy just smouldered with hotness, and on top of that, you had a hard time dealing with his intensity and straightforwardness.

You never thought you'd share an apartment with someone like Choi San; it was like you two were from different universes; he was a famous fighter in the underground arena, and you worked in a fantasy flower shop. You rarely saw him without cuts and bruises and wearing anything more than an inappropriately tight tank top and sweatpants that hung so low on his hips that you could easily see the tattoo on his Apollo belt. San was quite the homeboy too, though; he loved to spend time with you, watching films or having dinner together, which was pure torture for you.

San had absolutely no filter; he could easily comment on how he liked your panties when your skirt was riding up too high or how your nipples were hard from the cold in the house. So, you often blushed in his presence, and as embarrassed as you were to admit it, your pussy was always unseemly wet for him. You were literally dripping.

Things had only gotten worse since he'd started letting you help him with his cuts and bruises from fights. He literally couldn't take his eyes off you, looking at you as if he wanted to eat you alive or fuck you right then and there. San was on the verge of grabbing you and fucking your brains out, and you knew he might, if the four broken beds he'd replaced were any indication.

But lately he hadn't brought any girls home, and something about his presence had changed. It felt like he was really hunting you down, circling you like a predator, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

He became rougher with you, harsher—you would even say possessive—as if you were his. The tension between the two of you was like the thick air before a storm. You could feel how stifling and electric San's presence in your life had become.

And if it was possible, he became even more shameless. Words, actions, touches—the level of sexuality and vulgarity increased day by day. It got to the point that one evening, while you were cooking dinner, he pressed himself against you from behind, all sweaty and dirty from another workout, wearing only sweatpants, and rubbed his erection against your buttocks.

His hands gripped the counter on either side of you so hard that his knuckles were white, and he breathed into your neck like a dog in heat—wet, hot, and hoarse as he thrust his hips into you. You were so shocked by what was happening that you didn't even know how to react; you just stood there and let him rub against you.

After that incident, you avoided him like the plague, and he didn't like that at all. You still remember the time you stayed late at work and came home after midnight to find San sitting in the middle of your living room in total darkness, staring at you with his feline, predatory gaze.

San had you cornered that night, pinning you between the wall and his body, giving you no chance to escape. He was so damn mean, scolding you until one moment his hand was around your throat and his forehead was pressed against yours. You literally gasped as you felt his other hand slide between your thighs and touch your pussy. It was over as quickly as it had begun, and the last thing you saw was San's smug grin as the door to his bedroom closed.

His games with you continued for weeks, literally driving you mad and depriving you of sleep. Hot images of him fucking you into the mattress or bending you over and fucking you so hard you couldn't walk for days filled your mind. And San stimulated it even more, as he seemed to have decided to give up t-shirts and vests altogether, walking around the house half naked all the time, and it seemed that his underwear had also been thrown out, as you could always see the outline of his semi-hard cock under the soft fabric of his jogging bottoms.

And maybe it would have stayed that way for a while if you hadn't left the bathroom door unlocked while you were taking a shower. You didn't think you'd see San until tomorrow morning; he's had another fight tonight, and as you knew, that usually lasted until dawn, so you didn't even think about locking the door.

The hot water scalded your body, thick steam filled the cramped shower cubicle, fogging the glass, and you were so lost in it all that you didn't even hear the front door close. Your hands slid over your body, smearing the fluffy, fragrant foam of your shower gel until your fingers were on your clit, slowly rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves.

You were so sexually frustrated by all of San's actions, and you really hadn't had sex for a while, so you just couldn't resist playing with yourself a little. If only you had noticed the dark figure behind the misty shower wall.

Just as you had inserted a finger into yourself, throwing your head back against the tiled wall and rolling your eyes in pleasure, the shower door swung open with a vengeance, revealing none other than Choi San. You didn't even have time to react because he was instantly beside you in the cramped, wet space of the shower with you. He hadn't even taken his clothes off, his crisp white t-shirt immediately clinging to his body, showing off every muscle of his perfect frame.

You gasped as his palm slapped the tile next to your head, his other hand tugging roughly at your arm, pulling your fingers out of your wet hole with a loud squelching sound. He slowly brought your slimy fingers to his mouth, staring into your eyes before he stuck out his tongue and licked up all your slime.

He moaned softly, his eyes rolling back at the taste of you, his tongue swirling around your fingers, carefully lapping up every drop of your juices.

"Mmm, you're sweet, just the way I like it." San whispered to you, letting go of your hand and grabbing your throat instead, pulling you into a hot, hungry kiss. He fucked your mouth with his tongue instead of kissing you and continued choking you. Your hands gripped his back, feeling all the tense muscles under his thin, wet t-shirt. You moaned into his lips as San emptied your mouth.

When he let you go, your knees buckled, but his arm around your waist held you in place.

"That's it, angel, I've got you, and I'm going to fuck you so good you'll never want to get off my cock again."

[anantaru]

DAY 18 — OVERSTIMULATION

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — gorou, lyney, alhaitham, kazuha

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, overstimulation, oral (fem! receiving), fingering, dom/sub dynamics, teasing, skilled genshin men

𖧡 — GOROU

subtle twitches— the very ones that conceal little hints of excitement that resonated over gorou's ears when he moves himself closer in between your parted thighs, the insides full on glistening with your arousal laced over your folds— and time had passed, surely it did, yet it didn't feel this way to you, not when gorou couldn't stop himself from being trapped within the warm wrap of your legs swaddled around his head.

he's obsessed with it, driven by it.

you're feverishly riding his tongue and keep him as close as possible, your gaze falling down through your tear-stricken lashes as you get a thunderous thrill out of his tongue pressing painfully against the spongy flesh of your folds, your bottom lip tied in between your sharp teeth to hold back on your quivering moans.

you're still too sensitive from the hour long drags of his tongue, really, just pleasure and pain, a ripple of galvanic stirs overloading your senses until you're quivering all over, his sloppy tongue teasing and prodding at your stimulated hole, attempting to push inside as your toes curl inwards, your back arching like a bow.

gorou always sucks so hard on your cunt that it feels like he's trying to draw your pending orgasm out through the sheer force of his mouth attached on your pussy, using your glossy arousal to lubricate his mouth further as he pushes past the aching ring of your slit at last, his nostrils flaring and jaw tightening due to immense concentration.

who knew the general was that good at this?

and gorou was so handsome, so pretty, when he swiftly returns a shy smile at you, pearly whites peaking from underneath his glimmering mouth, whilst his lips never leave your warm pussy and remain on top, because he was truly, utterly, hair-raisingly shameless when it got to pleasuring his perfection of a darling— he'd do anything for your hips to keep on wiggling and aching through timid ruts that would ultimately manifest into a desperate grind of your swollen sex battering his cheeks.

𖧡 — LYNEY

lyney casts a single glance down on your face and falls, head first, in love with you once again— straight from the shoulder, it doesn't matter to him how you look right now, because even though your mascara was cementing under your lower lashes, your eyes transpicuous with mellow tears slithering all over your warm cheeks the moment you whine out his name, it's still not of significant importance.

because for the magician himself, you're still and always will be— the most drop-dead gorgeous being on earth.

you're so good to him and he wants to pay you back for it, every touch and thrust of his thudding dick setting a path of electricity straight to the furthest part inside your ribbed walls and ending at the tip of his his cockhead curling up all nicely inside of you, adding his scent on all the right places that needed the most attention.

and lyney was becoming hungrier by the minute, rocking his length in and out of your pulsating pussy to smear your slick all over your squishy folds and clit, while teasing your nipples with one hand and never downgrading the brimming thrusts of his hips, not until your body was aching, the curves on your frame incandescent of a sharp glow, powered by alight beads of perspiration scattering over the shivers on your skin.

"fuck, so fucking hot, you're so fucking hot, my love,"

lyney's body seem to scream of thrill, indulging of the salacious puffiness on your cunt when you moan through a slacked jaw, step by step falling apart underneath his looming figure as your body suffers from an overstimulating sensation.

oh no, it's way way way too much now, you shiver and cry out his name, yet beg for lyney to continue, wince at the penetrative pressure getting so close that it squeezes the air from your lungs, the electrifying buzzes on your sensitivity move so fast they're unstoppable, it's too much, again, too much;

but it's so fucking perfect.

𖧡 — ALHAITHAM

alhaitham derives gleaming pleasure into your person, an exclaimed heat luxuriating across your face as you return his kiss grouped by rapture— and your boyfriend was outright intoxicated on the way you offered yourself to him so gracefully.

the more your thighs twitched apart and enclosed his waist— the more he convulses when pressing in and out of your glistening cunt, breaking waves of colliding grunts and whines that get swallowed by you both tangling your tongues as he gropes the flesh of your ass to tug and push you into his dripping erection even further.

for that passion that was set free within the confines of the perspiring room— there was also love, determination and the excitement to bring you close to the edge, it turned alhaitham more eager to fasten his blows on you, which, for someone who preferred to take the slowed route, when it came to this, fuck, this, he'd never end it with you being unsatisfied in his performance.

your fingers rummage at the back of alhaitham's shoulders as he kisses your neck before moving the pink muscle and drawing the flat of his tongue right behind your ear— his exhaled breathes were menacing on you, his hair all tousled and disheveled with a couple strands sticking on his dampened forehead, he looked utterly devilish, beautiful and handsome when he grunts in bliss.

shuddering and bucking, you jerk your hips up as you notice the perspiring pressure on your wet sex, something was suddenly different and your entire frame begins to twitch and shake whilst pressed underneath his bulky figure suffocating any form of distance on your bodies.

the most plausible reason for this being on how alhaitham precisely gyrated his hips to penetrate over the clenching base on your entrance, delving through the devious pleasure points in your sensitivity as he explores the totality of your soaking wet walls, the sum of his moments decorated by the heavenly noises slithering from the tip of your tongue.

the surplus of stimulations on your luscious cunt melted into your skin, beating the air with copious amounts of  small, hiccoughy moans as you clung yourself tight against alhaitham's body to ride out the powerful shudders as you intensely, came and came apart— your hips curling up mindlessly against his girthy shaped length as your eyes fall shut from exhaustion, mind hanging above the clouds— your pussy throbbing from the musky scent from the scribe, not to mention of pheromones and filth that had been everywhere, all pendant around your bodies— jutting into empty air with your arms forevermore enclosed around each other, overwhelming you in the most beautiful of ways.

𖧡 — KAZUHA

kazuha clearly knows what he's doing to you, and he sees how it's working on each corner of your eyes desperately holding on to a droplet of tears— and he swiftly slides his fingers in and out, his eyes manifesting through a lidded glance, a languishing haze obscuring over your heads as he keeps your legs apart with his body, spending enough time to stretch you, although going slow.

you see, when you suddenly make a sound, kind of a vocalized panting that showed kazuha that you're much more sensitive and reactive than usually, he is aware that it's doing something to you, he knows he needs to keep his slender digits hidden in your cunt for a much longer procedure, perhaps even coax out a real, harboring orgasm from you without using his cock this time.

"just leave it to me," he coos as you're gaped open by his fingers being knuckles deep inside, scattering your bodily scent over his hand as kazuha scissors your creamy arousal back into you, fucking that little cunt of yours silly and proving to you— that you really had nothing to worry about, besides the strong radiation of overstimulation circulating through your entire blood stream.

"just keep your attention on me," he adds onto his mutters, long lashes tickling your cheeks before moving his fingers faster and faster through your tensed walls, the wet echos of your cunt diffusing into the entire humidity of your room.

slap, slap, slap, it's so noisy— ugh, and you drawl out an embarrassed whimper as well as a flustered writhe from how impossibly loud it had become, not to mention on how fast kazuha thrusted the two digits in and out of you and appeared to be utterly delighted by the noises your sweet sex could make, almost as if that was part of his plan.

you stumble and hiccup over your short-lived heaves, wriggling and writhing from the deep curls on your g-spot as he suddenly places his warm thumb on your clit.

it's over now, you're done for, and kazuha's whole, intense ministrations on your body were being downright relentless, his fingers pressing in and out of your wet sex as your exposed figure couldn't do anything other than endure the tasteful traces— with your tits in perfect view for him to indulge in, bouncing up and down in rhythm with the fast pumps of his hand, the underside of your breasts faintly doused with a glow of sweat and perspiration.

"i know, i know," kazuha whispers at you, sensually kissing your cheek when he perceives the soft cries pulled from your throat, the looming begs and whines developing and revealing themselves afterwards— all due to the expanding pressure of his finger over the stretch on your sloppy walls messing you up,

"but you can do it for me, okay? my love, can you?"

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[clitorphosis]

SHE IS MY COLLAR

Caitlyn Kiramman/female reader | 18+ MDNI. smut, female reader, lesbians, oral sex(cunnilingus), fingering, teasing, dirty talk, kissing and just being in love

notes: NOT PROOFREAD AT ALL 😭ignore mistakes and typos 💔 I fear this is 100% self indulgent quick and short fic cause I NEED HER THIGHS ON MY SHOULDERS. Feedback(asks, reblogs etc) is really appreciated. :3

Tags: @lottiies

Caitlyn’s parted legs are secured on your shoulders, holding them tight, with your hands in a vice like grip. Your fingers dip into the soft flesh of her thighs, leaving light reddened signs on the fat of them. Among many things, those thighs made you dizzy - filling with images of them at the sides of your head. This night is yours so no way you are going to let her away - back into her duties leaving you longing for something more than this little escapade.

Your lips slowly kiss the soft and tender skin of her inner thighs, leaving light bite marks, not daring to flick your gaze away from her blue eyes - full of burning desire and the yearn to feel your lips on her aroused pussy. Caitlyn prefers forward approach most of them time, also depending on her mood and yearnings, but you cracked that game easily, your taste doesn’t change, staying the same - teasing is the only way to enjoy her and prolong this. Her furrowed eyebrows and nibbled lip didn’t go unnoticed by you. She is shameless as you, her blue eyes keep the eye contact with you, adding more intimacy to this moment. Every little touches are visibly affecting her - even if she doesn’t voice it, her eyes tell you everything. No hint of shyness and if she is, then Caitlyn is not only a good sniper, but also an actor.

“Miss bluebelly isn’t so collected tonight?” You whisper, giving another soft bite on the inside of her thigh. Watching for any subtle flinches on her features, your two fingers softly slide lower to her pussy, interrupting Caitlyn. “You are so hot, I can’t wait to feel you… No, to taste you again”

“Don’t—Ah!” Call me that. The name gets under her skin. A gentle pressure of her clit and the only sound coming from her is a sweet moan. Keeping the gentle pressure, your digits focused on her sensitive nub leading to wet noises seeping into the air of your space. You can feel her reaction under the fingertips of your other hand, holding one of her thigh - every pleasant sensation, every teasing word lead to twitches and trembling in her muscles. Her lips are parted, focused on the pleasure, blue gaze darts away, seemingly trying to recollect herself.

“What? Is something wrong?” You keep the game on, your two fingers keep stroking her nub in clockwise motion, before shifting the attention of your fingers to her soaked hole. It would be unfair to ignore it, right? “Voice your complain up, pretty officer”

Caitlyn’s teeth sink into her lower lip as brows furrowed. Not for too long. You nudge her hole teasingly, before your two digits slip inside, making her walls clench at the added pleasure, they grip tighter after curling your fingers, tips press on the sweet, pudgy spot. Maybe out of habit. Caitlyn always joked about your fingers being long and perfect for violin or piano, but your talent ends on her pussy. Nor you want something else to play on.

“I hope this will get me cuffed” You purr, watching her hips buck with arching back at the applied soft pressure on the sensitive spot, before you finally delve into the itch to press your lips on her soaked pussy. Your tongue parts the lips, finally the sweetness of her slick on your tongue makes your eye roll, gliding across the folds of her aroused slit. Never disappoints. Your fingers keep the pace, steady pumping in and out bringing out more wet noises in the air, to make this even better, accompanied with Caitlyn’s moans. Like a music to your ears, like a sight that belong to a painting - her body is warm and relaxed, completely trusting to you. Her thighs on your shoulders, pressing at the both sides of your temples. And you are the starved woman. The frown and tiredness seem to disappear, drowning in the delightful sense of the intimacy between you two.

“Cuffed? We’ll see… Oh!” Caitlyn’s breathless voice slips out of her lips. She tries to bite down another moan. Another long, but slow flat lick along her soaked slit, reaching to throbbing clit and finally sucking on the sensitive bud, while applying the light pressure on her G-spot. And that another moan slips out. Another response, her hips buck to your mouth - wanting to feel more. And you want her to see the stars tonight. Her hand creeps down to grip softly your hair, her own long fingers rake through your hair and short-trimmed nails pleasantly scratch your scalp. Her thighs on your shoulders tense, urging you to move your free hand. Nails ghost over the flesh of her inner thigh, while your tongue keep circling and sucking on the clit.

The pressure of your digits, not forgetting to press with right angle to bring more pleasure to pump through her veins. Your tongue keep the same stable pace, light and teasing touch on her skin encourage her to buck her hips with similar pace, almost riding your face. You can see on her face, her own senses are overwhelmed, having a hard time to keep eye contact and drowning in the growing roots of heat coming from your ministrations. Her hips squirm, more slick slips and spread across your mouth - you know she is so close. Unsteady panting combines with moans coming from her swollen lips - teeth tortured that soft and delicate flesh too hard. God, you are going to kiss them soon. Caitlyn’s body writhes more, heels are kicking uselessly in the air as her back bows in pleasure again and your hand’s grip tightens on her hip to press more against your mouth, keeping the pace steady. Her head threw back and you can feel how her slick coats your mouth more, thighs press in around your head. The wave of warm pleasure hits her, flinching and letting more choked moans which resemble more hiccups now. An incoherent mess of moans.

It ended so fast, but still, you have all the time in the world. Pulling away from her warm and drenched pussy, coated with slick and your saliva - the same could be said about your face. And the last, but most important part - you give a kiss on her clitoris, slowly kissing your way up, leaving soft and light bite marks on the flesh her stomach, while your fingertips trail ghostly along sensitive and warmed up skin of her body. Enhancing the aftershocks of her orgasm. Impatiently reaching her lips, to capture them in the kiss. Forcing another soft moan out of Caitlyn against your lips, before her own tongue pushed against the plush and wet skin of your mouth, probing to deepen the kiss. You are not going to deny her, would be so very stupid of you. Her tongue twirls with yours, rolling them over each other. Her smell overwhelms you, wanting to go for another round. You can’t get enough of her, she tastes like the best and fresh pastry in the whole world, or maybe that just the taste of her slick lingering and making you almost dumb minded. Caitlyn is affected too, letting a soft groan at the taste of herself on your tongue. Her nails scratch your scalp pleasantly, but she doesn’t stop you from breaking the kiss.

“…what was about being cuffed?” Caitlyn says, a lazy smile slips out on her lips as her palms caress your upper thighs. A squirming heat pools in your stomach, you probably look enamoured more than ever. If that’s even possible.

Right, you have all night. Another round won’t hurt anyone.

[audisive]

♪ SAD GIRL. pretty when you cry alternative

౨ৎ simon 'ghost' riley | reader

synopsis: another bad day calls for another solution. simon knows best, after all.

tags: smut, mentions of crying, comfort, self-indulgent, dumbification ??, dirty talk, a sprinkle of breeding, unedited filth

      You're not entirely sure how you got here.

You know why; you'd been stressing your precious head off for the whole week. These past few days seem to be worse than the past ones that had you crying your eyes out in Simon's arms. University has taken its toll on you, and your work is anything but helpful. You don't even have time to cry now! At some point, you barely even had time to spend with your beloved boyfriend, so he took matters into his own capable hands.

Still, you don't know how. You try to remember, but it's hard to think when Simon's even harder dick is stretching out your – in his words – pretty little cunt once more. It's no use trying to work your brain, he claims, not when your shoulders are slumped, your head is leaning on him, and he's rubbing his thick cock against the walls of your pussy just right.

Really, you tried to deal with your stress in a more appropriate way, but you knew it was futile. You admitted defeat when you felt his hands slip from your waist to your hips, when his lips found your neck, when his cold fingers played with your clit and when he'd eased you down on his cock with praises and whispers.

It's just not your fault that he knows the right buttons to push, and he seems to love turning your brain off. What's going on in that brain 'f yours, lovie? C'mon, 'nough of that. Leave it all t'me. If he had it his way, he'd have you drop out of that awful university you always complain about. Please let him provide for you.

"Y'don' even have t' do anything, baby," he grunts in your ear lowly, hot breath hitting your skin. So you don't. You pant against him like a pathetic thing, but you're so far gone in the pleasure that you just can't bring yourself to be a little shy about your state of mind, or rather, the lack of it.

"Such a good fuckin'–" he moans out loud when you clench around him a little too hard without warning, "girl. That's m'girl, tha's it."

You moan his name back, the only thing you can think of. Whining when his thrusts become rougher and harder, he coos, "I know, I know. Almost there, baby, I got'cha."

His pants aren't even all the way down. Shameless bastard! He opted to slide them down his muscular thighs to let the noticeable bulge slip out of its enclosure. His hands have long since shoved themselves under your clothes, not bothering to take them off either. It makes you feel icky, desperate, and utterly pathetic, but the way his cold skin freezes the surface of your bare hips while he moves you up and down on his leaky cock is enough to take your mind off of it.

You're a bit too loud for your own liking, and Simon's dirty talk isn't helping. He laces the lewd sounds of your bedroom with his own groans and grunts that your neighbors are sure to hear and complain about. And when he finds that spot of yours, he pounds you into the mattress like your lives depend on it. You'll just have to ignore the weird looks and glares they give you when you step out of your house.

Oh, but what can you do? You're at his mercy; all you can bring yourself to do is whine and moan for him, but don't worry, he'll take it as a reward for taking such good care of his pretty baby. He's hell-bent on finding ways to comfort you. If he can't fix you with sweet pecks and warm cuddles, he'll fix you up real good with sloppy kisses and his leaky cock. :3 

You'll be a good girl and not complain when he cums in you, right?

    divider by @cafekitsune !