#stupid sexy boots

[kepesktribe]

Yeah... overwhelming victory in poll so I am not waiting for it to end. :D You all get to see me gush about my BJD.

I named him Shen Bǎihé. Sometimes I just call him Bai. A whopping 68cm, Shi Ze model, full set, Loongsoul. Hmm, I picture him as a stage actor. His outfit was certainly interesting to put on. So much sleeve!!!! @.@ I just love posing him though. I want to eventually have backdrops and props for pictures. So I am saving for some tools to make them myself because bjd furniture really adds up the $.

Bonus: My friends Doll for height comparison. (All I remember is 17 cm dream body.) And my lovely limited edition 2021 dragon bjd I named Xiao.

Cut for those who don't like bjds.

[littleplasticrat]

I HATE HIM I LOVE HIM I HATE HIM I LOVE HIM

[ouroboobos]

Fave lesbian whos ever hit on me on this app was this girl who wrote everything out with a very potent old fashioned southern accent (darlin, hun, sugar, left the Gs off the end of words even in writing, constantly talking abt how country she was, etc) and I was like hm this feels a little forced. But whatever who am I to assume. And anyway it turned out she was from fucking LA and she just acted like that for no reason

[creepyscritches]

Delighted to see all my followers ALSO getting goth nerd larper results. We attract each other, fellers.

[gutsby]

My Body, His Choice

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

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

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

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

Word count: 2.9k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, handsome.”

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

“I said he-llo, you big hunk.”

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

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

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

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

Carefully.

Joel groaned.

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

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

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

“Javier Peña?” you asked him.

The man’s nostrils flared in response.

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

“Joel!”

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

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

You turned back to the TV and pretended to consider.

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

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

“Púdrete.”

Joel scoffed.

“Oh yeah? Fuck me?”

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

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

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

His eyes smiled back.

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

You spooned and watched Narcos in silence.

“Bad day?” you murmured at length.

“Bad don’t even begin to cover it.”

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

“‘M’sorry,” he said.

“Me too.”

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

“Ain’t no need to be—it’s on me.”

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

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

Joel kissed the space between your shoulder and neck.

“I figured.”

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

“Keep watching, darlin’,” he mumbled.

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

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

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

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

“Aw, hell, honey.”

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

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

“Joel, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keep watching.

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

In and out.

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

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

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

Joel pressed another kiss to your cheek and kept going.

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

Oh.

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes were smiling again.

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

“Can I have a little more, daddy?”

[risaonda]

new task at work: make the conscious decision to use the broken ladder instead of a pole so I don't get my shit absolutely obliterated by a box of docs

[135-film]

i need to put match strikers on my platforms and wear functional lighters as earrings

[zvdvdlvr]

corn maze + john price

synopsis - you go to a corn maze and get fucked by john

warnings - unprotected sex, pet names, ooc!john price

notes - trying to get back into the swing of things. who knows if this will last.

i need someone to match my freak. i need JOHN PRICE to match my freak guys.

like, i could definitely go for a quickie with him in a corn maze.

just think. its early in the season of fall- ordinarily too early for the pinterest couples and groups of friends to be swarming the corn maze and pumpkin patch. you sweet talked john into going and getting the first pick of the patch early on in the season because you knew you both may get called back to work.

you were both wearing jeans and boots- the wind had a slight nip to it now- and miraculously convinced your boyfriend to wear the deep red Henley that clung to his muscles so well. in return, he had picked out a blaringly bright orange sweater so you could ‘fit in with the pumpkins’ or some other bullshit that brought a smile to his face. 

john had let you lead him around the peacefully unpopulated grounds- purchasing apple cider and other odds and ends you saw fit. he knew that you just wanted one day to feel like a normal, regular, sane couple that didn’t have their hands soaked in blood every other day- literally or figuratively. and in all honesty, he didn’t mind letting you happily pull him along because the smile on your face was worth diamonds.

eventually, after you picked over all the shops and food stands, you stopped in front of the corn maze. “final stop, john. then you can take me home,” you mused, snuggling into his inhumanly warm side. 

your boyfriend hummed beside you. “finally,” he grumbled jokingly. The quiet chuckle he earned from his comment made his heart swell a little fuller. “alright, love. lead the way.”

Five minutes later, you had no clue where to go. Ironic, right? You cursed yourself- how could you not know how to escape some dumb corn maze?

Just as your feet started to ache, you lead the both of you into a corn with a couple hay bales in the corner. John followed you and chortled as you sat down on the bale. You could barely feel the pointy straw poking your ass. 

“Stupid maze,” you grumbled.

John’s eyes twinkled. “Let me eat you out, love.”

The casualness of his tone made your mouth open and close once. Twice. “John. My love. My heart. We’re in a corn maze right now.”

One step and he crouched doen to your eye level. The devilish smile that crinkled his eyes was softening your resolve and he knew it. “C’mon, love,” he cooed, brushing a lock of your frizzy hair from your eyes. “Just let me make you feel good, yeah?” 

Stupid man and stupid sexy voice, you thought spitefully, as John’s hands clasped around your waist. He slid his hands over the soft fabric covering your waist. As he leaned closer and pressed his lips to yours in an entoxicatingly slow kiss, he slid his large hands down to the meat of your thighs.

He drank in your moans, letting your hands latch onto the back of his neck. John parted your thighs with his hand. After breaking the kiss, he sank to his knees and tugged you forward before busying himself with undoing your belt buckle.

Waves of goosebumps picked at your skin. By the cold and by John’s skillful hands, tugging your pants and underwear sown far enough to feast his eyes (and eventually mouth) on your already soaked cunt.

Are you still with me here? Because I know John would eat you so good that your inner thighs would be bright red from the prickliness of his facial hair. But honestly, you didn’t care too much. Not after John forcing not one but two orgasms out of you.

Then he finally decided to lift you up and sit him on his cock. It was a miracle you were still concious enough to give him sass, saying “at least take me on a date first, John.” He had responded with a sharp thrust into your gushing pussy.

“You come on my tongue twice, and you’re the one giving me ?” John chides you, a roughness in his voice that made your pussy tighten. “Might want to watch your mouth, love.”

You stayed silent, letting him get used to the feel of you. Your body shivered and you wrapped your arms around John’s neck, voice breaking as you pleaded for him to ruin you: right here in a fucking corn maze.

“Please, John,” you moaned. He grabbed a handful of your ass and squeezed. your positioning was awkward but you knew John would take care of you. “I need it.”

Luckily for you, John didn’t feel like wasting any more time. He positioned his hands to be gripping your waist and started moving. Agonizingly slow, he lifted you up and down, John complied. Your breathless mewls were music to John’s ears as he slowly sped up his pace, fucking up into your core.

It didn’t take long for you to feel that white-hot ball of heat tensing up in your gut. This time, though, you were worried you’d cum too fast- too overstimulated from your previous orgasms.

“Fuuuck,” John groaned into your ear. “Squeezin’ me just right, love.”

John’s words sent a chill down your spine. You bit down on your hand until it bled. John’s speed only increased.

“I feel you clenchin’ around my cock, love,” John told you. The rasp in his voice only sent you closer to your high. “Takin’ me just right. Your pussy’s perfect, love. Like you’re made for me,” he rambled, fucking you so roughly you knew you’d have bruises.

You grip at his shirt helplessly as John repeatedly hits that spot inside of you that feels like heaven. “Christ, John,” you whimper out.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you? Like it when I tell you what a good girl y’are?”

Tears stream down your face and the coil in your gut is so hot, so alive, so ready. “I’m gonna- John- I’m… gonna-“

“Cum for me, darlin’,” John tells you, voice choked. “Cum on my cock.”

And Jesus Christ you do. You barely have time to slap a hand over your mouth before you cum. Salty tears drip down your face while you feel your thighs go lax as the coil snaps.

John’s warm cum spills into you as he pulls you down one final time and muffles his own groaning by shoving his face into your stupidly orange sweater.

It takes a full minute and a half for you to stop twitching in John’s arms. And even so, you can feel your breathing shudder ever so slightly.

“John?”

You feel rather than hear John’s rumble of a reply. Your hand cards through his hair and you attempt to calm your breathing.

“Are you ready?”

Another grumble.

So yeah. Also. I love him. I am a hot sexy loser. Goodnight everyone love you all im losing my sanity!

[lannisterdaddyissues]

@calkale u need to see this

Sneaking into Ice's late at night

[click for better quality, reblogs appreciated]

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

Big Hands (Spencer Reid x Fem!PlusSize!Reader)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!PlusSize!Reader

Summary: You and your boyfriend, Spencer, are getting ready for a night out, when your insecurities start to get the best of you.

Word Count: 1531 -- it's just a lil guy

Warnings: Body insecurities, maybe a little bit of a big-girl-soapbox

A/N: I definitely wrote this very quickly this afternoon because I literally just felt like it. This is just a short lil one for the big gals who just want someone to notice them.

Anyway hope you enjoy! Thank you all who have commented/reblogged/liked my last fic!!

-

Your jeans hugged your curvy hips as you tugged them up to your belly button, covering the bottom, larger part of your stomach. You were tall, for a woman, but not taller than Spencer. He was, what, 6’1”? You stood around 5’9”, so he still towered over you, still had to look down at you when he spoke, still had to crane his neck to whisper in your ear. 

You were wearing a flowy, sage green blouse. Why were clothes so hard to find for a larger girl? It was all cold-shoulders and obnoxious patterns. You just wanted something that flattered your body type and made you feel sexy. Apparently that was just a ridiculous request. This blouse was cute, but modest, with a ruched, fluted bunching of the fabric in the middle. The collar was low-cut to accent your breasts, but the sleeves were long, which was annoying. You were going dancing tonight with your boyfriend and his coworkers. You didn’t want to show off all of your body, by any means, but you wanted to look hot. Who could blame you? And it was also going to get hot, temperature-wise. Long sleeves just didn’t feel like the most pragmatic choice. 

Sometimes you just gave up and went with the best option. And this blouse, that made you feel like you were going to a casual church event, not to a bar, was, unfortunately, the best option. 

You inhaled sharply and shrugged your shoulders as you looked in the full-length mirror hooked on the back of the closet door. Your hair looked really cute - the two biggest pieces on either side in the front were braided and dangled in front of you, effectively bringing your hair out of your eyes but also provided something to give your hair a little pizzazz. Your makeup looked great - a simple, subtle smokey eye and glossy lips. Your black boots looked good, peeking out from your wide-legged jeans, which hugged your hips and, honestly, made your butt look really good. 

It was just this stupid shirt. And maybe you were getting too much in your head about it. But you were transfixed on it, hating the way the sleeves bunched up a little, how the bottom half flowed beneath the ruched fabric, effectively covering your stomach, meeting your jeans and the top of your thighs. The color was too muted for a going-out top - you wished you could wear something more exciting. 

You sometimes wished you looked like Emily or JJ, or had the self-confidence to rock loud looks like Penelope did. But then you remembered that you were who you were for a reason. You looked like you simply because that was what you looked like. And there was no point in wishing you looked like someone else. 

Plus, Spencer was really into your body. He was nearly always staring at your breasts when you were in private, sometimes to the point where you had to snap your fingers in front of his eyes to garner his attention. 

It was flattering. You didn’t mind it if your boyfriend objectified you a little bit. He was respectful about it. 

“Y/N, are you about ready?” Spencer walked into your bedroom as you looked at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes met Spencer’s and you saw his neutral expression turn into a full-fledged grin, biting his tongue and all. “You look really nice,” he said, and you shook your head. 

“I look like a chaperone at a middle school dance,” you frowned, tugging at the fabric of your blouse in some illogical attempt to make it look different. 

“What?” Spencer stood behind you in the mirror. His chin basically met the top of your head, like too puzzle pieces. One hand rested on your hip, while the other slowly brushed your hair to one side so he could press a kiss to your neck. “I think you look great,” he added. 

You immediately felt tingly and your knees wobbled at the action. “But I’m not dressing for you,” you said, your voice instinctively dropping as Spencer’s lips trailed down your neck. You were having trouble concentrating on what you were trying to say. “I’m dressing for me, and I want to look cute. I can’t believe you’re even going tonight. You don’t dance, Spencer,” you pointed out, your self-control somehow beating out your desire for Spencer in the moment. You broke away from him and turned around to face him. 

“You do look cute, Y/N. I don’t understand what the issue is?” Spencer’s head cocked to the side as he looked down at you. “Also, I’m going out tonight because you want to. And I’m trying to keep an open mind. I might enjoy it.” 

You were proud of him. When you started dating about six months ago, he would have simply politely declined an invitation to a night out. And while you didn’t love going out every night, or even every weekend, for that matter, you did enjoy a night out occasionally. 

Regardless, he still didn’t quite understand what you were feeling about that damn shirt. “The issue,” you began, heaving a sigh, “is that I’m insecure about my body. Like any woman. You don’t get it, because you’re a man, and you literally have nothing to be insecure about.”

You knew the words were incorrect the moment you said them, but something kept you from backpedaling. You watched as Spencer shook his head, letting a small laugh escape him. “You could not be further from the truth,” Spencer pointed out, and you knew he was right. Men had plenty to be insecure about, and it was, in some ways, even more difficult for men to express those feelings. 

“Well, I think you’re perfect,” You let a small, playful smile creep onto your face, and Spencer rolled his eyes as you used his own tactic from earlier. He stepped towards you and his hands found your waist, contouring to match your curves. He knew them so well now, he could probably draw a map of your body with his eyes closed. 

“I appreciate that,” Spencer said, his voice a little softer as your eyes met his. His head dipped down, and you thought, certainly, that he was going to kiss you, but instead, his lips stopped just barely by your ears. You could feel his breath on your neck, and a shiver ran down your spine as he spoke. “You might be insecure, Y/N, but I am, too. You’re just human.” 

“What are you insecure about?” You found yourself asking, pulling your head back to look at him properly. Now you were curious. 

“My hands, mostly,” Spencer removed his hands from your waist, holding them palm-up, as if to present them to you for the first time. 

“What’s wrong with your hands?” You asked, placing your palms atop his. 

“They’re really big,” Spencer said timidly, and, admittedly, they were. But just by comparison. Your hands fit into his with plenty of extra space. You used your index fingers to trace his palms. 

“They’re not too big,” you told him, and Spencer just smiled down at you, shaking his head, like he was just humoring you. “I love your hands,” you continued. “I love that you can put your palm over an entire half of my face,” you said, guiding his palm to your cheek and grinning when his skin touched yours. Spencer’s thumb brushed your cheekbone. 

“And I love your body,” Spencer replied, and you just pursed your lips and shook your head. “No, Y/N, listen to me.” 

You let out a frustrated little exhale through your nose and let him continue. 

“I love the way you look. But I wouldn’t care if you were any bigger or any smaller. Because I love you. I’m attracted to you, to your mind, to your sense of compassion, and to your body. I love the way your hips fill out your jeans, how your stomach looks in your yoga pants,” he said. “I love the way you wiggle your toes when we’re watching something funny on TV, how you do a little shimmy in your seat when you’re eating something you really enjoy,” he explained, mimicking the movement. You looped your arms around his neck. “But mostly, I’m in love with your personality. How you challenge me, how you seem to bring out the best version of myself.”

You let out a wistful sigh. If this were a Jane Austen novel, you would have swooned. But instead, you used your grip around his neck to bring his face down to yours and kiss him. It was slow at first, then a little more intense, and when you finally pulled away, your forehead rested against his. 

“You ready to go now?” Spencer asked, and when your eyes opened, you saw that he was smiling down at you. 

You shook your head, a mischievous smile spreading across your face. “Not yet,” you said, your hands sliding down his arms until your palms met his. You tugged him in the direction of your bed. “I want to show you how much I love these big hands.” 

[8lyme]

"Why do I have to lose you?" pt.2

Part 1 <-

Logan Howlett x Reader (afab pronouns used a few times)

Warnings: very sad, a little graphic, mentions of blood/gore, grown man brought to tears, TW didn't get to describe how sexy logan is sorry

a/n: ate my cheerios locked in to gossip girl and then wrote the saddest shit i could. also idk how to do a taglist but to my one fan heres ur shoutout xoxo @corvusmorte 🫶🏼

You tugged at the clips of your harness, trying not to hyperventilate. Sporadically swiping the heels of your hands across your eyes between each tug made your hands slick with tears. After a little bit, you couldn't even grip the buckles anymore.

Damn Logan's stupid metal bones, locking you into the chair.

You reached behind you to try and release the spring of the chair. If you could just pop it up, you would slide over to the console and could turn off the autopilot.

You hoped Logan survived the fall from the jet as you painfully leaned over the arm of the seat.

"Please, please, pleaseplease, please!" you whispered to yourself. The chair dug into your ribcage too much, and you couldn't reach the clip. You straightened up and let out a few panicked cries before trying to reach behind the chair from the other side.

You strained your neck to peak around the chair, shoulder straps tight to your chest. There has to be an emergency unlock or eject button on the chair for this harness, you thought before panickedly feeling all over the sides of the chair with your hands.

After running your hands over the metal to no avail, you resulted to sticking you legs out to try and reach the console. You groaned as you stretched your leg as far toward the controls as possible. When that didn't work, you tried to swing your legs behind the base of the seat. The straps and the curve of the seat prevented your foot from going very far, causing you to straighten with a frustrated cry.

You yanked again at the straps, somehow managing to get your heels onto the seat lip. You gripped the chair arms and pushed up in an attempt to snap the strap between your thighs. It was stuck fast.

You angrily swung your arms in an attempt to hit something. The straps under your shoulder shifted, and you immediately began to wiggle yourself out. Painstakingly, your right shoulder was freed.

You ripped your other arm out of the harness and again extended your hand to the clip behind the chair. Through the reflection of the windshield, your hand looked just close enough to the clip, but you couldn't feel it.

Readjusting, you took a deep breath. The cabin was nearly dark, and the loud sputtering of the engine made it hard to think. You couldn't turn the chair around and there was nothing in reach to grab.

Far from giving up, you tucked your ankles back to the chair lip and reached behind you again, still just barely too far away.

"Oh, yes!" you said, realizing your boots were high enough for you to take off and reach behind you with.

Boot one was undone and in your hands in seconds, dangling by the clip. You smack once, twice, and then three times before hitting the clip. The chair unlocked and started to slide forward, but a loud clang followed by the screech of tearing metal tipped the jet and locked you back in place. Your boot flew out of your hand to the back of the cabin.

Wind instantly roared behind you, and you turned to the hanger door falling open. Whatever hit you did damage. Realistically, this jet didn't have much more flying time left in it. You had half a heart to let the autopilot land.

However, you caught a glimpse of the army beginning to bunch itself up. If you could unclip the chair and turn off the autopilot, you could swing the jet around, steer towards towards the grouping troops, and ideally eject yourself out of the hangar before the jet exploded into the ground and took out the trucks and soldiers.

"Okay, okay" you reassured yourself, untying your other boot. You reached behind the seat. Before you could even think to hesitate, a glimpse of the school caught your attention.

The grounds were in flames and a large chunk of one corner had been blown off. You instantly smacked your shoe down, unclipping the chair's safety lock.

In an instant you shot forward to the controls. You smacked the autopilot switch and gripped the handles, jet dipping before you regained control. You angled the handles down and pushed the jet into a nose-dive. The ground came rushing at you fast and you felt your ears pop with the pressure change. Your vision blurred while you flailed for the eject button.

-

Logan hit the ground with a sickening crack. He blinked awake after a minute of regenerating, the familiar buzz of his limbs waking up starting to fade.

He unsheathed his claws before glancing up at the sky to watch the jet you were in begin to fly away. Relief was quickly replaced with urgency as the boom of a tank went off near him.

He stood just in time to watch a corner of the school crumble to dust. Rage bubbled up inside him, and he sprinted toward the source of the explosion.

Before he managed to get halfway to the clumping group of tanks and soldiers, the roar of the jet shoots over him. He skids to a halt as the jet barrels into the center of army.

The ricochet from impact knocks Logan onto his back. He groans while lifting himself off the grass, short circuiting at the sight of thick black smoke coiling from the crash.

He scours the sky for a sign of you, panic and anguish settling into him when he sees nothing. He clambors up and sprints to the smoldering jet.

Logan tries to shut his mind off as he rips away at the metal of the jet. The bay door is jammed shut awkwardly, and he can only slash through it so much.

He's able to get a grip of an opening, brute strength bending the metal away. He climbs through, sliding down the angled floor and into the crushed cockpit.

There's no sign of you inside. Logan has shredded through the controls and interior walls in panic. He doesn't want to hear himself say it, but he knows anything that happens to you is his fault.

"Logan!" He hears, and through the hole he ripped open in the jet is Scott.

"We found her."

-

When Hank had found you, you were gasping for air. You'd shot out of the back of the jet at the last second, flying through the smoke. The straps that clung to you may as well have saved your life, the metal of the chair breaking most of your impact.

Not all, however, as your landing caused you to roll harshly against the ground. You narrowly dodged a rock smacking you clear in the head, but the bounce of the seat slammed your leg into something very hard, and you felt it break.

The feeling of hands roused you from your daze, and you managed to blink your eyes open.

"Can you hear me?" You hear. "Hey, open your eyes. Can you hear me?"

You could blurrily make out Hank's face against the contrast of the trees. The warmth of his hand reaches your face, and you try to offer him a pained smile.

"Hey," you manage, not noticing the drop in Hank's expression when blood pools out of your mouth.

"Keep listening to me," He says to you, pulling on the straps of your harness. "I'm gonna get you out of here, okay?"

" 'Kay," you whisper, head lolling to the side when Hank lets go to rip the straps out from the back of the seat.

He slides his hand under your shoulders, pulling you up and tilting your head down against his chest.

"You still hear me, right?" He slides his other arm under your knees. "Still with me?"

"Uh-huh," you answer. Hank pulls up on you and begins to stand, but you cry out in pain. Your leg is on fire as it hangs loose in the air.

"What happened? Where are you hurt?" He panics, setting you flat onto the ground, arm still around your back.

"My leg," you gasp out, arms shaking violently as you bend to grip your calf. "Broken."

"Fuck," Hank says. "Hold on."

You hear a loud snap and feel pressure on both sides of your shin. He's taken two branches and braced your leg, using the broken straps of your harness to makeshift a splint.

"Best I can do," He says, moving to scoop you up again. "Ready?"

You nod, still trembling from the pain. He stands, and the pain in your leg makes you lightheaded. Hank is still talking to you, asking you questions that you can only answer with single syllables.

You're lucky you can't see his face. He isn't wearing his concern well. Blood outlined your teeth and cracked into your lips. The color had been drained from your face and your breaths were shallow. He wasn't sure if you were aware of your shredded uniform sleeves or the blood seeping from them staining his shirt.

Your breaths turned into wheezes, and Hank picked up his pace. The courtyard of the damaged school coming closer into view.

"Hey, keep talking to me. We're almost at the school, ok?" He shifts you gently, hoping the movement rouses you more.

"Huh," you wheeze, the whistling in your voice making Hank more nervous. Your ribs were definitely bruised if not broken. Your uncontrollable shakes alluded to a severe head injury - one he prayed wasn't worse than a bad concussion.

The two of you broke through the tree line. Surrounding sounds started to fade out of your hearing, but you tried hard to focus on Hank's voice.

He shouted out to someone, but you stopped making sense of voices.

"Hey, open your eyes," Hank says, careful not to jostle you too much as he scraps for your attention.

You tilt your head up slowly, trying desperately to keep your lidded eyes open.

"Can't," you mutter out. You feel sick and hot, each breath accompanied by an increase and then decrease of the dull pain in your chest. Everything hurt so much it almost began to cancel itself out. The effort you made trying to stay cognisant suckng the energy out of your body.

You don't hear him try to rouse you again, or the panic in his voice when he realizes you aren't responding.

You don't hear Ororo screaming across the grass at Scott to get Logan. You don't feel her hands against your neck as she checks your pulse.

You don't hear Jean shouting at Hank to take you to the lab. You don't hear Scott calling out to Logan. And you don't hear Logan calling out for you in a broken roar.

-

Logan stares at the floor outside of the lab. A dark cloud of fear and anguish settles over him. He has a way of thickening the air with negativity in these moments.

He can't look Hank in the eye knowing your blood is soaked through his shirt. Knowing he trapped you in that harness.

He counts himself lucky that he didn't find you crushed to the console of the jet, but that doesn't mean he isn't fighting off how very real that could have been.

Scott and Kurt had to hold him away from the doors when he raced after you. They later had to hold him up when he collapsed to his knees in despair.

He didn't look up when the hiss of the glass doors sounded or when Jean called Hank in to swap with her. They'd been at this for hours. Hank was terrified of you sustaining a significant brain injury, Jean more concerned about the hairline fractures in the ribs of your chest, caused by the harnesses Logan crushed to your body.

Jean sank in the seat next to him, letting out a shaky breath.

"Logan," She tried gently, knowing he wasn't capable of a response. "I know how you're feeling right now-"

"You don't," he cuts her off. The shake in his voice cuts through the air and he rubs at his eyes, hoping Jean can't tell that he's trying to rid the sensation of stinging behind his eyes.

"Logan, we know you crushed the buckles of her harness," she says gently. The breath he lets out is shaky and filled with a somber acknowledgement. He feels so guilty he might be sick.

"If you hadn't done that, she most likely would have died," Jean tells him, knowing this won't change anything besides offering him an ounce of peace of mind. "If she'd unclasped herself at any point, she would've flown out of the jet when the hangar was hit open. The clasps are designed to unhook on impact after ejection, and since her chute didn't activate she would've hit the ground much harder. I know you feel at fault here, but she's only bruised."

"If'd I'd just let her land the damn thing," he choked out, looking up to blink back the wetness in his eyes.

The door slid open again, Hank moving through slowly.

"Her eyes are open," he says, relief not present in his tone. "She might respond to you."

Logan meets Hank's eyes. He looks tired and defeated.

He looks away as he slowly pushes up from his chair, slowly and shakily passing Hank through the doors. Logan feels Hank's eyes burning into the back of his head. He gains no solace from knowing whatever Hank is thinking about him, Logan is thinking much worse.

He's afraid to step closer when he sees you. Your leg has been casted properly, resting over two white pillows. Your tattered uniform has been replaced with a grey t-shirt and shorts, a thin blanket laying over your one fully-exposed leg. He can see wires from EKG electrodes poking out from the bottom hem and collar of your shirt. An IV of saline is attached to the vein of your arm. Both have gause peaking out from your shirt sleeves, and Logan didn't have to see the blood soaking through them - he could smell it. A nasal cannula rested above your upper lip, blood still crusted between the cracks of your lips. You had two unbandaged scrapes on your face, one on your jaw and the other on your forehead.

You blinked and just barely turned your head to him. Immediately, he rushed over, gingerly touching your fingertips.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered to you, terrified to place his hands anywhere on your body. "Fuck, I'm so sorry."

He covered his eyes with his hand, breathing in a sniffle as he turned his head away from you. His thumb stroked over one of your fingers.

He felt you move and quickly faced you, eyes rimmed with redness. He watched you blink slowly, opening your mouth to try and speak.

You said his name in a raspy whisper. Logan clenched his jaw and hung his head, slipping his palm under yours. He felt the gentle squeeze of your hand and sunk to his knees in pain, head resting against the side of the bed. Guilt was corroding away at his insides. He felt the crushing weight of his actions in his neck and shoulders. The inside of his body felt weak and his stomach churned.

You turned your hand and stretched your fingers back, gently stroking at his forehead. He squeezed your hand and stood back up, bringing his other hand to the side of your face.

"I don't know how to protect you," he whispered, voice breaking.

"That's okay," you say back, eyes beginning to close again. You pull his hand to your stomach and thread your fingers together, his pinkie resting between your middle and ring finger.

Logan gently threads his fingertips through your hair, wanting so desperately to hold you in his arms.

"Don't go," you mutter, eyes closed. Your breath evens as you fall back asleep. Logan's breath remains shaky, the stinging returning to his eyes.

"I won't," he says softly, voice raw. He slides the chair from the end of your bed over to himself, sitting down. He rests his head between his arms, looking up at the rise and fall of your chest.

He won't leave, not anytime soon. If you wake up and want him gone, then he'll disappear. For now, he'll allow himself to relish in the fact that you're still alive.

[babygorewhore]

Greedy

Older! Rafe Cameron x fem reader!

Rafe is normally selfish in bed, doesn’t care about anyone’s pleasure but his own until he meets you.

This is a little blurb. Less than 1k words.

Warnings! Age gap! Reader is 25 and Rafe is 33! Oral! Fem receiving! Unprotected sex! Rafe covers your mouth so idk if that’s choking because I’m stupid. Also not proofread because I don’t have the willpower today. Dividers by the sexy, @xxbimbobunnyxx

Rafe normally didn’t eat a lot of pussy; he didn’t usually care enough to. If he didn’t pound someone until they saw stars right away, if he was feeling generous, he would sometimes use his fingers first. But you? The twenty five year old girl who was dog sitting for him, he literally dreamed about burying his face between your legs.

At thirty three, he was very used to female attention. You were different. You interested him, made him laugh and you made him feel…soft. He wanted to take care of you, take away all your troubles and of course fuck you until you literally couldn’t walk. And now, Rafe finally had opportunity after two weeks for you to stay over. It was late and dark outside. He didn’t want a young woman as yourself to drive home and he asked you to stay.

He half expected you to hesitate but you surprised him with a “Yes.”

Obviously, he had a guest room but he needed you in his room. And you didn’t have any clothes to change into to sleep in. So, Rafe told you, “You can sleep in one of my shirts.” You were wearing a Halloween shirt, black skirt and boots. Your nails were painted black, you fiddled with your rings as you stood in the doorway of his room.

He picked out a t shirt, nothing else and held it up for you. “Here. This one is comfortable.” Rafe crooked a finger at you as you lingered on the edge, giving you a smirk.

You cleared your throat and approached him, reaching up for the material.

You did the sneaky girl thing where you changed shirts without actually showing him anything in the corner but he didn’t want to scare you into leaving. However, when you looked at him, shirt only going to your thigh and wide eyes peering at him, Rafe extended his hand to you.

“C’mere, doll. I want you to sit down for me.” He guided you to sit on his bed and you did. He nudged your knees apart with leg and he moaned quietly as your panties peeked through. “Fuck, I guess it was pointless for me to give you that shirt. Since I want to just rip it off,”

You shivered and bit your lip, a tinge of shyness overtaking you. “I didn’t think you noticed me like that.” You trialed off and Rafe snorted with a quirked eyebrow.

“Didn’t notice you? Baby girl, normally I’d never be this fuckin nice. Lean back for me and let me taste your sweet pussy.”

You seem to hesitate for a second and Rafe wasn’t going to have it. “None of that overthinking shit, princess. Be a good girl and lay down.” You laid on your back and Rafe kneeled on the ground, pushing your legs apart. He pulled off your panties, the sticky material in the center and your cunt tightened around nothing.

He leaned forward, licking a firm strip around your clit before he flattened it and gripped your thighs. He pushed your legs up, exposing as much of you as possible as he shoved his whole face in. You whimpered and whined, your hands burying in his hair as he moved his head around and tongue fucked your pussy.

“Being so fuckin greedy, hiding this pretty pussy from me.” He grunts as he slurps and sucks your clit, he buries two fingers inside you and curls them upward. Rafe loved how you bucked your hips, moaned and clawed at him as he lapped your cunt.

He had been fucking missing out and he savored every single drop. Rafe slapped your ass and you cried out, “cream on my face, princess. Then I’m gonna fuck you, get it all wet for me.”

Seconds later and you came all over his mouth. Rafe was relentless as he tasted it, keeping his pace with his fingers as you rode out your high and he pulled away. He didn’t bother to wipe his lips as he crawled on top of you and smashed his lips to yours in a deep kiss.

He tugged down his pants and underwear down, ripping away from your mouth with a pant. Rafe pumped himself a few times before he pressed his dick inside. You mewled and threw your head back as he thrusted, his cock splitting you in half. “Shit, you’re so fuckin tight, baby girl. Squeezing me so hard I can barely move, must of really needed this, huh?” He huffed as he moved.

“Mhm, you could have cum from eating me out,” you pointed out and he latched his lips to your neck, hovering above you.

“Can you blame me? You have a fuckin porn star pussy. Bein all selfish and keeping it from me.” He said against your skin and he covered your mouth with his palm.

Your eyes rolled back as he gave you a particularly hard thrust, his balls slapping against your ass before his cum emptied inside you. Your substance mixed with his as you followed suit, you groaned against his hand as he sloppily kept going.

“Aw, my bunny so cock drunk you can’t talk?” He mocked as he removed his palm. You managed to nod as he wickedly smiled. “I’m not fuckin done, princess. Get on your hands and knees. I think you owe me a few more.”

Tagging, @marchsfreakshow @oceandriveab @starkeysprincess @drewstarkeyslut @gri959 @redhead1180 @rafescurtainbangz @rafeinterlude @rafesthroatbaby

[myspacelegend]

Gortash gives “new money” lmao Man finally has some decent coin and uses it to buy the most hideous, expensive clothes JUST because it’s designer lol

Gort doodles. Pre bg3 fit??? I dunno…..he looks like a pirate lol I don’t know how to draw fantasy clothes lol

[cu7ie]

BIMBOFICATION. ft. geto suguru

(>◡•́)— ★ authors note. IM BACK BITCHES. WITH THE HORNY SHIT AKAKKAKAKA . kinktober day one! masterpost here. ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ content warnings. dumbification, reader is a bimbo - ditzy, hypersexual, huge airhead vibes be warned. they are obedient and listen to what geto tells them. reader wears feminine clothes, has a 'clit', and is referred to as a 'girl', no use of she/her (ahahaha i love gender things). cock sucking throat fucking all that nasty gluk gluk shit y'eard?

You’re not stupid.

Forgetful, yeah! Occasionally uneducated, of course. But dumb? You’d surmise that conclusion to be a bit of a stretch; despite how often you find yourself trying to convince people of the contrary.

It is typical of humans to forego their ‘common sense’ on occasion, though it never seems to be a problem when anyone else does it! When Gojo eats all his candy and doesn’t share with anyone at the party, it’s cool; but when you do that, you get all kinds of pushback: “What’s wrong with you?” Nothing! The chocolate was gonna melt if you didn’t do something about it! “What are we supposed to give to the trick or treaters now?” All the twizzlers you left behind, duh.

Shoko gave you a look and sipped her sake, Gojo’s pointed barks of laughter chasing you back to the comfort of the kitchen. There you see Geto; your boyfriend, whose presence settles amicably in the gaps of your expression when he looks up at you with that beckoning fondness. He crooks his fingers and you bound over quite thoughtlessly, much to his evident amusement. 

Despite how much you insisted on matching costumes, Geto struck out of his own accord, the fake knife accompanying his Ghostface costume down on the counter. The real knife he was using to cut up the peppers is set aside as he busies himself with the sink.

You’re wearing one of those sexy school uniforms. Mini bordering on microskirt, paired with a cute number that shows your midriff- the dip in your chest. Your gogo boots click noisily on the floor a little as you sidle up next to him.

Geto pats your head when you get close enough, hands damp after a fresh rinse, and you preen from the contact. “Hey babyyy!” You gush a little, setting down the rest of the candy on the counter. “Can you get me a bowl?” He tilts head at you a little, looks down at the bag a second.

“Babe, didn’t I tell you to get the big bag?” Geto asks and shuffles over to the cabinet as you wash your hands to pick up where he left off. “Yeah! I did, doesn’t it look big to you?” 

“Yeah… of course it does. But remember that conversation we had about eating things that aren’t yours?” He brings back the bowl, but also a sternness to his grin, which all of a sudden doesn’t meet his eye. “Well yeah Suguru!” You’re looking down now, cutting vegetables with sudden interest and precision, sweeping it up into little piles. “It's not like I'm stupid …” His figure lingers in your periphery as the words leave your lips, the air about him suddenly feeling … tense. 

Then his hand is on yours.

“Look at me honey.” He gives you a squeeze, and you go to look up on instinct. Hesitate. “What?” Your grip on the knife softens, and it soon clatters atop the cutting board. “What, I said.”

“I never said you were stupid.” Your eyes met his before you realized, and the indignant scowl you want to make shrivels up inside you like a dried cocoon. “You just have a hard time saying what you mean right?” He blinks owlishly at you. “I know you don’t wanna lie to me.” “But I’m not-” Geto interrupts with a shake of his head. “Maybe one time I could forgive you, but twice? To my face?” You feel the sun in your face, fire hot heat setting you ablaze with embarrassment, feigned ignorance. A nagging feeling to obey. “I… I..”

“You?” He chimes cloyingly. You stiffen your upper lip. Hone your resolve. 

“M’not lying! Now lemme go!” Your arm budges when he wants it to, so you’re not quite moving until a few agonizing seconds pass, when Suguru lets out a low whistle and sigh, shaking his head at you dismissively, before you’re allowed to resume cutting vegetables. He dumps the candy into the rest of the bowl and takes his leave, chattering with his friends in the living room before coming back, empty handed.

The silence is maddening. He comes back, shuffles around the kitchen, then stops somewhere just beyond your sight, and craning your neck to look back at him would beckon his scrutiny. So you refrain. Stir fry the vegetables, and refrain. Feel a bead of sweat crest on your forehead and slide down your cheek from the heat. Refrain.

The breath against your neck is sudden and swift as Suguru fixes himself behind you, knocking  his head gently against yours as a grasping hand slides over your stomach.  He goes for the gas on the stove before you can get a protest out, his other hand teasing the rim of your skirt, smoothing down a short pleat till his palm can grope your thigh.

“After a little deliberation … I’ve decided I forgive you. For the lying.” His fingers dimple the skin he touches, sliding ever so slowly under the fabric. “Because I know you’re not a silly girl. You can be quite attentive when you want to be, can’t you?” 

“Yeah… yeah I can.” Your breath quickens a little as you press your ass back into the thin fabric of his hood, the feeling of his cock growing to hardness making you quiver with anticipation. His right hand on your thigh stills, tracing around your side and to your hip - growing stiff and heavy. The left dips boldly under your costume, a finger or two stalling in the spot right above your clit.

“Gojo and Shoko offered to get more candy - I can finish cooking after we’re finished here.” His lips press teasingly against the shell of your ear, and your resistance dwindles a bit. “Right now, all I want from you is a favor.” “Favor? I can do that - I can..” Geto chuckles. “I know you can sweetheart. Shh, sh. It’s my turn to do the talking now, okay? Listen.” You nod sharply. 

“Turn around.” You do. In an instant, stretching out your spine cat-like to press your chest up against him, your nipples hardening like pebbles beneath your blouse. You close your eyes and lean in for the kiss that should be inevitable - but no warmth meets your lips. Instead, an apathetic gloved finger. “Mmph?” Your confusion is apparent. You blink your eyes open and are greeted by a wry smile.

“Sometimes I wonder why it’s so hard for you to just listen. Then it came to me - an epiphany. Little girls like you just have a certain kind of skill set. Forgive me, okay? I just wasn’t giving you the right direction. But it’s okay! It’ll never happen again.” With those words, his expression grows less compromising - resolute, grim, determined. Almost makes you want to leap out of your skin - the fright of him not being happy with you bearing down greatly on your mind.

His hands come up to your shoulders and apply downward pressure. “On your knees.” 

You follow without hesitation.

His mirth wrinkles the corners of his eyes as you squirm down there. The floor is cold and your knees are getting dirty, and he knows that stupid look you make when you’re thinking to complain; though he’s never seen this level of restraint from you before. You’re quiet as you dig your fingers into your skin, and he knows he’s proud.

“Good girl.” Something blossoms in your chest when he says that, profound yet airy, a lightheadedness emblazoned into your forehead while the blood settles in your cheeks. Then that damn hand comes down again; which you thought was gonna muss your hair a bit more, but settles rather firmly against the back of your head.

His loose costume he’s wearing isn’t big enough to hide how hard his cock is, but it’s like he’s making you wait for it - want and yearn for it. Because he doesn’t move for a moment, just gets used to the look of you down on your knees as your fidgeting starts to feel more and more uncontrollable.

“Hey! Are you just gonna leave me high n’ dr-” A white finger presses to his lips as his other hand keeps holding your head. “Quiet now, girl. Be quiet.”

You’re good! A little impatient, but you’re good, goddamn it! Trying to be, for him - the love of your life, who’s got you down on your knees, fixing to ruin your pretty makeup for the afternoon.

Quiet. 

Quiet. 

Too damn quiet. Too much fucking silence. He’s looking at you, you think - because your eyes are shut tight and the embarrassment is beginning to dawn on you, and everything’s hot, and scary, and Suguru - is he mad at you?-

The sudden feeling of his hot hard cock flopping against your cheek makes you leap like a fish to water. Your eyes bulge open a bit, and your mouth gapes open in that instant, tongue lolling out for purchase on his heated flesh, heady scent weaseling into your nostrils and making your thighs clamp down around your own hand - which you hadn’t noticed snuck between your thighs. Your twitching fingers reach up to grab it …

“Stop.” You whine loose and loud, eyes flickering up to his face to communicate your desperation, and confusion. “Just use your mouth.” His hand reaches towards the base of his cock and flops it onto your lip proper; and you suckle on the head like it’s the sole thing providing you oxygen. “See? There are things you’re damn good at … Oh fuck -”  All you can hear besides his voice is your heart thumping in your chest and the saliva building in your mouth, the sloppy ‘schlorp’ as you take him to the base - deep into your throat - and back out again, the salty taste of his cock and precum something you’ve missed terribly.

A little voice crawls along the back of your mind. At home, it says. This is where you belong. Or maybe that’s Suguru’s wheedling. Words are falling from his lips, but you’re drowning in an effortless dream. “Good girl. … easy … taking me so well.”

The grip on the back of your head has grown tighter, as he shifts and adjusts his hips to help your further along. Your wet slurping is undercut by the sound of his balls slapping against your chin, fuzzy, familiar and pleasant. 

Then it’s as stern as a pinch. You can feel his cock bulge out your throat, cheeks hollowed as you take him to the base. Tears sting your eyes a bit, but it’s a liberating pain. His grunts grow in their intensity, and you feel soaked to the bone, sitting on your hands so they can’t jump up and fondle his balls - you won’t disobey! You refuse, refuse, refuse -

“Close, haah, close your eyes, precious.” Your tummy flutters as you weld them shut. Suguru’s hips stutter, pause, then pull back. 

A schlicking sound, then your prize. You open your mouth as you realize he’s cumming all over your face - streams of it making it into your happily awaiting maw, while the occasional strand undershoots - getting some on your chest and cheeks. Suguru sighs happier than you’ve heard in a while, and a part of you feels effortlessly at ease. Reset and pleasant and whole; besides the aching nag between your thighs. “You can speak now.” You try, throat fucked raw and a little raggedy. “A-are you going to fuck me now? Please? I can’t - I can’t wait anymore!” Suguru smiles gently, but insincerely. “No, of course not. This was a lesson, not a reward.” He tucks himself casually back into his costume. “Besides, we have guests, honey.”

You pout, feel like you wanna cry a little. “Don’t give me those crocodile tears. You’re a big girl, remember?”

“...I guess.”  You sniffle. Suguru nods and helps you back to your shaky feet. “Not ‘I guess’. You are.” He grants you a chaste kiss on your lips, licking a bit of himself off of you, then pulling back. “Now, go clean yourself up.” He starts towards the sink, eager to resume dinner. “Those two should be back any second now.”

[oozedninjas]

Snap call

Summary: You send him nudes while he is on patrol, and Raph isn't quite happy about it.

A/N: I've been working on this for a couple of days! Hope you like it :) To that person who's been asking for Nightwatcher smut, wink, wink

Warnings: 18+ /NDNI / Breeding / sending nudes / Nightwatcher!Raph / Raph is around his early 30's / super brief ass-eating / dirty talking/dom!Raph

It is past midnight when he slips through the narrow window of your apartment’s room, still wearing his vigilante armor. His labored breaths rumble within the helmet, delivering them with a metallic tint that makes you tingle.

"Do you think you're funny, sending dirty pics all night while I'm on patrol?" He says, his voice raw as he approaches. It only takes him a few swift strides to stand beside you. The metallic clang of his boots on the floor sends a shiver down your spine, building anticipation. “Strip, now.”

A grin threatens to arise at the sight of him in this state, burning for you, but you bite it back, ditching the thin fabric of your pajamas in a heartbeat. The moment the last strand of clothing falls off your body, Raphael grips your arms, forcing you to turn around, back to his front. He closes the space between you. The icy metal of the Nightwatcher’s armor to your bare skin makes you gasp.

The cool of his gloves scrapes against your heated skin as his palms trail a path from your shoulders to your arms to dance lower, dipping across your abdomen and up from there. His grip tightened around your breasts. You catch your breath. 

Expert fingers pinch your nipples, pulling, rolling them just enough for a soft moan to leave your lips. Raphael growls, enjoying the sound. His voice echoes through the metal helmet.

"Look at my little whore, too desperate to have me filling you up that you can't even wait for me to finish patrol?" he teases, as he keeps playing with them.

"I've been wanting this the whole evening..." you mutter, voice trembling.

"And you're not even sorry! Fucking cheeky of you," he chuckles, it's dark and sexy. "Let's fix that."

Raphael lifts the helmet from his head, placing it carefully on the bedside table. Under the room's dim illumination, the metal surface becomes a hazy, distorted mirror. He pushes you to the bed, barely giving you time to adjust on all fours before he licks a strip from your cunt to your ass. Your mouth gapes, and a whine puffs off.

"Mmm, so fucking tasty," 

His voice makes your blood run hot. Raphael sinks his face into you with not even a hint of shame as he starts fucking you with his tongue, wet and warm, impossibly soft against your pussy. He'd slide it over your clit from time to time, granting it the tiniest of attention.

You whine, pushing yourself to him, but Raph bites the inside of your thigh adequately hard to make you yelp. His hand fists your hair, pulling just enough to tingle your scalp. "Don't be greedy," he murmurs in your ear from behind. You can make out the scene of the reflection on the helmet.

 "Tell me, what do you want?"

His hot breath tickles your ear. Everything he'd just done left your pussy a complete mess. You could feel the dampness dripping. God, you wanted him to fuck you stupid, nothing more. But the fear of another bite from a direct answer keeps your lips sealed.

"What’s the matter? Can't my doll think straight?" Raphael says, pushing a metal finger inside your cunt, dreadfully slow. 

"Please— " your voice weak and desperate.

He smirks. "Yeah, that's more like it. But, please what?" he says, rubbing the tip of his finger on that sweet spot inside as he keeps you still by the hair. "Please stop?" 

"No!" it came out so desperate you cringed. His soft chuckle soothed you a bit. "Please fuck me," 

He withdraws, emptying you. You want to jerk back to chase the delicious feeling of being full, but he halts you. 

"Yeah? How bad do you want it?" 

"Very— please," you whisper. His grip on your hair burns so fine, "Please, I'll be good... I'll be good."

"Fuck yes, you will," Raphael says, thrusting inside in one motion. It janks your breath off. He reaches deep, just the right spot. You can't help the lewd moan that follows.

"Look at that drunk-like smile," he tells you, letting go of your hair as he brings you up to embrace you against him. This shift has you on your knees, back resisting against his torso. The cold armor soothes the fire of your skin. Raph holds your face toward the reflection on the helmet, forcing you to watch your blissful expression. "You're such a good little slut for me. Gonna make you feel good, you want that?" 

"Yes," you breathe, desperately holding his hands where they rest over your body,  clenching and unclenching around his shaft.

He mutters praise in your ear, but you can't make it out as he starts pounding in and out, rhythmically, building a pace that makes your head fall back, mouth gaping while loud moans along with the filth of skin slapping fill the air.

He curses under his breath, you're tight, he says. You feel good, he's going crazy. "Touch yourself, let me see you," Raph takes your hand to drive it down to your front. You reach your clit, not losing detail of his dark gaze reflecting on the helmet, absorbing the whole scene.

It takes you a few seconds to pair his thrust with the circles over your soft nub, but once you do, it feels fucking heavenly. You make it last for as long as you can, right there where pleasure lingers strongly right before the peak. Your orgasm crashes over you, numbing everything. 

"Fuck, yes, just like that- t- that's a good fucking girl," 

The pulsations of your high around his cock trigger his own, and he comes loud and long. The hot loads filling you up weaken your knees.

He holds your ground before gently placing you on the mattress, allowing his weight over you as he rests. 

"Remind me to send you nudes more often," you say, once you catch your breath.

A raspy laugh pours into your ear, tickling. 

[sloanesallow]

tell me

Sebastian doesn't want to be married, but he's always been known to make the best of a difficult situation. (A little different than what I usually write, as this is technically an unnamed MC...though it's still very Sloane coded.) Sebastian Sallow x F!MC (Unnamed) Tags: MDNI, NSFW! Sexual content, arranged marriage trope, first time, stupid sexy Sebastian. 2.7k words [Ao3] | [Wattpad] | [Tumblr Masterlist]

There was only one semi-formal introduction between Sebastian and his betrothed after the engagement was announced, awkward glances exchanged as their families bartered over the marriage contract and dowry. She is a stranger to him, and will likely remain one—it’s rare for these types of arrangements to blossom into anything meaningful. As much as he wants to resist and run, Sebastian honors his familial duty and begrudgingly agrees, observing the way his wife-to-be holds back tears.

Poor girl.

The wedding ceremony isn’t any better.

Sebastian spends the night before in a haze of firewhiskey and denial, blacking out with the hope he’ll wake up and it’ll be a bad dream. Instead, he wakes up with a splitting migraine that worsens his already sour expression. The only reason he decides not to drink more is because of her, the anxiety and fear radiating off his bride as they exchange meaningless vows in front of a handful of guests. They are in this charade together, for better or worse—best not to alienate his only potential ally by making a drunken fool of himself.

He sits through the reception with disinterest, worried more about her fiddling with the golden ring on her finger, and how she hasn’t touched her food or wine. Sebastian isn’t stupid—he knows she is terrified of the inevitable when they retire to the wedding suite with the expectation of consummation. There’s very little he can do to calm her nerves, but that doesn’t mean he won’t try.

As soon as the door to their bedroom closes, he sighs, tugging loose his collar before crossing over to the decanter on the nearby table. He glances at her—his wife—watching as she stands in the middle of the room, fidgeting like a trapped animal. Sebastian fills a shallow glass with whiskey, the amber liquid sloshing as he brings the offering to her. She flinches, even as she shakily takes the drink without meeting his gaze.

“You’re trembling,” he states the obvious, studying the curve of her lips as she takes a small sip. “No need to be so damn frightened. I’m not going to devour you.”

She gasps, snapping a hand to her mouth as the whiskey nearly sputters from her lips. Sebastian would find her reaction humorous if the circumstances were different. He removes the glass from her grasp, setting it down before looking at her again. She’s a delicate thing, petite and fair, in stark contrast to his looming presence.

“Husbands take what they want,” she whispers as if it is fact.

Sebastian frowns, wondering what other falsehoods she’s been brainwashed into believing.

“Look at me,” he says, gently lifting her chin with the softest touch. Her eyes are wide and glossy and beautiful. “I’m not a monster. I would never take what isn’t offered.”

She sucks in a breath, gaze darting across his face as if she is seeing him for the first time. He’s being honest—if she were to refuse him, he wouldn’t force her—but they both know failing to consummate the marriage will lead to ruin.

“We’re strangers,” she says in the same quiet voice as before.

“Strangers,” Sebastian repeats, pulling his hand away but remaining close as if to test if she will dart away at the first chance. For a moment, he weighs his options. “It doesn’t have to stay that way.”

Her expression shifts, ever so subtly into curiosity as he takes a step back. He keeps his movements slow, not wanting to startle her as he starts to undress, unclasping the heavy belt around his waist. It falls away, along with the heavy fabric of his wedding kilt, a pile on the floor that he soon adds his boots and socks to. Sebastian smirks when he notices his blushing bride’s eyes scanning his physique, fixating on the hem of his linen shirt that rests against his thigh.

“Trust takes time to build, darling,” he croons, watching the quickening rise and fall of her chest. He gestures to her wedding dress. “Let me help you.”

She hesitates before turning around, a visible shiver running through her when he brushes his fingers against the nape of her neck. He toys with the ringlets that have escaped her elaborate updo, plucking free iron pins without a care for where they land in the room. Only when her hair cascades across her shoulders does he continue, tracing the path of her spine down to the fastenings that bind her. He deftly loosens them, listening to her soft exhale when the fabric slips away from her form. Beneath is a simple chemise that does little to hide her femininity.

“T—thank you,” she whispers and Sebastian is struck with the wicked thought of what she’d sound like moaning his name.

He lets out a quiet, mirthless chuckle. “Don’t thank me yet.”

Her skin prickles with goosebumps beneath his touch as he caresses her shoulders. The softness of her is distracting, causing a stirring inside that he did not entirely anticipate. He would be an idiot to not find her attractive, but this is not a fling or passing fancy he can easily bed without thought—this pretty little creature is his wife.

Sebastian continues his gentle massage, thumbs working free a knot of tension between her shoulder blades. It’s a simple but intimate gesture, one that he hopes settles her nerves. He leans in, catching the way her eyes flutter closed and her lips part with a soft sigh. “How does that feel?” he asks, breath fanning across her neck. “Better?”

She barely nods, still trembling as he slides his hands down her arms before resting them on her waist. He feels the curve of her body beneath the chemise, fingers flexing against the cotton before loosening his grip. The heat in his gut grows. Sebastian is well aware of the complexity of the situation and knows perfectly well that this night—their first as husband and wife—will set the tone for the rest of their marriage.

“Tell me what you want,” he encourages, daring to ghost his lips across her skin.

“I—” she falters, breath hitching. “I don’t want…” she trails, and he listens carefully to her tone. She isn’t refusing him. “I don’t know,” she clarifies, turning her head to look at him. “I’ve never—”

Sebastian arches his brow at her confession, though he isn’t shocked by her virginity. Most brides of her upbringing are. What surprises him is the idea that she’s never explored her own body, provoking a devilish curiosity.

“Never?” he repeats in a husky drawl. His fingers twitch at her sides, teasing at what he could teach her. “Well, there’s a first time for everything, darling.”

“And there’s no need to rush,” he murmurs, this time pressing a soft kiss beneath her ear. She shivers and he grins. “We have all night…and every night after that to…explore.”

Sebastian is fully aware of the effect he’s having on her, feeling the way she tenses and yet leans into him, caught between societal expectations and the natural yearnings of her body. But he doesn’t want her to feel obligated—no—he wants her to want him. He makes his offer, “I can show you, if you’d like. Help you discover all the things that bring you pleasure.”

He moves one hand up to cradle her chin again, deciphering the shimmer of her eyes. She lets out a shaky breath. “Y—yes. Please.”

Please.

The corner of his mouth twitches up at her tentative consent.

“Good girl.”

He spins her around to face him, drinking in her flushed cheeks and the way her eyes darken at his words. It’s thrilling, but as hungry as Sebastian is for her, he reminds himself to savor the moment, if only for her sake. He cups her cheek, brushing his thumb across her bottom lip.

“Breathe, love,” he instructs in a whisper before kissing her. It’s soft—she’s soft—and he tugs her closer, hands tightening around her waist just enough to elicit a gasp. He takes the opportunity to lick into her mouth, swallowing the tiny, surprised sound she makes. Her hands find his shoulders, but instead of pushing him away, she melts, head lulling to the side when he breaks away from her lips to kiss down her jawline to her neck.

Sebastian spends some time there, alternating between little nibbles and soft, open-mouth kisses across her clavicle. He pulls the sleeves of her chemise down to expose more of her beautiful skin, capturing her lips again as he slowly lowers the hem some more until the cotton slides off her body completely. His eyes scan over bared flesh, an appreciative groan echoing in his throat as he gently cups her breasts.

“Are you sensitive here?” he asks, thumbs teasing her nipples that pebble beneath his touch. Her only answer is a sharp inhale and a brilliant blush. Sebastian lowers his head to wrap his lips around a taut peak, humming at the taste of her and how she arches, pressing closer. He lavishes her chest with attention, alternating from one breast to the other until her breathing is labored and she lets out a tiny mewl that makes his cock throb.

“I bet,” he muses against her skin, trailing his kisses as he lowers himself to the ground to kneel before her like the goddess she is. He lingers near her hip, one hand sliding from her waist to her thigh. “You’re sensitive here, too.”

Sebastian glances up at his wife through thick lashes, gauging her readiness before he dares to touch her. All he sees is desire, all her attention focused on his next move. He advances, watching as her eyes flutter closed and the most sinful sigh escapes her parted lips. His fingers trace through her sex, opening her to his exploration.

“Do you want me to kiss you here, darling?”

This time, she moans, and Sebastian takes that as a yes. He pulls away, softly chuckling at her little whine as he coaxes her to lie down on the bed. Starting at her ankles, his hands glide up her calves, over her knees, and across the smooth expanse of her inner thighs as he parts her legs, settling himself between them. His lips follow, and he looks up at her again as she trembles in anticipation.

“Tell me,” he breathes, right where she needs him most. “Tell me what you want, Mrs. Sallow.”

She whimpers, and it’s like he’s activated some secret part of her that’s lain dormant until now. Her pupils dilate and she eagerly nods. “Y—your mouth,” she answers, desperate as she furrows her brows in frustration. “Please…”

“Well,” he cheekily replies, suddenly realizing how much fun he will have corrupting her with lessons in carnality. “Since you asked so nicely.”

His mouth finally meets her warmth and the sensation is electrifying. Sebastian savors the taste of her, swirling his tongue against her entrance before focusing on the tiny pearl of nerves that make her cry out in pleasure. She grips the sheets tight as her hips buck up, and he grins at the reaction, one hand steadying her as the other moves to join his feverous ministrations.

“Do you like that?” he asks between laps of his tongue, gradually pushing one finger into her heat. She’s tight, and her body clenches even more at the intrusion, but she’s so wet and so ready for him that the digit slides in with little resistance. Sebastian groans, suckling on her clit as he withdraws before pushing in again, each time a little deeper until she is moaning with every labored breath. He adds a second finger, curling them until he finds the sweet spot that makes her back arch and thighs quiver.

“Yes,” she moans, and it’s so enthusiastic that Sebastian grinds his hips against the mattress to provide himself some temporary relief. He’s hard, straining almost painfully as he imagines himself sheathed inside her, how she’ll look with her legs wrapped around his waist, neck tossed back in ecstasy.

He steadily increases the pressure, finding a rhythm that has her writhing and keening for release. And then she tenses, her core clamping and fluttering around his fingers as her body trembles. Sebastian’s chest swells with pride, that dark, possessive thrill coursing through him again as she spirals.

“There you go, love.” His voice is ragged as he eases her through her first climax.

It won’t be her last.

Sebastian slowly leans back on his heels to take in the sight of her, flushed and wild-eyed, struggling to catch her breath as her eyes fixate on him. He peels off his linen shirt, allowing her a moment to ogle his naked body, smirking when her gaze continues to linger on his cock.

“Do you want more?”

“Yes,” she answers before he can compel her to.

Sebastian nods, settling back between her thighs, his hands sliding up to grip the back of her knees as he spreads her a little wider, exposing her slick center to his gaze. He’s momentarily transfixed, fighting back the urge to plunge forth and ravage her like a man starved. With one hand guiding his length, he positions himself at her entrance, both sucking in a breath as he slowly, slowly pushes in.

“Fuck,” he breathes, repeating the curse over and over as he watches her body swallow him, the tight, velvet heat of her threatening to unravel him before he can even start. “Just relax,” he manages to say, half for himself as he clenches his jaw. “Breathe for me, love.”

He gives her time to adjust to the fullness, even as his resolve wavers at the heavenly sensation. Only when he sees her expression soften does he move, shallow thrusts that gradually deepen, hands bracing her thighs as he watches his cock disappear inside her over and over. Her tiny whimpers morph into heady moans, and he switches his focus to her face.

“You take me so well, darling,” he praises, near-delirious with the pleasure coursing through his veins. “I knew you’d be perfect.”

Sebastian barely manages not to lose himself, rolling his hips in a steady cadence that promises them both an exquisite end. He wants—needs—to feel her come around him, come with him. The sounds she makes tell him she’s climbing that precipice once more, on the verge of another shattering orgasm.

“That’s it,” he moans, leaning over her as he braces his weight on one arm, his other hand sliding beneath her to tilt her hips. The new angle produces a new kind of friction that he chases, his body colliding with hers in urgent, needy thrusts. “I’ve got you, just—fuck—come with me.”

And she does, brilliantly so, a broken cry that he swallows with a devouring kiss. Sebastian follows her over the edge, snapping his hips forward one last time as he spills himself deep, a shudder running through his entire body. The tremors take a long time to subside, but he eventually slumps, barely managing to keep his body from crushing hers as he collapses against the mattress. In the post-coital haze, he glances over to find his wife with a similar, blissed-out expression.

“Are we still strangers?” he jokes, rolling to encircle his arms around her limp form. He smiles, heartbeat fluttering as she softly giggles. Sebastian thinks he likes that sound the most.

“No,” she replies, though it’s obvious that she’s still bashful despite—or because of—their newfound intimacy. “Acquaintances, perhaps.”

Sebastian laughs, and the dangerous thought that he could fall in love with this woman crosses his mind. Instead of allowing the idea to take root, he closes the distance between them to kiss her, languid and unhurried.

“In that case,” he starts. “I should tell you about all the wicked things I want to do to you,” he murmurs against her lips, grinning when she moans. “Tell me, wife,” he says. “Do you want me to worship your body?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Yes, please.”