#such silly layers on this skirt

[bonesdontmelt]

Sleeping White Horse of the Forest - Beautiful Pirates

The ship of Cavendish's Beautiful pirates!

A layered ruffle skirt inspired by the multicolored hull, two rapier-type words strapped behind at waist level. A light pink ruffled shirt, and a beauty-queen type sash that says BEAUTIFUL, with gems dangling from it. Hat like the roger with horse ears poking out and the same gems dangling around it, long wavy light-blue hair, mascara and red lipstick, and necklace of orange strung pearls or something equally pretentious. Not pictured: The roger on the back of the shirt. Also the shoes are white riding boots.

Note: This cosplay is not complete if you're not riding a white horse while in this outfit.

[iknowwhereyousnoozeatnight]

he’s just a silly funny guy to me (and i need him in a skirt)

flat colors for flat color enjoyers idk

[michaelmilligan]

Adam being a repressed queer guy who also doesn't want to talk about his feelings would make sense since he grew up in the 90's and 2000's (and also didn't have much time to figure himself out on Earth, plus, ya know, John). But I think it would be so funny if he came out of the cage like:

'I have not spoken to another human in over a thousand years. My only company was this equally repressed daddy's boy with eldest daughter syndrome, who surprisingly knows nothing about gender. When I told him that pink is for girls, he just stared at me blankly with all his two millions eyes for like a solid three hours. A few years later, when I mentioned something similar, he told me that someone should inform the poor male flamingos that they are apparently breaking a gender law. He once told me most of his previous vessels did not wear pants, and he didn't mean that they were walking around naked. When I jokingly said that I was the one wearing the pants in this relationship, I accidentally discovered that while they don't have faces, angels can still blush.

'Anyway, where was I going with this. Oh, yeah. So. If I want to sing along to the soundtrack of High School Musical and cry about missing several generations of Pokémon, that's my business and mine alone. And anyone who disagrees with that can kindly get smote by my live-in-boyfriend-wife. <3 Hope this helps.'

[princessbunniedoll]

hmm

[shuckstruck]

drawing new armor for REALSIES this time

in the past i’ve been very “there’s some kind of gap in the back for his wings and his armor fastens around them” but now i’m like. w/e like creatures with wings Would have to sacrifice protection for functionality. and armor covering only ur torso would still do a semi-decent job of protecting ur most vital organs

anyways this is just what i whipped up at 3 am last night i intend to go and adjust/detail this tonight. the neck/shoulder piece won’t be entirely gold but smthn slightly more reminiscent of a real one

[aroace-poly-show]

gradients are literally my worst enemy as an artists who does 99% of my work on one layer

[yanderenightmare]

TW: yandere, dubcon/noncon, size difference, captive reader

gn reader - fem clothing (doll costume: dress)

Just thinking about the creep yandere captor who insists on taking pictures of you when you're all dolled up in his bed...

The contrast is nauseating. 

He’s too big. Too tall and too strong. Thick threatening muscles lined with scars like a tiger. A set of hefty shoulders on a torso so broad you find yourself shunning yourself each time the slightest silly thought of uproar surfaces. 

He’s too scary for you to ever dare anyway. His eyes alone have a darkness that makes you whimper every time he looks you up and down. 

It doesn’t help that he’s always dressed in only black. Black boxers and black sweats hung low around his waist, showing the fine-toned muscles of his pelvis and the manly happy trial of curls growing thickly from beneath the band to his briefs up to his belly button.

A black tank shows off his upper body strength where he takes heavy breaths like a beast, chest rising and falling along with a large black camera - like a heavy-duty weapon hanging around his neck, snapping pictures of you dolled up in all lovely intricacies. 

You can’t help but flinch each time the light flashes, the snap sounding like a gunshot. And he can't help but chuckle each time you do, loving how you jump and bounce a bit on his bed, your tiny fists balling up the plush layers of tulle and lace to your poofy skirt as you press your knees tighter together - shivering from head down to the tiny black shiny shoes adorning your feet clicking as they bob against each other where they dangle off the bed - feeling like a decorative doll sat on a mantle. 

The pink skirt to your overly extra dress lay perfectly spread like a blanket around you with a silly white apron tied tight around your midsection, fastened with a great large bow on your back. All in all, making you feel humiliatingly ridiculous. With no thanks to the equally silly white bonnet situated on your head with just as stupid enormous bows tied above each ear. Looking so adorably sheepish beneath its shadow, your pretty face sweetened with that lovely look of anxiety he loves so much.

So picture-perfect with those sparkly eyes welling with tears.

One or two of them splash down on the white of your apron as you sniffle at the harsh flash of another picture being taken.

Your captor growls while viewing the last set of images, or perhaps it was a groan.

You peek up from looking down at your gloved hands folded neatly upon your lap to find what you’d been dreading.

He gave the constrained area of his crotch a tug and hissed out another scary sound that had you whimper all the more.

Despite all the hefty sets of inane layers to your getup, he never ever bothers dressing you in the first. 

Underwear would just make it complicated.

BNHA – Bakugou, Kirishima, Deku, Shoto, Shinso, Enji, Aizawa, Overhaul, Mirio, All Might

JJK – Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Megumi, Toji

HQ – Kageyama, Kuro, Sakusa, Miya twins, Suna, Tendou, Ukai

CSM – Aki, Yoshida

DS – Doma, Akaza, Tomioka, Sanemi

HxH – Chrollo, Illumi, Uvogin

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Praise [König]

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Masturbation, Perverted König, Age Gap, Legal Age Gap, Lowkey Gooner König just minus the Porn, No-Rizz König, Panty Flashing, Praise Kink, Reader Wears a Skirt, Profanity, No Pronouns used for Reader Except ‘You’.

König fucking himself absolutely silly after you helped him discover he has a praise kink.

It had been just a simple “Wow, you’ve done a good job with that shelf!” as you stood by and watched him repair your bookcase that had König fisting his cock like it owed him money. 

König huffed amidst the darkness of his desolate apartment, leaning against the wall which separated your abode from his as his hand worked furiously to exorcise himself of his carnal lust, of the heaviness in his engorged ballsack. 

He could hear the creaking of floorboards as you meandered from one room to another. The only sounds in König’s apartment were his muted breaths and the wet noise of him fisting himself, his hand slick and sticky with the layers of pre you’d already coaxed from him, his balls growing tighter by the second as his release lay just shy of reach.

He whimpered – gasped – as he recalled the way you smiled at him, how you pressed a hand to his bulging bicep and told him to take a break, giving a glass of freshly-squeezed lemonade to your ‘hard-working man’.

He moaned, lewd and low, as white-hot euphoria shot straight to the head of his dick, setting his body buzzing and ablaze, cracking his resolve ever more. You’d called him yours. Your man.

God, he wanted that so badly to be true. He’d repair a thousand bookshelves if he had to, fix a million burst pipes and bleed as many radiators as you needed if it meant you’d call him yours again, or just touch him.

As he’d sat back upon your dainty sofa and had a drink, you’d bent over – just for him – and given him a perfect look at your panties. You complimented his work, inspecting the shelf. All the while, König damn-near spat out his drink, the fizz burning the back of his nose as he coughed and spluttered. 

Already, he felt all the blood rush from his head to his cock.

You bolted up to check on him, and if it weren’t for your hands touching his face and the soft swoop of your voice, König would’ve probably slapped himself for depriving himself of the sight of you in that short skirt.

Fuck, he felt like a lecherous old man, especially considering how there was a definite age gap between the two of you. But König couldn’t convince himself of remorse – not as his orgasm drew closer still.

The fantasy – or perhaps it was his heaving breaths, hyperventilation – of having you completely at his mercy in your own home left him light-headed, his reddened and bulbous tip pulsating. König could scarcely form a coherent thought as his orgasm came hurtling towards him. 

The wet sound of him throttling himself, stroking his dick languidly, was drowned out by his desire for what could’ve happened if he’d willed it, if he’d pounced on you – the opportunity – to prove just how much of a man he could be for you.

But no, instead of grabbing you and bending you over the nearest surface – ideally your bookcase just so he could break it all over again – he’d given an anxious laugh, a quiet ‘thanks’ for your hospitality and went on his way when the job was complete.

Fucking idiot.

Though, you did leave him one ‘in’, as it were. You offered him a favour – any favour – in return for his services since he declined any form of payment you’d offered him.

He can taste it. The parallel reality wherein he pounds on your apartment door, only to push his way inside and leave you breathless with wet, tongue-filled kisses as he takes you against the wall, stretching you out on a cock that’s far too big for you. But you take it anyway, because you owe him.

The phantom sensation of your wet, wanting hole pulsating around his weeping cock is what finishes König off, moaning loudly and shooting thick ropes of semen against the wall – the only thing separating the two of you. The only thing saving you from his hot, fertile load.

He can feel it pumping out of him, his balls growing lighter by the second as he empties himself thoroughly and completely. He gives himself a few shallow strokes as to prolong the feeling of release, of a most carnal pleasure, whilst imagining what it would feel like to be filling you with his cum.

He knows he’ll have to clean it up later, but it’s not even a priority for him right now as he comes down, the world eventually reloading around him.

Sure, perhaps the post-nut clarity will hit later as he’s wiping his cum off the wall and mopping up the puddle he’s created, but right now, all König can see is you – all he can think and feel is you.

Barely a few minutes pass before he’s hard again, the memory of your voice intrusive as he simply tries to catch his breath.

Perhaps he will pay you a quick visit. He reckons you’ll be more than willing to make good on your repayment – especially with what a good job he’d done on your bookshelf.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad X

[heavenbarnes]

Million Dollar Baby

Art Donaldson x Fem Reader

Warnings/Contains: this is essentially a series of vignettes, at this point you’re the duncan-donaldson sugar baby, swearing, effective cheating (tashi approved), mild exhibitionism, face slapping (not with hands), unprotected sex, reader is pretty submissive, thee slightest tashi x reader, patrick mention.

Part one

it’s that part two to “i wanna make it (so badly)” that i kept harping on about! just wanted to prove to you all i could make good on something! enjoy! i still crave this man!

Born under a lucky star.

Rabbits foot. Horse shoe. Triple sevens. Four-leaf clover.

Art Donaldson plays tennis very well.

When you're around?

He's better.

O2 Arena, London, England. ATP men's singles finals.

Naturally the only way you'd ever get close to something like this was on her invitation.

Tashi had invited you.

"I beg your pardon?"

"We'll cover your flights and accommodation- it's important that you're there."

Yes, because you were sure you could sweet talk your way into a lesson with Lily at Buckingham Palace.

Obviously, obviously it wasn't about your silly little tennis lessons these days. But that was the front.

Rich neighbourhood, nosey neighbourhood.

"Tashi, I couldn't help but notice Art's Jeep drive past me as I left Pilates. Just who was that pretty young thing in his passenger seat?"

"She's Lily's tennis coach, he drops her off when she's had to stay late."

Yeah,

yeah.

Drops you off because your legs aren't their best when they've been over his shoulders for an hour.

It was a pretty good front.

So you found yourself courtside in a Lacoste skirt you'd never imagine owning. That's why you didn't own it, Tashi had left it on your bed among other items of clothing she expected to see you in.

Dress-up doll.

Her plaything.

Pulled out of your thoughts by the chorus of cheer, it was all directed to the movement you could just and only see out the corner of your eye.

Art Donaldson took the court with a kind of swagger that made your thighs tense under expensive material. His eyes took to the stands- sweeping over adoring eyes looking back at him.

And then he came to rest.

You could tell he looked at Tashi first, the way his shoulders straightened and the grip on his racquet became even tighter.

Miracle it didn't snap.

Then you felt him look at you, his eyes softened and the corner of his mouth turned up.

A smug smirk as he ran his tongue along his teeth.

And you began to think back on everything that lead you here.

-

You had found yourself in many precarious situations with Art.

And you were acutely aware of the fact you hadn't seen it.

You'd felt it- felt it against your thigh, the heat of your cunt,

fuck, you'd even felt it against the sole of your foot.

Ruined numerous pairs of Calvin Klein's in the process.

But you'd never seen it.

And it wasn't a topic of contention, it wasn't a 'you' thing per se.

It was actually the fact that Art about blacks out every time you make him cum, and that's through a good few layers of clothing.

The thought of getting it out and laying it against your bare skin? Putting it in your mouth? Putting it inside-

Even the the idea of it makes his eyes water. Blessing and a curse, really.

On one hand, he's guaranteed a mind-blowing orgasm.

On the other, it might only last a few seconds.

You were just happy to be there.

Art could give you everything or give you nothing and you'd lap it up every time.

Good girl.

Art looked good like this, he always looked good but there was something about this.

Sat on the couch, thighs spread, large hands balled up on his knees. When you were in this position- on your own knees before him, with reverence- he looked good.

He looked all consuming.

If you asked him, it wasn't a sight Art was used to, something something role reversal.

Your hands ran along the coarse hairs of his legs, ever-so-slightly getting closer to the bottom of his shorts.

(Post-tennis, still a little sweaty- heavy musk if you really got your face in there)

"We'll go as slow as you need, Art."

However he wants it, whenever he wants it.

Quarter to midnight on Tuesday, you were meant to be doing an ungodly load of laundry tonight. But then he'd looked at you, then he'd told you he 'needed' you.

Turns out whatever he wants looks a lot like what you want.

Obedience in spades.

He stopped you before your hands could go any further, opting to reach under the waistband himself. You were all the better for it, too focused on not giving up the extent of your excitement.

Was it weird to say you'd spent a lot of time imaging what his cock looked like?

Probably.

You reasoned it with the fact you knew Art spent a lot of time thinking about what happens under your pretty little tennis skirts. That and he'd seen it more times than you could count, these days.

Things always seem to go his way.

Your breath caught in your throat when Art hooked his thumb around the waistband, stretching the elastic so he could get it out.

Of course, of course it was as pretty as the rest of him.

Flushed pink at the tip, pale and creamy down the length of it. Kind of thing you need to get your lips around.

Banked for another day.

One hand cradling the back of your head, the other wrapped around the base- Art slapped his cock once, twice on your outstretched tongue.

"A-ahh, f-uck- okay-"

Nice and slow- can't have him blowing the top off just yet.

He couldn't really say you were helping the point. Sitting there, sitting pretty, primed and ready for whatever he wants next.

The sight along was enough material to tug his cock to for the rest of his life.

Let alone being faced with it.

Which is why he did just that- tugged his cock to it.

Long fingers wrapped around a long cock, twisting along the length of it, rolling the palm over the head. Sticky wetness catching in the centre of his palm as he drags it back along the shaft.

Your tongue stayed permanently outstretched, allowing him to slap the weeping tip right on it. If it wasn't your tongue, it was your cheek- wherever he could gain purchase with your skin without tipping himself over the edge.

Yet.

Eventually, Art came in filthy hot ropes across your face and the most minimal amount actually made it in your mouth.

Majority of it was painted across your cheeks, drawn up and sweet under your shining eyes. Bright smile stretched across your face beneath pearly little drops.

Pretty girl-

perfect girl.

-

"I'm sorry- I just need- oh, oh god- just need-"

Incoherent.

A bleary-eyed, incoherent Art.

Chest pressed tight to your back, shorts around his thighs- your little skirt bunched up tight in his fist.

"I need this- I need this- y'so good to me- I need this-"

Yeah, seems like it.

You'd only managed 15 minutes on the court before it'd come to this. Art had thrown his racquet to the wind and ushered you around the side of their changing shed- the same one where he first,

You know?

Yeah.

You'd actually headed for the door but he couldn't wait that long, pulled you between the wall and the tall fence that circled the court. You were both nestled in beneath an Arabian Gingerbread Palm of sorts- naturally.

Art had slipped your underwear to the side and mounted you like a fucking dog.

Desperate.

The sound of his taut thighs slapping against yours was fucking ludicrous, the sight would’ve managed something worse.

He had a look across his face that said he knew this was pathetic- that there was no way he should’ve been rutting into you in broad fucking daylight.

But it’s not like you could see that look, not when his face was pressed into your neck.

“Ohh, you just- you just feel so good.”

Was he crying?

You looped an arm around the back of his head, slowly stroking your nails against his scalp as you struggled to keep yourself from buckling under the pressure.

Your other arm stretched out in front of you, palm braced on the wall as Art continued the relentless piston of his hips.

Through tears even.

“Feels so good, Art- making me feel so fucking good- just rub my clit, touch me a little.”

In an instant, his fingers were under the front of your skirt as he rubbed haphazard circles around the apex of your cunt.

“Like this? You like this? Tell me I’m doing a good job, please.”

Jesus Christ.

“Yes- doing a good job, you always do so good- gonna’ make me cum.”

And like you’d said the magic word, Art was going rigid. Hips slamming into you with a couple brutal and unyielding thrusts, less precision than you were used to with him.

Til’ he was dripping out of you.

His fingers kept going.

Until your face was pressed was pressed against the changing shed wall, sure to leave a lovely pattern of stucco on your skin.

Until you were babbling and canting your hips back onto his hand as drool ran down the side of your cheek.

Until you even realised that he’d dropped to his knees and was running his tongue through your cunt from the back, massive hands splitting your cheeks.

You reached a hand back to grip his hair, pulling his face even further into the sodden lips of your pussy as you fucked yourself back onto his tongue.

“That’s it- lick my cunt, Art. See how good you taste?”

Your ears stopped ringing long enough for you to hear it.

He makes that noise when he cums.

Again.

Tashi watched you both drag your feet back into the house- a sheen of sweat over you both that could’ve looked post-tennis.

To anyone else but her.

She let you pass without issue, but a fine hand pressed to Art’s chest as he tried to follow you to the showers.

“If I ever see you cum before her again, there will be trouble. Understood?”

There was no use explaining that you didn’t mind, that you kind of liked when you riled him up- made him lose control.

That he probably deserved to feel good.

Instead, you heard him murmur an apology before he finally got you under the monsoon shower head in the enormous guest bathroom.

Three more good ones on his tongue, just for good measure.

-

It was a miracle the Donaldson-Duncan mantelpiece didn't crumble under the immense weight of success.

Trophy, after trophy, after photo, after-

"Did Tashi meet Obama?"

Art chuckles over your shoulder as he watches you cradle the photo, eyes wide with admiration. Devotion?

"She did, he invited her to the White House the year before we got engaged."

"Your invite get lost in the mail?"

"It wasn't about me."

Is anything ever about him?

As you continued your impassioned scan of their family treasures, you came to a complete stop at a 5x7 frame.

"Is this a young Art Donaldson?"

You could feel his eyes on you as you lifted the frame with the same gentle touch as you'd lent to Tashi's photo.

This time, your fingers gingerly brushed over the glass- almost as if you could feel the crop of golden curls beneath your fingertips.

"You've never seen any of my earlier games? Junior doubles at the US Open?"

Taking your eyes off a very-pretty-young Art, you threw him a look that said something like 'be so serious.'

"No, I wasn't much for watching tennis as a- what? Six year old?"

Oh.

That's right.

It was impossible for Art to forget the elephant in the room- call him a dirty old man but Art was always thinking about the pretty young thing that he liked best in his lap.

But sometimes he forgot.

"Well, that's me the day Patrick and I won."

"Who's Patrick?"

Oh.

And just like that he's chubbing up in his pants.

Art Donaldson currently exists in a space and time where he has something that Patrick doesn't.

And you're none the fucking wiser.

How could you be? You're still enamoured with the shaggy golden curls and the unspoken pull of a backwards cap.

"Yeah, you would've driven me wild back in the day."

There's a wry smile that catches on the corner of his mouth, right at the same moment he takes the photo from you. You're forced back to reality, present day-

The one where Art's a few years older but still as devastatingly handsome.

"Would've?"

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, feeling a firm chest pressing against your shoulder blades. Feeling crowded.

Feeling caught.

"As if I don't already."

Art spends the evening reminding you of your place.

That, despite the age between you, he's still the one that runs rings.

-

Contrary to popular belief, Art Donaldson has bad days.

Unfortunately for just about everyone in the O2 Arena, he chose today.

Well, the fates decided on today.

As he thrashed his racquet through the air, you could've sworn you heard the 'woosh' it was sure to have made from all the way up here.

Tense, you were slumped in your seat as you couldn't escape the voice in your head-

the one that was telling you your luck had run out.

The one that still sounds a lot like Tashi Duncan.

"COME ON!"

Tashi's voice actually sounded from beside you, making you jump out of your skin.

Naturally, you began searching for Art- searching for something to do, someway to fix this. What was left for you if you couldn't be lucky.

Rabbits foot. Horse shoe. Triple sevens. Four-leaf clover.

Nowhere to be found- but you found Art, found his eyes.

Looking at you.

Pleading with you.

Come on.

There was that pathetic little gaze you'd come to know. When he wanted something, when he needed something.

Art Donaldson always gets what he wants.

You jumped a little when you felt Tashi's hand rest on your knee where it crossed over the other. Perfect manicure drumming against your kneecap, gripping once.

Gripping twice.

Gently, prying it away from the other till they were side by side.

Thighs being forced apart.

Suddenly acutely aware that Art's eyes weren't on your face anymore.

They were on Tashi's hand.

Acutely aware that, among all the pretty things she'd laid out on your bed this morning, there wasn't a pair of panties among them.

That same perfect manicure between your spread thighs, patting you once, twice- right where her husband had made a home.

Under a lucky star.

Art Donaldson had a penchant for getting what he wants.

With an unmatched performance, the arena was turned on its head. Neon green blitz across the court, landing right where he wanted it to.

The crowd cheered his name to a tune only he knew;

How to be a winner.

All guts, all glory.

The deafening commotion chewed you up but it was Art that spat you out. Amongst the noise, the fury, you found him stood staring right at you.

Expectantly.

The weight of responsibility on your chest. Your luck hadn't run out, it was only just the beginning.

To the victor go the spoils.

Somewhere, a rabbit was missing it's foot.

[charliemwrites]

Mafia!au part 5!

A bit of fluff, a bit of drama, a bit of Soap!

Content: Attempted Gaslighting, Violence

“Gooood morning, sir!” you sing as you sweep into Mr. Price’s office. “And happy birthday!”

His head shoots up from whatever he was brooding over, brows arched high in genuine shock. Surprise is a good look on him.

“How the bloody hell did you know it’s my birthday?” he demands, sitting back in his chair.

You beam, sauntering right up to his desk. His eyes flick to the round white box balanced on top of your tablet. Nothing big, a little something you baked at home after a couple dissatisfying trials.

“It’s my job to know,” you reply easily.

He blinks– a habit you flatter yourself thinking he might have picked up from you. “What else do you know about me?”

You tilt your head at him, a smug curve to your lips.

“Just the basics. Your full name and birthday,” you demure. Hold up your free hand and start rattling off on your fingers. “Height, allergies, tea preference, pastry preference, blood type, drink of choice…”

You set the box in front of him and resettle your tablet in the crook of your arm. He stares at you for a beat, expression bleached from surprise to outright shock. You spin your stylus around your fingers.

“Which is why I made you a marble cake with whiskey instead of rum.”

His eyes lock onto the unassuming white box. It’s not a big cake by any means, about six inches in diameter and only one layer. Just a small something for Price to have for himself. God knows the rest of the boys (and Farah) get enough treats from you as it is.

“You made this?” he asks, leaning a bit forward.

“Yessir,” you declare, “and I’m pretty good at it too. Perks of stress baking.”

He runs a hand down his face, as if his beard got ruffled. “Christ, you need a raise.”

“Yes. Anyway – I’ll get you a plate after I’m done,” you say, swatting at his curious hand. He huffs but sits back to give you his full attention. You smile in reward and begin reciting his schedule for the day.

He listens, only interrupting when he needs clarification on little details. You try not to be too endeared by the way his eyes occasionally flick to the covered cake. When you finish, you twitch your nose at him knowingly.

“I’ll get you a plate before I get started on that expense summary,” you say, turning on your heel.

You hum in surprise when a large, calloused hand catches your wrist. It’s not the hand of a businessman, you think, but a man used to work. A man who does the hard things for himself. Before meeting John Price, you would have scoffed at the thought of a rich man knowing labor. Price though… well, he’s been proving to be a welcome exception since the very start.

“Thank you for this, love,” he says, voice hitting that tone and pitch that makes your insides squirm. He caresses his thumb over the tender skin before releasing you. “Really.”

You can already feel the blush climbing up the back of your neck, over your ears, creeping onto your cheeks. Can’t ever catch a break with him.

“Well, don’t thank me ‘til you’ve tried it,” you try to deflect.

“Weren’t you the one saying you’re decent at baking.”

“Yeah, well… maybe I poisoned you or something – for that time you closed my skirt in the door.”

He sputters a bit. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling at the indignance on his face. Such a handsome, almost regal man. You love to rile him up.

“I apologized. Profusely.”

And offered to buy you a new skirt entirely. The way you’d shrieked that that was not an appropriate response made Soap choke with laughter as people stared.

“Yeah, well, I hold a grudge,” you reply, shrugging.

It’s true, but not about things like that. Graves and his assistant? Oh, that’s practically a blood feud at this point. A silly little accident where your boss left a crease in your fourth favorite skirt? That’s not even something to forgive him for, but you sure as hell will never forget. Especially when he still seems mildly sheepish about it.

“You wouldn’t be the first,” he grumbles. You’re not sure if he’s talking about grudges or poisoning, but the dramatics finally make you laugh.

“But I could be the last,” you call over your shoulder as you flounce out.

Not for long though, returning with a disposable fork from the breakroom. There’s something amusing to only you about a man in a thousand-pound suit using cheap plastic.

“Come to see me keel over for yourself, then?” he asks.

“Well, I can’t have you getting cake crumbs on the expense reports,” you reason.

He’s already got the lid open. No icing on the cake – you’re shit at decorating, so you chose a recipe without icing. The flavor of the whiskey and sugar should be plenty. To make up for it, you folded a tiny placard and wrote “Happy Birthday, Boss!” in your best loopy cursive.

He takes the fork, fingers brushing yours in the process. You remind yourself not to snatch your hand away like a scandalized Victorian lady. Christ, you really need to get it together.

“Tell me how you like it,” you say, making to leave again.

“Come try it yourself,” he protests.

You pause, give him an amused look. “I didn’t actually poison it, sir. You’ve not done anything that heinous. Yet.”

He snorts, carefully digging out a respectable bite from the edge. “If you see fit to toss a little rat poison in, then I’ll likely having it coming.”

You hum. “Arsenic is more my style. Classic.”

In the corner of the room, Simon makes a little noise you’ve come to recognize as repressed laughter. You shoot him a quick, amused look, before shifting your attention back as Price gestures with the fork.

“Regardless, you should get a little taste of the fruits of your labor,” he offers.

The fruits of your labor, you think with a bit of regret, will be his enjoyment of your baking. You’re not sure when his admiration became your favorite part of the day, but you’re spoiled for positive feedback from your otherwise stern boss.

“You first,” you insist, “it’s your birthday after all.”

He keeps unnerving eye contact as he brings the bite to his mouth, tongue flicking out to catch any spare crumbs. He hums, eyes closing a for a second in enjoyment, before opening and fixating on you again.

“That’s bloody brilliant, love.”

He scoops up another piece, brings it right to your mouth. You hurry to put a hand beneath in case it falls; don’t even think before parting your lips. Sugar and whiskey, chocolate and vanilla, burst across your tongue.

“Oh!” you hum, hiding your mouth while you chew. “That is pretty good.”

It only occurs to you as he takes another bite for himself, a twinkle in his eye, that you just ate after him. Used the same fork like it was nothing, like that’s an acceptable thing to do as his assistant. You’re not squeamish by any means, no. It’s just… it’s gotta be crossing some sort of professional line. You can’t imagine any of your previous bosses ever sharing with you like this.

“Let me tell you, if you did poison it,” he muses, “I wouldn’t mind it being the last thing I ate.”

You roll your eyes, swat lightly at his arm again. “I told you; it’s not poisoned.”

“I know, you just took a bite,” he answers smugly.

You click your tongue at him, playing at exasperated. “I’m going to work now.”

“Ta, love.”

--

“Oi, li’l miss?”

You glance up at Soap curiously.

(Recognize, in the back of your mind, that it’s a nickname that’s not only spread – thanks, Simon – but that you’re responding to as quickly as your own name now. You should probably feel some type of way about that. Probably righteously annoyed or something. You don’t.)

Soap is standing at your desk, shifting from foot to foot. Uneasy. But the expression on his usually friendly face isn’t nervous. It’s… something else. Something you don’t know how to decipher but makes you sit up a bit straighter, alert.

“What’s up, buttercup?” you ask, voice light.

“There’s some bloke down in the lobby, says he’s got a date with you?” he explains, frowning deeper than you’ve ever seen.

It gets deeper – and angrier – when he sees the blood drain from your face. You push your chair away from your desk to hide the tremble that’s trying to infest your hands.

Absolutely not. This is your place of work, dammit. Where you’re calm and collected, the person anyone can turn to for solutions. You’ve worked so hard to craft this sleek vessel of professional grace and you’re not about to have it sullied like this.

“He does not have a date with me,” you state, keeping your voice flat and tight. “Would you come down with me, please?”

“’Course,” he replies instantly.

You stop by Price’s office, knock twice, then poke your head in when he calls for entry.

“I’ve just got to pop out for a mo’,” you explain, “I’ll be right back!”

He nods and you duck out again before he can notice anything amiss. For a rich bastard, he’s too observant of others. (Especially you.)

“What’s he here fer, then?” Soap asks in the elevator.

You let out an annoyed puff of air. “A reality check, I assume.”

He side-eyes you but doesn’t ask any further before the doors open.

Sure enough, standing in the lobby, is the last man you want to see. Your ex, Brandon.

“There you are, bunny. You’ve been keeping me waiting for—”

“One, do not call me that. It’s inappropriate,” you interrupt, crisp and sharp. “Two, I haven’t been keeping you waiting, because there’s nothing to wait for. Three, get out.”

He rolls his eyes, that smarmy curve to his lips never leaving. You don’t think he’s even noticed Soap just behind you yet.

“Look, I know you’re still in a mood about everything,” he says, “but that’s why I’m taking you out. To smooth things over. Clear the air, and all that.”

“You’re not taking me out,” you repeat. “Get out.”

He crosses his arms, tilting his head in that condescending way you’ve always despised. It sets your teeth on edge, makes you burn with anger.

“This isn’t your building,” he goads, “you can’t kick me out.”

“Might as well be hers, mate,” Soap interjects, “she could kick out the goddamn queen.”

Brandon’s focus shifts to him. You feel a curl of vindictive satisfaction when his expression curdles a bit. Soap may not be a particularly tall man, but he can be intimidating. Built thick and strong, doesn’t bother to conceal his physique at all with his sleeves rolled up his forearms. And you’re not oblivious to his looks either. Soap is a handsome man. A walking ego bruise for a man like your ex.

“Fine,” he huffs, “then come outside so we can talk like adults.”

You click your tongue, fold your hands behind your back to conceal the way your fingers clench into fists. “We did talk like adults. You just failed to listen like one.”

And ohhhh, the petty satisfaction that bubbles through you at the way his teeth click in shock, a flush of embarrassed anger curtaining his face.

“Now, I’ll ask one more time and then my coworker is going to toss you out himself.” Soap chooses that moment to crack his knuckles. “Leave this building. You’re not welcome.”

You drop your arms and turn on your heel, ready to get back to work and compartmentalize this until you’ve got a fuck-off sized glass of wine in front of you.

“Hey, we’re not—”

Even if you did see what happened, you don’t think you could have followed. It happens so fast. One second, Soap’s eyes are on you. Burning with questions and fury on your behalf, checking that you’re okay. The next, he’s darted past you. There’s a scuffle, fancy shoes squeaking on polished floors, a thick, wet pop. Then Brandon is shouting in pain.

You jump, twist to see what the commotion is. Soap’s got a white-knuckled grip on Brandon’s extended wrist – though now it’s bent at an awful angle, you realize he must have been reaching for you. Your skin crawls.

“Away ‘n bile yer heid,” Soap growls, shoving Brandon back roughly.

He doesn’t fall on his ass but it’s a near thing. With the eyes of reception, a few employees, and you on him, he spits a curse at Soap and retreats. You stare after for a moment, lips parted in shock.

“All set, miss?” Soap asks, adjusting his sleeves.

“Um, yeah,” you say. Blink and pull yourself together. “I mean, yes. Let’s head back up before the boss misses us.”

He places a hand on the small of your back on the short walk back. It feels grounding rather than proprietary; you’re grateful for it. He lasts until the doors close before turning to you.

“The hell was that about, lass?”

You sigh, smooth your skirt down for lack of anything else to do. “That was my ex. He wants to… reconcile, I suppose. And he’s quite keen on getting his way.”

Soap mutters a few choice words under his breath. Scottish slang, you suspect. You’ll have to get him to teach you sometime.

“Anyway, thank you for your help,” you continue, eyes on the elevator doors. “I can’t believe he showed up here. I’m so embarrassed.”

“You’ve nothin’ to be embarrassed about, hen,” he protests. “He’s the creeper here.”

You sigh. “I know, I just… you don’t think less of me, do you? That I didn’t… take care of him myself.”

Soap’s expression softens. He draws you into a quick one-armed hug. “You did take care of ‘im, far as I’m concerned. I was just there to enforce. No need to mess up yer pretty nails, aye?”

You smile, small but genuine. “Thanks, again.”

��Anytime, li’l miss.”

The elevator chimes as it reaches the top floor. You turn to Soap just before the doors open.

“Oh, and please don’t tell the boss.”

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Masterlist

[slu7formen]

Luke Castellan request here! When reader, who loves fashion, asks her boyfriend to come to her cabin so she can model for him but instead of the usual dresses or skirts, it's lingerie 🤭

girl you filfthy

MDNI. luke castellan x fem!reader

warnings: dom but lovesick luke, spanking (literally once), mention of oral s3x, p in v, teasing, finger sucking

₊˚⊹♡

You gnawed on your thumbnail, a nervous but thrilling energy buzzing through you like a live wire. You occasionally looked out the window, waiting for your boyfriend to show up, and after what felt like an eternity, a knock on the door shattered the silence. You practically flung the door open, a wide smile plastered across your face.

There stood Luke, your boyfriend, framed by the golden afternoon light. His initial smile faltered when he saw you, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Hey, love" he greeted, his voice laced with concern.��"What's with the coat? It´s like a hundred degrees outside"

"Oh, this?" you quipped, playfully kicking your foot out behind you. "This is just part of the surprise." Your voice held a teasing tone, causing a small laugh from your boyfriend.

Luke didn´t question it. He knew how much you adored fashion, your passion fueled partly by your heritage as Aphrodite's daughter. Your surprise fashion shows every couple weeks, held in the privacy of your cabin, were a regular occurrence in your relationship.

And you just loved the attention he´d give you. The joy on his face, the raw desire in his eyes when he saw you in those outfits, fueled your passion even further. This time, however, you had something different planned. Something you haven´t tried before.

You grabbed his hand. "Come on" you chirped excitedly, pulling him inside with you as you closed the door.

Walking towards the bed, you gestured for Luke to sit comfortably. With a sigh, he sank down onto the cushions, stretching out his long legs and letting out a contented groan. "Alright," he conceded, feigning impatience. "Show me”

"Patience" you sang, leaning down to leave a sweet, lingering kiss on his lips. It already left Luke wanting more, a hint of the sensuality that awaited him.

Pulling back, you placed your hands playfully behind your back. "Close your eyes" you commanded.

“What?” he chucked.

"You heard me" you continued. "Close your eyes, Luke."

He couldn't help but laugh a little. You'd had your fair share of surprise fashion shows in this cabin, and never once had you asked him to close his eyes. He had seen you in everything – from flowy maxi dresses to chic skirts and playful jumpsuits. Yet, here you were, adding a layer of mystery to the whole event.

“No” he simply said then, shrugging his shoulders.

You stomped one foot lightly on the floor. "Luke!" you whined, your voice laced with mock frustration.

"Nuh-uh" he countered, shaking his head with a grin.

"Please" you pleaded, batting your eyelashes at him in a way you knew he couldn't resist. "Just this once. Close your eyes for me?"

His smile softened. "Baby, why the big secret?" he asked, genuine curiosity flickering beneath the amusement in his eyes. "It's not like I haven't seen you in everything already. A beautiful dress, a sexy skirt, shorts, a blouse— whatever surprise you have, it's gonna look fabulous on you."

You shook your head, biting your lip to hold back a mischievous grin. "It's none of those things, silly" you hinted.

"Is it that bikini you were freaking out about?" he teased, raising an eyebrow. He remembered you whining weeks ago about forgetting a stunning pink bikini you'd just bought.

“No” you whined again. “But thanks for reminding me”

"Sweetheart" he started, a smile playing on his lips. "I'm not closing my eyes. Just do your thing, like you always do” he said, laying back on his hands onto the mattress.

You sighed. This boy, you thought. “Fine” you finally conceded.

Luke watched you with a growing curiosity as your fingers got rid of the little fabric-like-belt that hugged your waist and kept the coat closed. He couldn't help but admire the way you moved, a subtle sensuality that was familiar and electrifying.

With a delicate movement, you untied it and let the coat fall open, cascading down your shoulders and pooling at your feet on the ground, revealing the outfit you'd been hiding beneath.

Luke stopped breathing. A choked sound, something like a whimper, escaped his lips, his hand instinctively flying up to cover his mouth.

You stood before him in a set of lingerie, a vision of breathtaking beauty. The set was a masterpiece of pink lace and whisper-thin silk, designed to ignite a fire in his heart. It clung to your curves like a second skin, strategically leaving just enough to the imagination to set his mind ablaze.

The fabric seemed to map the contours of your body with exquisite precision, contrasting beautifully with the golden necklace hanging from your neck. Every lace pattern, every curve emphasized by the design, was a feast for his eyes. The details overwhelmed his senses. Delicate bra straps adorned your shoulders, adorned with tiny bows that matched the ones strategically placed at the apex of your thighs. The lace traced the outline of your body, highlighting your best features in a way that sent shivers cascading down his spine.

He felt momentarily paralyzed. His eyes followed the curve of your hips, of your breasts, where the fabric skimmed your skin, barely there and yet somehow holding everything in place. His mind raced with a million thoughts, none of them coherent.

His cock started to hurt against his pants, tightening and throbbing and more than ready for attention.

A slow smile, as confident as it was mischievous, spread across your face. You knew the effect you were having. So you decided to break the delicious silence. Casually placing your hands on your hips, you tilted your head at a playful angle. "So," you finally said,  "What do you think, babe?"

Luke's predicament was comical. His eyes darted back and forth like a trapped animal, taking in every inch of your exquisite form. His mind, usually sharp and focused, was a tangled mess. The hand that had previously covered his mouth now rubbed his face in frustration as he groaned. You giggled softly, a faint blush crept up your own cheeks.

It finally stopped over his eyes as if to shield himself from the overwhelming image. "Are you trying to kill me?" he finally wheezed, his voice devoid of its usual smooth charm. It sounded more like the desperate gasp of a man who'd just run a marathon in the desert heat.

You pretended to think of an answer. "Maybe a little" you admitted.

He dropped his hand, eyes roaming around your body once again. But Luke tore his gaze away for a moment, locking eyes with you. His gaze held yours for a beat before his body finally seemed to catch up with his mind.

He stood up slowly, his movements deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. You stood perfectly still with your arms on your sides, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. A mix of anticipation and nervous excitement bubbled in your stomach.

He approached you slowly, his eyes locked on yours. He then stopped just inches from you. His hand reached out to yours, slowly tracing a circle on the back of your hand with his thumb.

"Twirl around for me" he whispered, his voice thick with need.

Your lips twitched into a mischievous smile. You couldn't hold back the amusement bubbling within you. He was completely captivated, a delicious side effect of your surprise.

But you played along, your smile softening as you held his hand properly. You lifted your hand and Luke´s above your head, mimicking the movement of a dancer as you twirled with a slow, and deliberate spin.

Luke watched you, mesmerized, his eyes following your every move. The dip of your back, the lack of fabric there. The way the little piece of clothes exposed your ass, making him clench his free hand in a fist to prevent himself from touching you like he wanted. He looked like a man possessed, his breathing ragged, his gaze devouring every inch of you.

"Wow" he finally managed, the word escaping his lips in a breathless sigh. It was a simple word, but the way he said it was enough. You had left him speechless, officially.

“Like what you see?” you ask.

He seemed to choke on his saliva. "Like?" he echoed, the word barely a squeak. His hands, warm and calloused, reached for your hips. He squeezed gently, twice. His fingers dipped under the delicate lace on the sides of your hips, the rough contrast against your soft skin sending a delicious shiver down your spine. "Baby, I—" he started, his voice thick with desire.  But he cut himself off, a breathless laugh escaping his lips.

"Can't speak?" you teased, leaning closer, your lips hovering a tantalizing breath away from his.

“I can´t think” he admitted. His hands roamed further, exploring the curve of your waist.

You stand on your tip toes, brushing your lips against his. You feel his hands tightening its grip on your waist, pulling you in ever more, your body pressed against him. "What do you want to do with me, Luke?" you whispered, your voice laced with a seductive challenge.

He no longer bothered with words. Instead, his strong hands took a sudden grip on your thighs, just below your ass, as he lifted you effortlessly off your feet. Your legs wrap unconsciously around his waist and your arms across his neck as you let out a soft laugh. You found yourself face-to-face with him, his gaze devouring yours with intensity before he took a grip on the back of your neck and smashed his lips against yours.

With long steps, he walked backwards until he felt the bed against the back of his legs, softly sitting down on the mattress as you properly sat on his lap. He wouldn´t let you breath, constantly stealing the air from your lungs as he kissed you hungrily, messily. His teeth grazed over your bottom lip constantly, tempting to bite.

You let out a soft moan against Luke´s lips when one of his hands smacks down on one of your ass cheeks, then gripping on the red flesh.

“Do we have time?” he asks breathlessly against your lips.

“We always do” you reply.

Sex with Luke was a filled with passion and intensity, each encounter a crescendo of pleasure that left you both breathless and wanting more, each encounter better than the last.

Luke's dominance was a force to be reckoned with, his touch both tender and commanding as he explored every inch of your body. He reveled in the sight of you clad in that tantalizing lingerie, his desire burning brighter with each passing moment.

With a hunger that matched your own, Luke lavished attention on you, his lips and hands mapping every curve, every contour. He teased a lot, his fingers dancing over the fabric, snapping it, twirling it, each movement growing the wetness in between your legs.

His mouth finding every sensitive spot. Your cries of ecstasy echoed through the cabin as his tongue lapped over your cunt, with your fingers tangled in his curls as you tugged ever so often. The sounds were wet, dirty, grotesque even, but that’s just how Luke was; so desperate for you that he didn’t even think what he was doing, just focusing on what made you feel good.

As you straddled him, your bodies moving along, Luke fought to hold back the pleasure that threatened to consume him. But with each roll of your hips, each gasp that escaped your lips, his control slipped further and further away.

"O-oh, fuck" he groaned. His hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements with a possessiveness that bordered on obsession, his hips meeting yours with a primal urgency that sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins.

With the afternoon sun casting golden rays through the windows, you both knew that discretion was key. But as your moans threatened to betray you, Luke's hand found its way to your lips. He didn’t need to ask.

Your lips wrapped eagerly on his thumb, the rest of his fingers gripping on your jaw.

"So needy, sweetheart" he whispered, his voice a deliciously sinful melody that sent shivers down your spine. "So needy for my cock, huh?"

Luke ravaged you, his cock slamming into you with a force that bordered on brutality, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the cabin like a primal drumbeat.

It felt almost animalistic. He never got rid of your clothes —if you could call it ‘clothes’—, his forehead shining with sweat, his chest red and lips parted just inches away from yours. You were his weakness, and having you like this, hopping on his cock frenetically and wearing something that was just for him… it drove him mad.

“You’re mine. All mine, right?” he asked, tilting his head. You knew he was close, by the way his hands now gripped on your ass, letting him take full control of the roll of your hips, occasionally pulling at the sides of your thong. You struggled for a bit, your movements becoming as sloppy and as messy as his, less precise, but you managed;

“Yes. Yes, Luke, I’m yours”

[jareaul0ver]

Bruises (pt 2)

part 1

Summary: Regina continues to give you special treatment after your fight with Shane, and the truth of why is revealed.

wc: 1.7k warnings: mentions of the fight, none really, just a happy ending :) pairings: regina george x reader

After the fight you had with Shane, Regina had been all over you. You weren’t sure why, you’re weren’t concussed nor did you need help with anything, but who were to you complain.

It was a week or so after the incident and you were sitting with your usual friends in the cafeteria for lunch. Regina and you had spoken a lot since then, but you weren’t expecting to see her standing behind you when you turned around.

“Regina, hey.” You smiled up at her. Your friends stared at you with wide eyes.

She looked down at you, trying her best to keep a neutral face. “Come sit with us.” A few people gasped and she shot them a glare before looking back at you, her face softening immediately. No one else could see past her scary façade except for you.

You glanced back at your friends and they nodded. You stood up and grabbed your things. Regina’s hand twitched and she had to stop herself from grabbing yours and pulling you with her. Instead, she just walked away, expecting you to follow.

Of course, you did. Regina sat in her usual spot, the seat next to her open. You smiled at Gretchen and Karen, and at the unfamiliar face sitting in between them. “Hi, I’m Cady.” She smiled back at you.

“Y/N, nice to meet you.” You were always polite. That was one of the many things Regina had come to adore about you - except in this moment. She didn't know why but you being so nice to Cady bothered her on another level.

She pushed down the strange feeling and patted the seat next to her. "Sit here, Y/N." You obliged and sat your stuff down before sitting next to her, leaving a bit of space between the two of you.

Lunch went normally. Well, as normal as it can get while sitting with the plastics. You had to admit, it was fun hearing all of the drama that Gretchen had info on. You were a little surprised, however, that Regina hadn't talked as much shit as you used to hear about.

Something about her had changed in the past few months. You wondered if Cady had anything to do with it. She seemed like a sweet girl, maybe she was rubbing off on Regina.

"Y/N?" Regina placed her hand on your arm and you looked at her. "You coming today?"

You blinked a few times and glanced down at the feeling of her skin on yours. You looked back up to meet her eyes. "Coming to what?"

"My house, silly. Were you listening?" She smiled at you and ran her hand down your arm before putting it back in her lap.

"Oh, yeah, sure." You nodded. The last time you had been to Regina's house was last year. Regina was sure you needed some sort of glam makeover, so she dressed you up like her own personal human Barbie.

She was sitting in front of you, practically on your lap, while applying a heavy layer of makeup to your face. You kept flinching away when she attempted eyeliner, so she reached out and firmly gripped your chin.

She finally finished and smiled at you. "There. Perfect." She had already dressed you up, putting you in one of her famous pink sweaters and a short white skirt. "Go look in the mirror."

You obliged and got up from her bed. You stared at yourself in the mirror, unable to hide the unsatisfactory expression on you face. You frowned at yourself.

Regina came up behind you in the mirror and her smile faltered. "You don't like it." She said a little sadly. You shook your head. "But you look so pretty."

You turned to face her and sighed. "It's not me. Like, at all." She studied your face for a second before walking over to her vanity and grabbing makeup remover and cotton pads. She came back over and stood close to you.

She began to gently remove the makeup from your face. "You should've said something before I started." She said quietly.

You closed your eyes, letting her get the eyeliner off of you. "You seemed so excited, I didn't want to ruin your fun."

She stopped her movements for a second before starting again. You assumed it was to get more makeup remover on the pad, but really, she found herself staring at you, feeling a little bad for making you uncomfortable. "You shouldn't let people walk all over you. You aren't doing yourself any good." She said quickly before silence washed over you.

The end of the day had been approaching too slowly for your liking. Sure you were excited to go, but you were nervous as hell. You quickly grabbed your things from your locker and left the school, heading over to Regina's iconic pink Jeep.

She sat in the front seat and Gretchen, Karen, and Cady were all piled in the back. Regina spotted you from a small distance and crooked her finger, summoning you over to her. You picked up your walking speed and stood near the driver's side door.

"Passenger side, get in." Gretchen shot Regina a look, shocked that she was letting you sit up front, but she ignored it. You silently got in the car and glanced back at the girls, shooting them an apologetic glance.

The car ride to her house was awkward. You all sat in a strange silence. The girls were fed up with Regina's special treatment of you, while you were simply confused.

You all eventually piled into Regina's house and were headed upstairs to her room when you heard a gasp behind you. You spun around and Mrs. George stood with a smile on her face. "Y/N Y/L/N, is that you?"

You smiled at Regina's mom and walked back down the stairs. She immediately hugged you. "I haven't seen you in forever dear, where'd you disappear to?"

The two of you let go. "Been busy with school and hockey, I guess." You glanced back at Regina, and it wasn't visible, but you could tell she felt guilty.

"Mom, we have things to do." The blonde rolled her eyes. You said goodbye and went upstairs with the rest of the group.

Regina sat on her bed, Gretchen and Karen crowding by Regina's vanity, while you and Cady stood there awkwardly, unsure what to do. Gretchen came over and grabbed Cady, shooting you a small look of contempt.

You stood alone for only a second before Regina beckoned you over with the curl of her finger. You obliged, like always, and sat on the edge of her bed.

"How's your face healing?" She asked quietly.

You shrugged. "I mean, it doesn't hurt that bad anymore, so I guess it's healing fine." Regina nodded at you and moved her hand up to your face, gently running her thumb over the scab on your cheek.

A heat flooded your cheeks and you couldn't help but lean into her touch a bit. The moment was sadly cut short when Gretchen started speaking and Regina dropped her hand back to her lap. "So, do we need to update Shane's status in the burn book? After what he did to Y/N, I think we should."

Karen nodded along and I noticed the confusion on Cady's face. "Burn book?"

Gretchen and Karen went in depth with showing Cady every page in the burn book. You shot Regina a glance. "You still have that thing?"

She almost looked ashamed. Almost. "Yeah, guess so." You just sighed and pulled out your phone.

The sun was setting. Cady had already left, and Gretchen and Karen were leaving. They said their goodbyes and disappeared out of Regina's room.

"Regina?" You spoke up the second you two were alone. She hummed as an answer and you continued. "Why've you been so nice to me lately?"

Regina's body tensed up. "I told you before, you fought my ex and I wanted to make sure you were fine."

You shook your head. "I don't think that's the whole truth." You spoke softly.

There was silence before Regina sighed. "Fine. I lied. Not about the whole making sure you're okay thing, but the reason why I care so much."

You scooted closer to Regina on her bed and reached out to grab one of her hands. "Then what's really going on?"

She glanced at your eyes before dropping her gaze to your hands. "It is my fault that Shane fought you. I never told anyone the truth about what happened when we broke up. He didn't cheat on me and I didn't end things with him." She took a deep breath.

You stayed silent, letting her continue. “He broke up with me. He said I liked someone else and-“ She shook her head. “I didn’t admit to it, obviously, but I didn’t deny it either.”

You gently ssqueezed her hand and spoke softly. “Gina, I- I’m sorry.” A small look of confusion flashed behind your eyes. “But I don’t get what that has to do with you protecting me?”

She stared down at her lap. “Because it was you. He said I liked you.” Her bottom lip trembled a bit. “I tried so hard not to, but clearly it didn’t work.” She let out a shaky breath.

You stated at her with wide eyes. Regina George liked you? “Is this some sort of prank or something. Did Gretchen and Karen not actually leave? Are they outside, because-“

“No you idiot.” She placed her hands on your face and pulled you towards her, finally connecting your lips together like she had been longing to do for forever.

It took you a second to process what was happening, but when you did, you kissed her back hard. You put your hands on her waist and pulled her onto your lap. She gasped softly and you took advantage of her parted lips, slipping your tongue past them and brushing it agains hers.

You groaned at the taste of her mouth and you gently squeezed her hips. She giggled and pulled away. "Call me an idiot but I'd fight any of your exes any day if it means I get this." You smiled at her and she lightly pushed your shoulder.

She leaned forward and tucked her head against your neck. "It feels really good to get that off my chest."

You ran your fingers gently up and down her back. "I'm glad you finally did."

taglist: @reneeswif3

[rainydayathogwarts]

HEYYY!! I HAVE A REQUEST PLEASE

Prompt 6 with dialogue 14 w/ Ron. Steamy make out session (smut only if you're ok with it) in an abandoned classroom maybe? while they skip classes. So like it ends with Ron saying the line in dialogue 14. Or yk whatever or however you feel like writing the whole thing I don't mind. love you writing SM AHHH ♡♡♡ tysm love

I know I already wrote one with prompt 6 but it never hurts do it again... "If I kiss you right now, I won't be able to stop." & Wiping away leftover lipgloss from their lips after kissing them. warnings: SMUT, public sex (empty room though) 1k wc

Giggling at another of of Ron's silly jokes, you twisted on his lap, taking a look at the clock hung up on the other side of the empty classroom you were busy 'studying' in. Ron gripped your hips at your sudden movement, groaning when you stood up with a sigh. "Oh, I need to start packing up. I didn't realise class started so soon." You stated, leaning over the table to gather your books, exposing the skin of your upper thigh as your skirt lifted up slightly. Ron followed your movements, standing to his full length before taking a step towards you, hands resting on the wooden table, trapping you between him and the desk.

"Ron." You muttered, spinning in his arms to face his looming figure. "Yes sweetheart?" You breathed out a laugh, hands coming up to straighten his collar before curiously looking up at him. Swallowing nervously, you licked your lips, cocking your head to the side slightly. Ron's gaze on you was almost predatorial, eyes locked on your face as you stepped away from him nervously. You hit the desk behind you, emitting a small gasp as your eyes instinctively falling to your boyfriend's lips. "Don't go to class." The words uttered from Ron's lips had you looking back up at his face, a small grin on your face. "I can't skip, Ron." You told him, although you didn't push him away when he closed the space between your bodies, pressing himself up against you.

He leaned down to your level, lips mere millimetres away from yours, teasing you. Your eyes fluttered and you felt yourself inclining into your boyfriend's touch, but your lips never met his. "If I kiss you right now, I won't be able to stop." He whispered, but that only encouraged your movements, arms wrapping over his shoulders to pull him closer to you. Ron's lips met yours in a slow, passionate kiss, taking his time as though you didn't have a lesson to get to. But you suppose that was fine; he had warned you. Ron's hands travelled further down your waist, settling on your hips, using the steady grip on you to roll his hips into yours. You gasped, granting him space to slip his tongue in your mouth to deepen the kiss.

Both your arms fell from their resting place on Ron's shoulders, going to rest on the desk behind you as Ron's hands wandered below your hips to grip your ass, lifting you up slightly to help place you on the cool wood. Your hand reached out, pulling Ron closer to you by his tie to close the space you had just created. Ron stepped into the gap between your legs, tugging your body closer to the edge of the desk as he gently rolled his hips against your, his hard length grinding against your cunt, only covered by the thin layer of your dampening panties.

Pulling away from the kiss to catch your breath, you looked at your boyfriend expectantly, waiting to see his next movements. Ron's hand dragged up your thigh until it disappeared under your skirt, searching blindly for the band of your panties. Gasping loudly when his hand feathered over pussy, you looked up, spotting Ron's proud grin. "Can't help myself." He explained, leaning in to press a short, teasing kiss to your lips. Finally pulling the underwear down your legs, Ron let you unbuckle his belt, observing each little movement you made.

His cock sprung out of his boxers excitedly, and Ron immediately got to work of pushing himself inside you inch by inch, watching your face for signs of pain. When he felt your hips grinding against him, he bottomed out, biting his bottom lip to keep from moaning out loud. Ron started thrusting immediately, watching the spot where his cock was driving into your cunt with wide eyes. His hand cupped your face, tearing your gaze away from his chest so he could see you quietly moaning before finally connecting your lips once more. Ron sped up his pace at the same time as he deepened the kiss, letting your moans get swallowed by the kiss. Your arms came back up to his shoulders, desperately gripping the dampening fabric of his uniform as if it would somehow quiet down your moans.

Ron separated from the kiss, opting to dig his head in the crook of your neck instead, leaving you to lean your forehead on his shoulder, biting down on your lip to muffle your moans as much as possible. "Fuck, Ron" You cried, nails digging into his shoulders. One of his hands slid under your skirt again, blindly feeling around for your clit until a loud moan signalled that he had found it. Rubbing hard circles down on it, Ron hurried the pace of his thrusts, his breath hitting your neck with every pant. "Baby I'm close." He groaned before biting down on the soft skin of your neck. Suddenly, he felt your pussy clamping down on him, and your moans got louder, echoing in the closed room, your orgasm taking over your body completely.

Ron's orgasm came quickly after yours, his moans muffled by your skin. His thrusts slowed as he rode both your orgasms out before he rolled his shoulders back, straightening up to get a good look at you all fucked out. Leaning down, he pressed a soothing kiss on your forehead, pulling out before hugging you close to his chest as you caught your breath. Glancing up, you smiled at your boyfriend, a small giggle leaving you when you saw the mess of lip gloss on his lips. Reaching up, you wiped away at the shine of glitter on his lips before smushing his cheeks together in your hand and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Do I still have time to make it to class?" The only response you got was an incredulous look from your boyfriend, throwing you into another fit of giggles.

[kinq-sleazee]

Sharing is Caring

MDNI(18+)| Poly!GojoGeto, Fem!Reader, Black!Reader, Chubby!Reader, Boys Kiss, Fingering, Oral, They're a little mean, dubcon ?, gojo and reader have been drinking, geto is also a little sleepy, idk, What PLot ?,

You were a lot more confident with the cheers of your friends spurring you on as you brought over the drink to the handsome man at the bar. The liquid courage coursing through your veins aided in the honeyed smile that adorned your features while you gave your name, to which he replied “Gojo Satoru” with a wink before downing the gifted shot and encouraging you to do the same. The cerulean inferno of his gaze catalyzing the burning liquid that spread warmth through your limbs. But, now after a night of suggestive conversation and slow grinding on the dance floor, you’re starting to wonder if you bit off more than you could chew.

“You taking me home then, pretty?” he smirks, pockets shoved casually in his pockets as he leans against the bar. You did tell him initially that you planned on making him “yours” that night, albeit awkward and you stuttered half of the sentence, but he liked it. The “good girl gone bad” thing worked for you, and he thanked God for giving you such a supportive friend group. You gulped, straightening stiffly to pull at the black skirt that had crept up your luscious thighs all night. “Of c-course. Follow me” you cursed yourself inwardly, but the cloudy haze of alcohol and arousal dulled most of your embarrassment.

The ride to his place was agonizing. He barely spoke, opting to hum a bluesy tune while looking out of the window. Gojo kept his hand on your thigh, occasionally squeezing and kneading the doughy flesh there. He couldn’t wait to mark them up properly.

On the elevator his demeanor changed completely. He went from relaxed and charming to imposing and seductive. Your back against the wall, bodies pressed together—Gojo licked across your jaw both hands on your ass cheeks as he rocked you against his thigh.

“Got me all worked up, baby. Treated me nice” he groaned after one particularly salacious moan. “What was it that you said? ‘I’m on you real bad. You my man now.’ You said that right?” Satoru laughed at your frustrated whines. Shaking his head, his lips slotted back against yours, tongue easily dominating the cavern. He smelled sweet in the best way. Like a decadent vanilla with a layer of something much deeper and darker.

The elevator chimed and he pulled away, opting to hold your hand instead of your ass.

A singular door was positioned on the opposite side of the short hallway. A penthouse. You thought, impressed that you were able to snag a not only incredibly attractive but also seemingly wealthy hookup on your first night out in a very long time.

Gojo knocked loudly on the door, confusing you, but as if reading your mind he squeezed your hand and smirked. “i-uh forgot my keys… yeah, I forgot my keys” he chuckled smoothly, “Sugu will let us in”.

As if on cue, the locking mechanism clicked, and the door opened revealing “Sugu” in his shirtless glory. Gojo was strikingly gorgeous, with prominent features that drew attention with ease, but his friend was a more “subtle beauty”. The type that you’d miss if you weren’t paying attention but when you actually saw them, your jaw would be on the floor. He pouted sleepily, a look that seemed almost silly on such a sexy man, rubbing his eyes and looking between the two of you.

“Toru, what are you—” he was cut off by Gojo smashing their lips together. The dark-haired man eyes widened comically but he didn’t pull away which drew a pleased groan from Gojo. He looked at you curiously, eyes glazing over your body and pausing on your cleavage and exposed midsection. You were thick—just their type. With a gorgeous face to match. The gears started to turn in his mind as Satoru’s tongue washed away the last remnants of sleep.  He pulled away, smiling sweetly. “Hello” he murmured, wiping a mixture of saliva and gloss from the corner of his mouth. The man took Satoru’s face in his hand and forced his thumb inside. The other moaned around the digit, swirling his tongue while maintaining contact with the dark eyes in front of him.

“Sugu” cursed under his breath as Gojo bobbed on his finger but turned to you with a roguish smile. “And you are?” he purred, voice laced with saccharine arousal and interest.

Going. You’ll be going. Because whatever this is, it’s clearly more than you bargained for. You try to pull away but Gojo’s grip on your hand tightens. He pulls the finger from his mouth and frowns. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? Tryin’ to leave us already?”

US! Us. Us? The idea of an “us” with two of the most beautiful men that you’ve ever seen is intriguing, but you can barely wrap your head around having sex with one stranger. Let alone two.

 “i-i” you stammered, breathing heavily when Gojo pulled you closer to them. “you-you, what?” The white-haired man laughed loudly, pressing your body between them. “Don’t get shy now, baby. You had some big talk back at the club. I figured I might need the extra help”. He turned your body to face the other man while pressing into you from behind. His hardness grazed your lower back, and you whimpered at the thickness.

“Gojo, I don’t understand”, you paused, breathless from the feeling of his hardened cock rutting against you. “I thought we were … who is this?” The ravenette chucked darkly, dropping his hand to grab yours and bring it to his lips. “Geto Suguru. It’s a pleasure”. The way he spoke the word did dangerous things to your pussy.

“Sugu’s my best friend, Y/N. We share everything”. His voice drops, ‘And tonight we’re going to share you”.

…

A rush of heat pooled in your cheeks and between your thighs, as you listened to Satoru recount the details of your evening to a very intrigued Suguru. All the lewd comments made during your alcohol induced stupor. He mimicked all the sweet noises you made on the dance floor when he touched you. Mentioned how you squirmed in the car with anticipation.  Exposed that you rode his knee in the elevator like a depraved whore.

“Had my cock all leaky” he whined dramatically, making Suguru snort.

It was embarrassing. Mortifying even. This wasn’t you. You didn’t do things like this. You’re not a whore. You tried to argue, but they ignored you. They spoke like you weren’t even there. Even with the dark-haired man’s fingers buried in your cunt.

Geto rested his chin casually over your shoulder, with you sitting between his spread legs on the sofa. His index and ring fingers pumped in and out and a snail like pace, occasionally scissoring and curling upwards to massage your gummy walls. The rough pad of his thumb circled your clit with a mixture of your own arousal and saliva.

He pushed your head down and made you spit on it before he even got started.

His free massaged your breasts roughly but avoided your nipples. There was no rush. He just wanted to enjoy the feeling of your flesh spilling between your fingers. He wasn’t trying to make you cum. It seemed like he wanted the opposite. Every time he felt you tightening around his fingers, he’d pull out and offer them to Gojo who’d stop mid-sentence for a taste before continuing the conversation.

“That’s why I brought her to your place, Sugu. She was sooo confident that she could handle me. She seemed like such a big girl” Satoru grinned, placing extra emphasis on the last phrase. He knew it sounded condescending—that was the point. He wasn’t even planning on taking anyone home that night but you just served yourself up on a platter. So ready and willing.  

Satoru kneeled between your spread legs, glasses pushed atop his head and a crooked smirk plastered on his face.

“You cryin’?”

That made Suguru’s cock throb. He released your breast to grip your chin, turning your head so that your eyes met his. Pure lust and desperation filled your orbs. It was a captivating sight. They’d barely done anything and you were already wrecked. Gojo had really outdone himself this time.

“Poor thing” he murmured sweetly against your lips. “Would like to cum, sweetheart?”  All you could response was “please”. Begging over and over again for relief. It just wasn’t enough. You needed more.

Geto shushed you, “Calm down, baby. ‘Toru has what you need”. With a lewd squelch he removed his fingers and smeared the slick across your cheek. “Keep your eyes on him”. It was hard. Head cloudy with lust. All you saw was blue.

A wrecked sob fell from your throat when Gojo finally laid his hands on you. Blunt nails dug into your thighs to spread them impossibly wider. He bent down to lick at the sticky slick that clung to your pretty brown skin, and he whined at the taste. He needed more, this time biting down hard making you cry out.

“Somebody likes pain” Geto sung, taking both your nipples and twisting them between his calloused fingers.

Satoru hummed, more focused on the excessive amount of slick weeping from your pussy. Two fingers slid down your slit to spread your labia, he pushed them back up to press on your clit then he pulled down to shove them in your cunt in one fluid motion. His pouty lips attached to your little bundle, and he suckled while rolling his tongue in circles. He spelled his name on your cunny while his best friend slapped your breasts and sucked on your tongue.

It was all too much. Too fast. Your back arched deeply, eyes rolling to the back of your head and chest rising and falling rapidly. You bit down on Geto’s lip, hard enough to draw blood. He groaned, yanking your head back to lick across your throat while you rolled your hips against Gojo’s face riding out your high.

The two men waited for you to come down for a few seconds. Kissing your face and stomach. Rubbing your legs and thighs. Praising and thanking you for doing such a job. And promising to reward you with two loads of cum in every one of your holes.

________________________________________________________

Its been a minute. Im a lil rusty-- not proofread,

do not percieve me , i do not wish to be perceived.

lol

@xogabbiexo , @chaiiskindagross , @hentyehottie , @nasty-quillz , @plussizeficchick , @bookwormsenpai

[hypogryffin]

I am obsessed with the way u draw Akechi (I really like the details of the scars you’ve given him bc that really connects with me) and I love the way u often draw him in heavy layers of formal clothing that cover up a lot (the game does that too but I feel like ur art really highlights it). It also makes seeing him in less conservative clothing hit harder. The doodle of him in short sleeves & a skirt with the Labrys art is silly of course but it also feels really vulnerable and genuine in a way that makes me a little emotional dhdjdbd

waaah omg thank you!! i try really hard to give characters a consistent style when i dress them up so it means a lot that thats been noticed teehee. i like to think that as "the detective prince" he adopted the style of a lot of business-casual, conservative clothing in light colours. once he stops needing to put on airs in the same way, he branches out with darker colours which he prefers, but usually, he'll still be covering himself up to avoid making a stir w all of his scars-- its better to avoid too much attention.

[nanamiscocksleeve]

A Sheath for a Sword

Warnings: MDNI, Crack fic, crude language, PIV sex, dirty talking, slight foursome A/N: This isn't an actual WIP, I just got a silly idea and wrote it out. Hardly took any time at all. Kind of a Victorian era goofy, crack fic. Not in y/n format, just felt right doing it in third person. Not proofread. Image credit Masson on Shutterstock

A young woman is crawling weakly through a field. The feeling of thirst claws at her body. It's been 3 months since she's had cock. 3 whole months and she's starving.

In a desperate bid to satisfy her hunger, she left her village, only to be overcome by her own weaknesses now on her knees, crying out in desperation.

"Cock...a bit of cock...anyone please...so thirsty..." Her labored movements drain her of the little energy she had, and she rests her head on the grass, panting, feeling her body succumbing to her basic needs. So this is how it ends, she thinks to herself. With a dry cunt and no prospects in sight.

She feels her thoughts becoming less cohesive, eyes becoming heavy and breathing shallow. She closes her eyes and waits for her ultimate end.

Unbeknownst to her, a merry order of knights were nearby and they had heard her pathetic cries of thirst. They march towards her aid, a trio of tall, strapping, gentlemen.

"The poor thing," murmurs Sir Geto The Long.

"Indeed," agrees Sir Gojo The Strong.

"I hope she'll recover," says Sir Nanami The Dauntless.

"Let's rouse her and see how she responds." Sir Geto rolls her onto her back and begins to pull up the various layers of skirts beneath her dress before he finally reaches the small strip of linen covering her pussy. He pulls it off and gasps in shock.

"I do say...look at it's state!"

Sir Gojo and Sir Nanami gather closer to see and they almost gasp in horror.

"I've never seen a cunt so dry!"

"Poor thing must be starving."

"She might have come from one of those old villages, the ones that took all the young men off to war!"

"She has traveled great lengths and gone without. We should put in our best efforts to revive her."

Sir Geto nods, gathering saliva onto his tongue. "I shall give it my best hawk tuah." With that, he brings as much as he can onto the dried pussy lips, spreading it onto her parched folds to offer relief.

The woman stirs, feeling something pleasantly lapping at her cunt, then shivers as her corset is undone and removed along with her chemise. Her eyes open a fraction, then she gasps as she sees two handsome men suckling on her titties, her poor, deprived titties, which would have been as dry as her cunt had it not been for the help of the salve the apothecary had made for her.

She clears her throat to get their attention. Sir Gojo releases her nipple, looking at her in apology.

"I'm sorry my lady, I hope you don't mind. You did look like you were in need of aid."

"I was. was looking for relief and must have passed out in the field." She gasps as she feels a tug on the womanly pearl between her legs. "Oh my! When I started on this journey, I was hoping to find at least one man to fill my venus cavern. I was never expecting 3! May I know your names, kind sirs?"

"Sir Gojo Satoru the strong." The white-haired knight introduces himself.

Nanami who had been licking her nipple this whole time lets go with a wet pop. "And I am Sir Nanami Kento The Dauntless."

"Dauntless?"

"He never backs down from anything. Never met a dame he hasn't satisfied, no matter how difficult she might be. Leaves the wildcats purring like house kittens by the time he's done!" Sir Gojo explains with a bark of laughter.

"And the chivalrous man between your legs restoring moisture to your cunt is Sir Geto The Long." Sir Gojo points the covered shape between her legs.

"Oh...long indeed, I can feel his tongue covering me all the way from the rosebud to the kitty cave!" she giggles and sighs as she feels her thirst ebbing away.

"That's not the only reason we call him that. You'll find out soon enough."

"Are you comfortable with us providing you with this assistance in a field my lady? We had no chance to ask since your condition was dire and you were unconscious. Would you prefer a room and a bed?" Sir Nanami asks as he tweaks her nipple with his calloused fingertips.

"Oh lord, no," she chuckles. "Outside is fine it's thrilling actually."

"Excellent! Well, we shall carry on. Please do not hesitate to cry out in pleasure when you have been thoroughly satisfied."

The woman lays back and lets them lick all her unused parts, feeling strength and vitality flowing back into her body with each flick and tickle. Sir Geto was doing an excellent job of bringing her withered petals back into health and she felt her moisture cavern growing even more wet in preparation for a meat sausage.

She cries out as her first orgasm in three months hits her, the noise echoing across the empty field, and Sir Geto emerges from underneath her clothes, grinning. She blushes as she sees his face, just as handsome as the other two that had been playing with her teats.

"I think I brought it back to life," sir Geto says confidently. "Would you like me to fill your glistening glove of love? Or would you prefer someone else?"

She considers, then admits. "I want Sir Gojo The Strong to break my abstinence."

"Yes my lady," Sir Gojo says with a grin. "Let me fuck thy fair maiden. And bring unto her a climax." With that he flips her back onto her hands and knees and begins to undo his armor. She makes small talk with the other 2 knights since removing armor single-handedly is no easy task. Sir Nanami and Sir Geto take turns lapping at her cave of wonders and pulling her breast pebbles to keep her moistened.

"In short, I thought I was going to die without ever experiencing cock again!" she was saying by the time Sir Gojo finished undressing.

"Quite fascinating my lady," he says, grabbing her hips and positioning them, before pushing his impressive flesh sword into her meat sandwich. She moans like a cat in heat, the exquisite feeling of cock filling her being. It was like being reborn, his erection bringing life back to her starved pussy like rain onto a drought-wrecked farm.

She groans and moans and giggles and sighs, enjoying the fucking of her pussy. "I would so enjoy a cock in my mouth as well sirs," she says looking at Sir Geto and Sir Nanami who begin to remove their own armor. Her eyes widen as she sees their forms.

"Now I understand why you're Sir Geto The Long," she says, measuring his dick with her fingers. "And Sir Nanami! Dauntless indeed! I would be too with that kind of sausage!" she looks at the veiny, glorious, monster cock on Sir Nanami's body.

"Well, feed me gentlemen."

Sir Nanami lets her taste him first, and she sucks him with enthusiasm, feeling her body grow stronger. Sir Geto plays with her nipples as he waits for one of her holes to get free. It takes quite an effort but she manages to get Sir Nanami to a climax, the salty cream from his cock sliding down her throat, an elixir to all her problems. At the same time, Sir Gojo also blesses her wet cunt with his cum, adding much-needed substances to her previously decrepit pussy.

Without wasting time, Sir Geto plunges into her as soon as Sir Gojo is finished. Cross-eyed and happier than she'd been in 3 months, the woman pants, tongue hanging out of her mouth in ecstasy.

"People talked about dry spells before. I thought they were lying. I thought it couldn't possibly be this bad," she explains between each gasp of air.

"Oh no, dry spells are not to be taken lightly. In fact, during the last one, they designated fuck bucks - young men with good vigor, to serve the women during the last war. But the crown's budget has become restricted with this war so they were unable to procure any fuckable men." Sir Nanami explains as he and Sir Gojo help each other with their armor, waiting for Sir Geto to finish.

Sir Geto growls like an animal, then plays with her clit, bringing her to her third orgasm and gives her another generous helping of seed to restore her parched lands.

She sighs in satisfaction. "Thank you Sirs. I really may have died here today."

"Tis no trouble at all my lady." They help her dress. "Would you like to come with us?"

"With you? Where?"

"We take our own quests and wander the lands keeping peace. Surely, you do not wish to go back to your cock deprived village?"

The woman considers, then shakes her head at the horrible prospect. "Indeed, no."

"Then ride with us. We will keep your cunt full, your belly fed, and your tits well suckled. Once our questing has ended you may wed us even."

"Wed? All of you?" The woman looks thrilled at the thought.

"Yes. All 3 of us. If it please you."

"It does!" She goes over to Sir Nanami who helps her onto his horse.

"Then off we go. For more adventures to cum!"

And they all ride away into the sunset.

THE END

@Aether-seawolf @Actuallysaiyan @Makingtimemine @snwvie

© nanamiscocksleeve original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating