#wanna bite him and shake him around like a chew toy

[wayward-persephone]

Help I've watched this for hours now 😩

We moved on WAY too fvking quickly from this…

[feroluce]

So Sampo is canon described as the only person who can travel between the overworld and underground, but it's never actually revealed HOW he gets around.

I'd like to believe part of the reason he's so secretive really is just because of business. One of the best ways to keep your customers is by being the only one to offer something, and Sampo stands to make a pretty nice profit if he's the only one able to smuggle in supplies. Gotta protect the trade routes ☆

BUT the other part is because he's probably one of the only ones that could SURVIVE it. I'd like to think a lot of his routes enter the overworld either in places like Backwater Pass, where it's technically in the city but is overrun by Fragmentum, or on the frontlines, where it's frigid cold and crawling with Silvermane Guards.

If someone manages to get all the way up, and even if they manage to sneak past all of the Guards/monsters and not freeze to death, there's still the possibility of getting caught in the city proper by regular civilians.

And if Cocolia heard word of someone caught in the overworld, I can't imagine there's any way she would just leave that, she separated the halves for a reason. This person would be interrogated, and then the route sealed off, and then the Undergrounders would lose a vital supply route. Sampo has to be extremely careful to not get caught and not be tailed.

And I'm sure he does a lot of shady trading in Belobog proper, but I think a lot of it also comes from him looting the Fragmentum-corroded areas, too. After all, in the Cyrille the Fool quest line, when the trailblazer sees something strange in the Fragmentum, the first person they think to consult is Sampo.

So I love the thought of Sampo being like extremely disciplined and being able to be out there for like days at a time.

Looting is easier in the beginning, but eventually Sampo has to go farther and farther out for supplies. Sometimes he'll be out there for days, and it's not exactly a safe place to sleep, but he can stay awake and alert for absurd amounts of time if he needs to be. Going for 24+ hours isn't unusual for him on a big supply run; Sampo will be awake for a day or two, he'll bring back everything he finds to Natasha, then sleep for a solid 8-12 hours and be back up again. He takes a couple of low key days where he rests or does easy work, then he's ready to plunge into the fray again!

On the rare occasions he sleeps in the Fragmentum, it's not for very long, less than an hour, and Sampo has traps he sets all around him while he sleeps sitting up with daggers in hand. Caelus finds out about this habit the hard way because he gets restless and decides to go explore (I'd like to think with the Stellaron dwelling within him, he's largely immune to any kind of Fragmentum corrosion), and he sees Sampo curled up in a corner, head down. So of course he approaches to see if he's ok, and-

A trap pops and hisses

There's a bright flash of pink

Caelus blinks

His back hits the wooden wall behind him

There's the sound of reverberating metal-on-metal right next to his ear

Caelus blinks again

...and is shocked to suddenly find that Sampo is looming over him, pinning him to the wall, one dagger sunk into the wood and the other blocked by his metal bat.

And they both just stand there for a beat, until Sampo blinks the bleariness out of his unfocused eyes, and then he yawns obnoxiously right in Caelus' face and tells him he shouldn't interrupt people's beauty sleep! How is Sampo supposed to stay so handsome otherwise!?

Caelus only notices shortly thereafter that there's a thin line of blood on his neck, and he belatedly realizes that Sampo really would have taken his head off by pure instinct if he weren't also incredibly quick with his reflexes. No wonder he's the only undergrounder surviving out in the Fragmentum; anything that approaches in his sleep thinking they have easy prey is almost instantly demolished.

[ultfan]

komaeda is so funny bc unless he’s actively lying as part of some scheme he legit believes everything he says. even if he contradicts himself later. he fascinates me sm.

[breadmercury]

DO U SEE MY VISION

[yeyinde]

touch starved reader with an oral fixation x kidnapper!Simon who’s all punishment and no physical affection? Please Simon just a little kiss? with tongues? :( (i just wanna make out with this man while my heart aches for him)

by Allah, you people are dogs. i will write the filth as usual.

DEAD DOVE, 18+ | dubcon. kidnapping. mean!Simon. dom!Simon. masking corporal punishment as affection. kissing. size kink, size difference. some thigh riding. degradation + humiliation (verbal). non-con pet play. marking (heavyyyyyy mentions of Simon biting you like a chew toy). choking. daddy kink (but in the awful, demeaning way). manipulation. forced affection. coersion. forced/manufactured dependency. brief mention of Simon stepping on your back to hold you down so he can whip you w a cat o nine tails. yanno. the usual Friday night.

idk. there's something so hot about you, completely naked, riding Simon's clothed thigh as he holds you up by your neck. tongue out, desperate for a kiss while he just mocks you the whole time.

It's survival. 

At first.  

A means of masking the innate horror of being stripped of your agency, your autonomy, by a man you barely even know. One you met once before (fate sealed), and now—outside of your apartment complex where he was idling by the foothold, smoking a cigarette as he leaned against the brick wall, head turned. Gaze narrowed as you approached. 

Waiting for someone, you assumed, thinking nothing else about the matter. 

Nothing else, except—

He looked familiar. You think you saw him before. He was staring at you. Hadn't stopped. Hasn't said a word, either. The silence was oppressive. Heavy. Your hands fumbled with the keys. Shaking. Trembling. 

He's pretty, you thought, suddenly. In the way car wrecks can sometimes be. Jarring and awful and hideous, but—

Mesmerising. 

Macabre. And that's what he is. Everything from the mask on his face (skulls, go figure), to the absurdity in his size, his width. The way space itself seemed to move around him, bending and distorting just to let him pass. His own gravitational pull. Magnetic. You feel it tugging on you as he pulls another lungful of smoke. Another. Another.  

(like an hourglass, a timebomb, almost. you wonder what will happen when it runs out—)

He gives you the creeps. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. A visceral sense of unease curdling in the pit of your belly as he keeps staring, staring. Eyes—crystalline under the broken headlamp, washout into crushed topaz—drilling into your back, sharp enough to flay skin. Everything inside of you says to run, but your key won't fit inside the lock. Won't—

Ever. 

And hindsight has always been a bitter thing, hasn't it? Cruel in her mockery. Had you known, then, that he wasn't a workman loitering by the complex, waiting for a friend; or a low-level drug dealer casting webs into the plum hewn aether, it might have saved you. Might have. 

Maybe. Because he was there, waiting for you, all along. 

Life has a funny way of paying back good deeds. All it took for your life to crumble down around you, rubble falling off of a shaking mountain, was kindness. Was seeing a large man in the pouring rain, already drenched. Black clothing sticking to the granite contours of his body, and offering sanctum in the shape of a rusting umbrella you found at a thrift store for three dollars. 

(“here,” you said, chipper. All smiles. “i live just down the street, and you look like you need it more than i do. do you want it?”

and he—

he simply stared. stared. his eyes liquid, molten, as they carelessly dropped, roaming down the length of your body at his own leisure. leering. assessing. it was odd. weird, but—

he huffed, then. seemingly satisfied by whatever you measured up to in his head. his neck lulled back, and he gazed at you from down the crooked length of his nose, tucked neatly away under the thick band of a facial mask. skulls. how could you be so stupid? 

slowly, like he was trying not to startle a mare, his gloved hand reached out, curling thick fingers around the hilt of it. he tugged once. in your stupor, you forgot to let go. embarrassment flooded in. he huffed again, quietly amused, as you untangled your numbed fingers from the umbrella. 

in your distraction, he moved closer. smelled of ash, of mildew. sweat and stale cigarettes. there was something predatory in the way he slipped through space. a preternatural quiet. an eerie stillness. 

you hadn't realised he was there, looming, until he rasped out, “more ‘n you could ever realise, pet.”

and you're sure why you do it. did it. but your hand slips into your shopping bag, eyes widen. heart thundering in your chest. 

“are you hungry? i, uh, i just bought some apples, um—”

his eyes are lavascapes. shackles. chains. “i could eat.”)

And now—

Forced to play this strange cat and mouse of his where he treats you like soot on the bottom of his shoe, and you pretend that it's affection. Love. How godless.  

Protection, he calls it. 

("mine," he whispers, orison soft, into your ear. "ain't go' nowhere else to go, do you, pet? world's big. would eat a small thing like you up. safer here. wit' me. only me.") 

You wonder what he'd do if you told him the biggest danger here was the madness nestled inside your head, the one that sometimes made you look at him like he was your salvation instead of the warden holding the end of your leash in a firm hand. Unyielding—like everything he does. Is. 

Withholding, too. Everything must be earned. Nothing given. Nothing handed out. And you know that this is a ploy, a tactic. Subterfuge meant to chisel into your sense of self, dehumanise you. Turn you into a simpering, obedient little doll for him to play with as he wishes. You know this, and yet—

It's survival, you promise yourself as he tugs on the hook latched to your collar, testing it for weakness. Survival, when his hands—bare, bare; warmed skin against skin, you could just weep—brush over your throat, nails skimming goosebumped flesh as he wedges one, then two inside, hirsute knuckles tickling your pulse. It tightens the collar to near choking. Intentional, you know. He likes it when you beg—for air, for food, water, him. 

Vile man. Awful. 

(You want to roll on your belly at his feet.)

This cold, cruel touch lights a fire under your skin. It's been months since he's last done so. Always wearing gloves when he has to. Using paddles, belts, when you misbehave. Never his bare hand. Not anymore. 

(“m’hand is for good girls,” he slurred, words merging, meshing together, painted with exertion. He wedged his boot against the small of your back, holding you down, and cracked the end of a cat over your bare ass, thighs. Unbothered by your howls, your screams, as the whip bit into your skin. You've never so much as been hit as a child for misbehaving, and now, as an adult, you have a madman standing over you, introducing you to something called a cat o’nine tails—a favourite in the army, lovie. “bad girls,” his boot pressed down harder, heel digging into your spine. “Bad girls get the whip—”)

Bad. Bad. Because you tried to run, to leave him. He dressed you up, called you Mrs Riley, and you—

Ducked out the back door when he turned away for a second. 

Stupid. It was poor timing. A test. He set you up, measuring your loyalty to him, your commitment, and you failed. Failed. 

(“this is what ‘appens when spoiled little cunts get their way too much. they act out, don't they? bitin’ the ‘and that feeds. you'll learn soon enough, though—”)

Ghost—sir, sir (master, maker, god; you'll call him anything he wants if he touches you again)—pulls his fingers away, depriving you of his touch once more. And it's all so stupid. So fundamentally wrong, deplorable, but you follow. Needy. Whining for it in the back of your throat. 

It's been months. Months without touch. Without sensation outside of leather lashing across your thighs, your ass; harsh, gloved fingers digging into your jaw, braced against the back of your head, as you swallow down his cock in an effort to prove to him you've been good. So good. Can be good. His good girl. 

You need to touch him. Need his touch. Ache for it, for something outside of this nook he placed you inside of, denied the privilege of living upstairs with him after you tried to escape. 

You want to. Badly. Your fingers twitch. Ghost sees it. Hums. 

“Need somethin', pet?” 

Your mouth is dry. You swallow. It burns. It hurts. “Yes—”

“Yes, what?”

“Sir—”

Behind the mask he's yet to take off for you fully, only ever hitching it under his chin to devour your cunt whenever you've been good, his jaw tightens, the fabric bunching up. 

You reel back from the look of sheer displeasure etching harsh lines into the hollow gaps of his eyes. Heart thundering. Stomach churning. 

“Mas—” he cuts you off with a soft sigh. Marked with his irritation. “D—dad—”

Dad. A new one. Daddy. He didn't seem like the sort to be into this type of play, not with his sardonic, deadpan eyes. His mockery. His dessicated humour, awful and biting. You'd have sooner expected him to laugh at you—in that slow, deep hum he gives; a little chuff, full of condescension and jeer—than to get off on it. On you, kneeling between his legs with your chin braced against his palm, mouth open, tongue out, as he fucks into the tight clench of his fist, groaning as you beg daddy to give you a taste. 

It's gross. Disgusting. 

It's not done for anything else other than to humiliate you. To crush you under the heel of his boot—little bug—so that you will always know where your place is in this scenario. His little wife. Mother, mum—

He pulls on the leash, jerking you forward. Purrs, “good girl,” and then steps back, moving away from you. Cruel. Dismissive. You hate him, hate him—

(Need him so deeply. With every fibre of your being—)

You watch him as he goes, mourning the loss of his presence already, as he paces around your space, your cage. Broad shoulders barely fitting inside. Head ducking to avoid hitting his crown on the popcorn ceiling. It's strange seeing him here like this. Prowling. He usually comes when he wants you, when he needs to enact more merciless punishment on you for whatever perceived evils you committed (not greeting him with a kiss when he walked in, not letting him suffocate himself in your cunt when he had you sit on his face, not making him cum all over your face quick enough when you knew he had other engagements to get to—), or when he ruts, heavily, between your thighs, cold and detached. Seeking pleasure from your icy flesh, and giving nothing in return but white hot agony. 

Him here, idling in your presence, is revolutionary. 

“S–sir—?”

He hums, quiet. Sits in the chair as you gather the fragments of yourself littered on the ground. His mood is malleable, it seems. 

You push, fingertips sinking into the putty of his agreeable temperament. “Can I—”

You waver when his sharp eyes raze over your bare body—clothes are for good girls, after all—pupils sloshing over the edges, bleeding into midnight blue. 

Your body is a battlefield. Every inch of skin branded with his mark—pretty, thrawn rings of teeth tattooed in silver, haloed in black and red, desecrate your flesh: neck, collarbones, breasts, belly, thighs (a particular favourite of his), ass, mons; all bitten through, chewed up. It weeps when you move, has blood trickling down your skin. The cracking scabs make him coo, poor thing, all bloody fer me? and he licks at them, sucks, until only a pinkish wound in the mimesis of canines remains. 

Uprooted, turned into something new—

His chest expands when he settles his gaze on the sliver of space between your spread thighs. Concealed in tenebrous, hidden from his leering, lecherous view. He cocks his head, considers something unknown to you. His thoughts, his mind, worlds away. Untouchable. 

(only to bad girls, he’d snarled out when you asked why—)

“Testin’ my patience still?” He doesn't rip his gaze away from your cunt, speaks to it sometimes more than he speaks to you. “Thought this alone time might’a cleared your ‘ead.”

You flush. Embarrassment roiling through you. His displeasure is a palpable thing. Heavy. You hate the weight of it. 

“I need—I need you.”

Another toneless hum. “‘Course you do. Ain't got anyone else.”

He's awful. Hideous. You want to rip his tongue out of his mouth. “I—I want you. Please.”

Ghost doesn't answer. You stopped expecting him to a long time ago, his moods odd measures of ebbs and flows; passive and mild, cracking terrible, awful jokes as he strokes your back, hands riveted to your skin, and then biting and caustic the next. Pushing and pushing until you lash out, snap, so he has a reason to push you down, punished and smothered under his bulk, as he ruts into you like a beast, a man starved. Tells you it's for your own good. That you need him. Would be lost without him. 

Bludgeoning a hole into you wide enough for him to crawl inside of. Poisoning you from the inside out with the same nocuous rot that flows in his veins. 

Maybe that's been his agenda all along. Maybe. To make you want him as badly as he wanted you. Desperate, obsessive. Going so far as to follow you home, lost little mutt waiting in the shadows outside of your door until you threw him another bone. And when that didn't work, when the food stopped being enough—

He took you. Held you captive in his house deep in the wilderness. A place so endlessly green that you sometimes stare out at it—unfathomable sea of phalthos and jasper—and feel dizzy. You'll get lost out there—

just like he says. 

As he turns your obsecration over in his head, you wait, supplicant to this man as you rest on your knees. Pretty pet with a golden collar adorned in gems. 

Fitting, you find. With his head cradled against his thick knuckles, you can't help but shiver at the way he looks shrouded in the gloaming embers of a fading twilight. Leonine. A king perfectly at ease in this thick, caliginous atmosphere.

His eyes burn, magmatic, in the low light. Vats of endless ink. Black holes that will swallow you whole if you get too close. But he's poised. Contemplative. Assessing. 

And then grips the end of the leash tight in his other hand. Tugs.  

You obey the wordless command, crawling on your hands and knees to where he's spread out on the recliner. Laxed, dripping with a careless indifference as you wander to him, resting your chin on the spread of his knee. 

Looking up, up, at him, waiting. Wanting. 

There's so much of him—a fact that has been the catalyst to your downfall the moment you saw him standing under the awning; this massive creature. Thighs wider than the width of your body. Burly forearms. Broad shoulders. He's big. Indomitable. Thick, endlessly so. But there's a give to his body. Valleys of softness hiding corded muscle. Firm, but—

Your fingers sink into the soft give of his belly when you reach out, bracing against stomach. Pulling yourself further into the bracket of his spread thighs, inching closer to him. 

He meets your reverent stare, eyes liquid along his lower lash line.

“Thought you were gonna keep me waitin’ all night,” he muses, giving another pull on the leash. It destabilises you. Your nose bumps into his sternum, and you moan at the sting. 

There's a dissonance in the back of your head. A hairline fracture in the line that keeps a degree of separation between pleasure and pain. They meet against the crack in the divide, merging into a abysmal polyphony conducted by his hand. 

He watches, amused, as you whimper, sniffing harshly against the burn. It's not bleeding, and not broken—small mercies, you suppose—and you let it simmer into a dull ache as you slowly clamber into his lap.

Ghost leans back as you settle, greedily taking in the sight of your thighs stretched wide over his leg, cunt pressed, tight, against the rough scrape of his jeans. The touch burns. He hasn't touched your pussy in weeks—

“C’mon,” he urges, hand spanning the width of your lower back. Coaxing. “Show me ‘ow good you can be.”

It's all the permission you need. Slowly, slowly, your hips start to gyrate, dragging your slit over the coarse material. The friction is agony. You need more—

He draws his other hand up, curls it around your neck, forcing your head back, back. You gasp, staring at him, dizzy, from down the slope of your nose. The clasp of the collar digs into your skin. It hurts. It's too much. 

you don't want him to stop. 

His hand is huge. It spans the entire length of your neck, thumb to your pulse, pinky grazing the hollow of your throat. It forces you to lift your chin higher just to let him fit.

He likes it, too, you know. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of his bare hand, scarred and thick; dusted with a cropping of fine hairs along his scabbed knuckles, sitting against the whole of your throat. Swallowing you up. Can feel how much he enjoys the sheer depth between your sizes when his cock twitches, stiffening more

The look on his face is appraising, anatomising. There's a cold measure of distance in his gaze. A barren polynya. You want to cross it. Chart these untamed lands until they're deeply ingrained within your being. Cimmerian effigy burning to keep you warm. 

It's survival, you think, and arch into the palm of his hand. 

He holds you like a doll. One hand on your lower back, pressing your cunt to thigh. The other tightening around your throat. Bare skin against bare skin, and oh, you could just cry—

But this is not what you need. What you want. And he knows. He always does. Knows the inside of you like it's written down—inked on paper. Thumbs through the makeup of you, chapter by chapter, until no mystery remains. 

“Tell me what you need, pet. Beg for it.” 

“Let me—” his hands tighten, choking the air from your throat. Crushing your collar against your neck. “Lemme—kiss you, please, please—”

Tighter. Tighter. The world around you swims under a thin ocean. Phosphenes swim, untethered, in your periphery, ghosting along the curve of his shoulders. He might kill you yet. Keeping going, going, until those brittle, bird-like bones in your neck snap—

You'd let him, you think, muscles falling lax. Submissive. Just the way he says he likes even though you know he fucks you harder, touches you more, more, when you act out. Misbehave. 

“Kiss me?” He taunts, words abrasive. Strident. Scrubbing hard against your skin. “Ain't that jus’ the sweetest thing I ever ‘eard.” 

You burn, blister. “Please—”

“Reckon I ought to. Kissed your pretty cunt ‘fore I even kissed your lips, huh, pet?” 

Your chest folds over itself. Stomach knotting. Balling tight. Unease is a razor blade scraping your nerves. 

“Simon—”

“Ah, ah—” his hand tightens. Vicious. Chiding. “You ‘aven’t earned the privilege of sayin’ my name, ‘ave you? Cheeky thing. Might ‘ave to take a cane to you next.” 

“No, no, no—! I'm—”

“Sorry?” He mocks, cocking his head. Condescension drips from the corners of his eyes. 

“Please, sir—”

“Dad is gettin’ tired of this attitude of yours, pet—” his fingers dig into your skin, hard. Biting. A warning, you know. The blunt press of a blade to your jugular. But it thrums along the suture line to your desire, a wellspool of murk coiling low in your guts. You throb, cunt clenching down around nothing. Achingly empty. “Thought we got rid of it this time ‘round. Learned our lesson.”

The words are frank, prosaic. Had you any sense of self still malingering in the back of your head, you might have struck him for the blatant disrespect. But as you struggle to reach for it, pawing around in the vacuous abyss for any fragment of who you were before this, before him, you know—without any doubt—that none exists. Nothing. He’s too ingrained in your marrow, hewn into your skin. Copper sutures holding his filament within you. Cradled between your thighs, nestled in the rotting vacancy of your heart. 

He knows you. Every part—

“We did—we did, da—daddy, please—” 

It’s shallow. Muffled, like he’s trying to swallow it down, but you feel it rumble through his broad chest. A guttural sound. A groan. Drenched in pleasure, in want. So thick, you could almost taste it. 

He hides his need under a layer of derision. 

���Such a needy thing, ain't you? Desperate little slag like you wouldn't last out there, would you?” 

His hand digs into your hip, pushing you off of his thigh. Eyes skewering into the wet stain on his trousers. A huff spills out—the sound a near perfect mimicry of crushing charcoal in your hand. 

“No. You'd be eaten alive. Torn to pieces. World's too big for somethin' like you.”

Mindless, dazed, you nod. Arching into him. The leather leash snaps against your chest. “Yes, yes—”

His cock presses into your thigh, hard, fat. Your mouth waters. Drool dribbles down your chin. 

He smells of tinder when he leans in close, blood drenched words biting into your skin. “messy today, aren't you? Be lost without me. Tha’s why you wear a collar, isn't it?”

Pitifully, you nod. Eyes full of tears. Each word is a bludgeon into your resolve. Into your sense of self. 

But it earns you his affection, and his thumb presses into the corner of your mouth, unhinging your jaw until it falls open, lax. He holds you like that, mouth lax with his hand still around your neck. The other lifts away from your lips, goes to the thick band around the bridge of his nose, slips inside. 

There's no buildup to it. No lingering sense of anticipation. Practical, detached, he merely tugs it down, and lets it snap under his chin. 

Your breath is punched out of your lungs at the sight of him. Barefaced. Scarred. His nose is crooked; a jagged hook with scar tissue delineating the spots where it's been broken too many times. His lips are—

Full. 

Mangled. 

Scars run in thick slashes over them, denting the flesh in places. Burn marks line his pale flesh. Charcoal rubs into his eyes, highlighting the whites of his lashes against smeared soot. 

He's—

Pretty. 

Like a car crash. Calamity. The broken remains of a town after a hurricane, a tornado, ripped it apart. Ugly, brutal. His face looks like it's been mauled by a bear, a tiger. Scarred and hideous, and—

You shiver. His eyes drop, landing on your own lips. The soot on his brow flutters down, lands on his eyelashes when he lifts his brow up mockingly. Derision curdling an awful smirk on the corner of his mouth. Crooked. Like him. Like his teeth. His nose. His boxy jaw. His lips—

You kiss him. 

Can't help yourself, really. There's a pull. Gravitational. Magnetic. You need, need, to taste him. To quench this ache in your jaw that makes you want to wrap your tongue around something, play with it between your teeth. Soft and sweet—

Ghost's lips are plump beneath yours. The thick scar tissue is almost velveteen when it glides over your bottom lip. You moan into it, into the feeling; victory—however pyrrhic—swims like mercury in your veins. Finally. 

And he doesn't kiss you back. Doesn't make any effort to reciprocate at all, but he's not tense beneath you. Not stunned. Or reluctant. He’s pliant. Malleable. Agreeable, willing to let you devour his mouth, his taste, as much as you want. Doting. Letting you spoil yourself on him. With him.

Because you need him, don't you? 

Like the air you breathe. The food he gives you—apples, always, on rainy days; salmon and rice in a pretty bowl with your name etched into the porcelain—and the attention, the affection—

(suck my cock, pretty girl. don't make me put a gag on you—deeper, you can take it, can't you? take my fat cock all the way up inside your sweet little cunt—my pretty girl—)

—it’s all so divine. 

His hands on your body, your throat, spasm. Once. Just once. Against your leg, his cock twitches. Leaks prespend into the demin. You rut against his thigh, aching for it. Whimpering—

And then he's groaning into the kiss, snarling out your name until it wedges between your lungs, syphoned in from his scorching breath. Another brand in the shape of him. 

Ghost kisses the same way he eats—messy, sloppy; all teeth and tongue, and full pretty lips. Clumsy, like no one taught him how to properly hold his silverware and he's trying to mock what he saw on television. Brumish. A broken, contemptuous pastiche of sumptuosity. A starving dog, snarling around its plundered morsel. Protective. Possessive. 

It coils around you. Thick, smothering. 

He sucks your tongue into his mouth, catching it between his teeth. The sting brings tears to the corner of your eyes, and when you pry them open, you find him already staring at you (always, always, always—), lidded. Heavy pools of desire shaded in the brume of a winter dawn. A bonfire flickering in the distance of a whiteout. Sanctuary from the cold—

He seems to catch himself. Expression flickering. Warbling around the edges. It closes off in a blink. He pulls back. Locks into the ashlar veneer of this indifference he wears like a suit of armour. 

But you saw it. It was there. Within reach—

“Need me, don't you?” He drawls, timber a needlepoint between cruelty and desire. Sultry, low. Husky. He knows what it does to you. How he can unravel you at the seams with just his voice alone. “Need me so fuckin’ much, pet. Would be lost without me—”

“Please, Simon,” you whisper, feather-soft. Cunt throbbing, pulsing. Needy. “Please—”

The strident reprimand for using his name doesn't come. His hand tightens around your throat, unconscious. A paroxysm that has pleasure carving itself down your spine, electric. 

“Come get it, then,” he rasps, voice wrecked. Raw. Curling at the edges, thickening his accent until the words elide. 

Hand to your throat, he drags you close. Closer still. Keeps you sat pretty on his lap as he pulls you in for a bruising, hungry kiss. Tongue shoving between your teeth when you gasp.

His kisses are always hungry, but this is different. Greedy. He devours you whole. Eats you alive. His hand falls to your lower back, holding you tight to his chest.

You moan into it, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. Squeezing until your knuckles blanche, joints twinging in discomfort. 

After months of nothing, this alone is bliss. His taste soaking onto your tongue, drenching it in the bitter tang of sage, wheatgrass, and stale cigarettes. Intoxicating. It leaks into you, nocuous. Infects from the inside out. 

His plan coming to fruition, you think. What he sought out to do all along, ever since you wandered close to this untameable Tartarean guard, and offered yourself up to the jowls of a starving beast. 

He pulls away with a heavy breath, eyes charing around the edges; brittle briquette. 

“Gonna be a good girl from now on? Come upstairs, be a good mum for dad? Or am I gonna ‘ave to cane this—” his hand drops, grabbing a fistful of your ass in his hand, fingers digging into the skin between your cheeks. Possessive. It cracks like a whip down your nerves. “—tight lit’le arse?”

You shake your head instantly. Quickly. “I'll be good,” you whisper into his chin, tongue flicking out to lick across his scars. The dried sweat on his skin tastes briny. Reminds you of the ocean on a brumous November evening. The incipient yawn of a ravenous hurricane gathering its lot on the shore. 

Sirens blare in the distance. Fear curdles in your guts, sits heavy like a stone. An anchor. 

“So sweet f’me,” he mutters, words deepening as his head falls back, letting you pepper kisses across the underside of his jaw. Mouthing along the constellation of scars. His voice is rumble. It shivers across your lips, tongue. Shakes the marrow in your bones. “Better stay this way, pet.”

Into his pulse, you murmur, “I think you like it better when I’m bad.” 

You can feel the snarl brimming in the back of his throat. Your ass stings with the phantom burn of when he lashed out with the whip. It drags a whimper out from deep within your chest. 

His hand tightens around your neck. A warning. “Got some guests over f’dinner tonight. Would love to finally introduce them to my sweet little wife—” deft fingers slip across the dewy skin of your folds, knuckles grazing over your drenched hole. The touch makes you squirm. “But if you’re gonna be bad, then I’ll leave you locked up down ‘ere.”

“I’ll be good,” you swear, words a hushed breath over his jugular. His finger flattens, drawls soft, slow circles around your clit. “Ah, I’ll—I’ll be so, so good, Simon—”

“Good girls deserve rewards, don’t they?” His palm flexes possessively around your throat when you nip at old scar tissue. “Maybe I’ll let you sleep in our bed tonight instead of in your dog house. We can ‘ouse together. I’ll fuck you proper—” he roughly shoves two fingers into your hole, leering when you gasp, back arching in a bow. “Know this pretty pussy has been achin’ for me, ‘asn’t it? Gonna breed it full—”

There’s static in your head, ringing in your ear. The noise distorted, pulled underwater. You think you say something, plead—no, no, no, anything but that—but his hand tightens around your throat, fingers pushing up, up into you, notching against that spot inside that makes your head swim, your vision flicker. The abyssal chasm inside of you aches, rages; its waters swell, currents frothing, slamming against the ceiling of its iron prison, and—

Simon pulls away. Fingers stilling inside of you. No friction, no relief. Hypoxia renders the world silent. Muted. Held in stasis, stagnating at the edge of a gaping precipice he holds you over, secured by the fragile curve of your neck, fine bone china. 

Phosphenes swim by. The chossy wobbles.

This distance is agony. You need to be closer, closer, to crawl inside of him, to live in the brackets of his ribs, safe and protected from the world he warns you about. Stone cold. You mewl, whine—

“Gonna be my good little wife?”

Gasping with broken lungs, you nod. Nod, nod until you’re nauseous. Dizzy. Sick—

His spit cools on your lip. Your hackles raise, body shuddering in revulsion—some primal part rears, hisses it’s infectious. Wrong. Get rid of it—

“Not gonna run?”

Slowly, you lick your lips, catching his sickness on your tongue. Swallowing it down until it sinks like a stone to the bottom of your belly. Heavy, for such a small, damning thing. 

How absurd, you think. How absolutely mad. 

Then you whisper, paperthin, “kiss me again, please, Simon—”

And he moves. Liquid in the gloam. Made more for shadows, midnight, than for golden apricity, where the light is harsh on his face, unveiling ruins and ravines; monoliths meant to be paid tribute to in the dark. Your hands lift to his jaw when he moves in, catching your lips in a bruising, biting kiss. 

His touch is searing. Owning. He isn't laying claim: no, you're already his. 

It's possessive and angry. No finesse. All slate teeth and tender tongue. They slide together in a strange game; little fawn stupidly nipping at the tiger's heel. He lets you, groaning into your mouth when you arch back, hips pushing into his fingers, taking him deeper. A pale pantomime of what's to come when he lays you on his soft bed, sweet and divine, and buries himself deep. 

It should scare you. Ought to. And maybe it does. Survival, you think, but you still pull him closer. Deeper. Because it’s bliss, you find. The world around you falling dead. Silent. Pulled into a vacuum. Teetering on the edge of a black hole, event horizon. He drags you in. 

Simon hums, pulling you closer. Touching you—soft, sweet. Palms a gyve. Shackles, chains. His fingers lift from your neck, trailing down the slope of your throat until he reaches the golden loop of your collar's hook. His gaze glides, magmatic, down to where your leash dangles between your heaving breasts.

It's almost tender when he grabs it into his fist. When he pulls, pulls—

Your back arching. His fingers slipping deeper inside your cunt. Obedient little doll.

When he lifts his eyes, the look you find is hot enough to char bone. You taste blood in the back of your throat—

Into the seam of your mouth, he purrs, “good girl.”

—and you swallow it down with a moan. 

(after all, you know better than to run from starving dogs—)

[gretavanflame]

Selfish Touch

Jake Kiszka x Reader (f)

Cw: SMUT including: mutual masturbation, overstimulation, nipple play, hickeys, toys, blindfold, biting, kissing, light choking (this one is lightly edited so I apologize for any mistakes)

Summary: “Okay so” he lowers his voice, acting as if there are other people that might hear and be scandalized by his next words. “I got this… sort of arousal gel, if you wanna try it.”

Word Count: 2.5k

Jake peppers little kisses from your jaw to your neck, stopping short of your exposed breasts. Your cheeks burn from smiling and the touch tickles, making you squirm over the sheets.

“Jakeee, come on!” a giggle bubbles out of you, laced with a moan as his lips wrap around your skin to nip softly at it.

“Just be patient,” he purrs, nuzzling his nose just below your ear. 

You gently pull him off of you, taking his head in your hands to shake it side to side. “I’ve been patient! Just tell me the surprise!” 

He steadies himself with his hands on the bed, beginning to rise as he holds back a smile. His pressed lips crack after a beat, showing you his perfect pearly whites.

“Okay pretty girl” he whispers, sending a shiver down your spine.

His eyes drink you in as he stands, looking you up and down while his lips curl in mischief. Jake turns to rummage around in his dresser as heat rushes to your face.

You settle into the pillow, resting your hands on your stomach, watching dreamily as the muscles of his bare back flex and twist. His butt looks pretty cute in his underwear too, you think. 

Your mind wanders back to the last couple hours. The two of you- free of obligations for the day, tangled up in each other, mostly naked, whispering and giggling between soft, lingering kisses. The domesticity isn’t new to you, but the comfort is. His gaze doesn’t make you feel judged, his jokes don’t make you feel hurt, and his presence is always welcomed. In fact, he’s the first person you like being on display for, just like you are now.

He pulls a few items from the drawer then swivels around quickly, hiding them behind his back as his face holds an intriguing secret. He saunters back with the same lopsided smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“Now y/n” he warns, settling himself back on top of you so that he straddles your waist, being careful to put most of his weight on his knees. “This is your job, okay? Your steering wheel. You’re the captain babe.” 

Jake reveals the first item. Your vibrator wand. You squeal and reach for it, smiling bashfully as the anticipation spreads across your skin like a million tiny needles.

“Okay, what else what else!”

He chuckles, finding your impatience adorable. “So I ordered something online, and it finally came. It’s something I’ve wanted to try for a while…” he pauses, eyes flicking up to yours, garnering suspense.

Your eyebrows raise and you nod for him to go on. 

“And it may seem like this is for you, but just know… this is entirely for my benefit.”

“Okay…” you laugh, genuinely confused.

“Okay so” he lowers his voice, acting as if there are other people that might hear and be scandalized by his next words. “I got this… sort of arousal gel, if you wanna try it.” He chews on his lip, watching you intently to try and gauge your reaction as he hands you the clear bottle to inspect.

You can feel your heart thumping in your ears as you read the label. Excitement surges through you, although you try to play it cool. Jake watches you through lidded eyes and you can feel him hardening when he shifts his body over you. You look up to see its full outline through his tight boxers, and it looks swollen and aching. You wish desperately to taste it- feel its hot skin against your tongue. 

You smirk and look back at him with an eager nod.

“Andd…” he lilts, drawing out every drop of anticipation before leaning in and lowering his tone to a sultry mumble, right against the shell of your ear where you can feel his hot breath, “I got the edible kind.”

Another schoolgirl giggle trills out of you. “Of course you did Jake.” 

He smiles bashfully, pulling the third item from behind his back. He secures it in his fist and holds it out to you. You open his fist to find some balled up black cloth. 

You tilt your head in confusion and he looks amusedly back at you while you realize what it's for.

“Ohh. Ohhhh.” 

Jake's previous playful demeanor shifts to one of lust, and his voice drops again, “Do you trust me angel?”

“Yes Jake. I do.”

Jake brings the cloth up to your face, winking right before your world turns black and you feel his hands tie a knot behind your head. Just as he does so, his lips press firmly into yours and you kiss him back with a smile that stays glued to your face even after he pulls away. 

You make yourself comfortable, cheeks flushing red as you wait eagerly for his instruction.

Jake helps your wandering fingers find the button on the side of the vibrator. The toy whirrs to life and he scoots forward so that his clothed cock rests above the thin fabric covering your clit. His cock hardens as he grinds himself against you and you both let out a satisfied hum. 

“Make us both feel good, y/n.”

You bring the toy down to where your bodies meet, jolting as it hits your clit. You press it into the fabric, sighing at the immediate pleasure that washes over you. You feel Jake relax into the vibration, adjusting himself so that the underside of his cock lines up with the head of the toy. 

Jake places one hand firmly on the curve of your waist as his opposite hand opens the bottle with a click. Jake lets a bit of the gel drop over your nipple. 

“Ooh that's cold” you coo softly.

The pad of his thumb spreads the gel around in small circles over your hardening nipple. He massages your breast as his other hand slides up your body, stopping at your other. 

The gel is rubbed into your skin, leaving one boob feeling significantly colder than the other. His other hand squeezes the opposite breast, kneading the tissue gently, but with a softness that relaxes you. 

He takes his time, letting his hands feel every inch of your chest, and you realize then what he meant when he said this was for his benefit. After a few moments of his self indulgent touch, he puts the gel right over your other nipple.

You jump again, having not expected the sudden temperature shift. “You have to warn me, Jake” you chuckle.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” He questions, the smirk evident in his tone.

You focus your attention on the vibrator, feeling it soothe and rile you up all at the same time. You decide to have a little fun of your own, placing it on top of his cock, moving it up and down, trying to tease him. You move blindly, and unsure if you’re hitting the right spot, but you know you are when you feel him twitch against you. A clipped grunt escapes him.

You rub slow circles over him and he whimpers so softly that you wonder if you’ve imagined it. Your body reacts viscerally, stomach muscles contracting and core clenching. You can feel the vibrations through his body. They hit you softer, making you crave the feeling even more.

You find the side button, bumping it up to the next level as the vibrator rests right on him. You jump as you feel his hand grip your wrist tightly. He moves the toy back over to your clit.

A guilty smile appears on your face.

“Sorry…”

You begin to grow accustomed to cold air hitting your wet skin. Instead of the sensation being cold, it's more of a slight tingle. His hands continue to massage you in loose circles, and it’s then that you question whether or not this stuff works.

Just as the thought crosses your mind, with no warning, Jake’s calloused fingertips pinch both erect nipples. The pain shoots right to your core and your back arches off the bed, pulling a desperate moan from your lips- one you didn’t know you were capable of making. 

Jake’s voice rushes out, so thick with lust, it sounds like he’s experienced the feeling himself, “Did that feel good?”

“Yes” you gasp, chest rising with each breath. “So good, I don’t even- I don’t know. Just do it again, please.”

You can almost see the smirk on his face as he pauses his movements, opting instead to go back to his hands slowly caressing you. You only realize after a few seconds how hard you’re biting your lip. You release it from your teeth, and he does it again. 

The pleasure blooms and shoots all over you, shocking you with its intensity. You can feel yourself gushing already as the toy whirrs over your sensitive clit. You can hear Jake’s own labored breathing, and you imagine what he looks like- sweaty and flushed with desire.

“Oh my god…” you moan, still reeling from the sudden touch.

“You’re so fucking sexy, y/n…” Jake’s voice trails off, making him sound out of breath.

His fingers trace both areolas at the same time- the touch so light compared to before that you’re practically pushing your chest into it. He rolls his knuckles over the hardened buds, going slow and gentle. 

He lets his hands wander, running them up and down your stomach, to your waist, to your neck. You feel the tiny thrusts of his hips as he grinds himself into the vibrator and you. One hand slides up to your neck, wrapping it around to put slight pressure on the sides as his thumb rubs over your Adam's apple.

“Fuck” you whimper.

You feel him shift, and seconds later something warm and wet glides over your nipple. You moan loudly, as your body jerks forward. 

“More” is all you manage to say when his tongue laps over you again. 

It’s a new feeling, and in contrast to the gel’s coldness it feels like fire. His hand wraps around your breast, holding it in place so his tongue can come down to deliver slow laps. His tongue lingers, circling around your nipple at a pace so slow you swear he’s trying to kill you. Your legs tremble as you move the vibrator, hitting a new angle that pulls you steadily closer. 

Jake lets go and blows cool air directly on your wet skin. He connects his lips, parting them to take your nipple in his mouth where he sucks it harshly. He releases it, making a loud squelching sound.

“Your tongue feels so good Jake” you manage to mumble, voice coming out shaky.

“My cock is so hard right now. I fucking want you.”

Jake secures his mouth on you again, this time letting his teeth lightly graze you. A whimper, unforgivingly high pitched floats off your tongue, but there’s no room to feel ashamed when he does it again to the other. 

He spoils you, licking and sucking your nipple until you feel yourself right on the edge. He stops. A second later a ball of spit lands to the right of your breast and he runs his tongue along, bringing it right to the center of your nipple. Just the tip of his tongue flicks over you while his fingers pinch and squeeze at the other. The contrasting sensations blend together perfectly and you moan again.

You feel his hips start to rock harder, just enough that you start to pick up on it. He groans around your nipple, sucking it hard enough to elicit a hiss from your gritted teeth. You start to move the vibrator in small circles over your clit as you feel your orgasm approaching.

Jake senses the shift. His mouth crashes against your skin, licking and sucking faster. He moves back and forth from each breast, leaving no time for you to adjust to the different feelings. He pushes his hips along you harder. Absentmindedly as he bites your sensitive bud again. 

“I’m gonna cum..” your voice trails off, chest lifting off the bed once more.

Jake lays his tongue flat, running it along your nipple one final time while his hand squeezes your other breast. With one loud groan vibrating your skin, you break apart. 

First it's your legs that start to tremble. Then your mouth gapes open and your eyes roll back. It’s more intense than any other orgasm you’ve ever had. The stimulation from his tongue bursts forth unexpectedly. It comes from a place settled so deep inside you when it finally hits the surface. You can feel your pussy clenching and contracting as your legs try to open, with Jake still clamping them shut.

He grabs the toy out of your hand, bumping up the setting and forcing it closer to your sensitive clit. You cry out, rocking on the bed as your hand tries to push him away. You sound broken as you moan his name over and over, desperate for some type of mercy. Finally he lets go and the toy falls to the bed beside you. 

Your whole body feels numb, but alive as Jake kisses your chest once more. His tongue is careful as he trails his lips back up to your face. They land back on yours and you part your lips. He kisses you deeply, both of you moaning into the other. His tongue licks along the inside of your mouth and yours kisses into his. His hand cups your jaw as he draws out the kiss. He releases your lips as his hand lazily pulls off the blind fold.

The light hits your eyes harshly and you open them to find him smiling back at you. A sheen of sweat paints his hairline and his eyes look tired, but satisfied. 

“Hey, how are you?” he asks all too casually.

You laugh, pushing his shoulder as he climbs off of you. Your breath is still uneven as you look down at the scene before you. You feel your soaking wet underwear, and your sore chest that's wet with his kiss. 

Jake falls into the bed beside you and you turn to climb on top of him. He instantly grabs your thighs, running his hands up and down them. You bite your lip as you gaze at his beautiful face. He catches your eyes, dropping his to smirk at your chest again.

“Hey, do you need to be anywhere important tomorrow?” Jake asks.

You squint your eyes accusingly before asking with a certain air of caution, “Yes… why?”

“Oh ok… ok. That’s fine. You do happen to have some nice turtlenecks right?” Jake's cheeks flush as he smiles a guilty smile.

“Jake!!” 

You scramble off the bed to look in the nearest mirror. Mouth dropping as you see at least 20 tiny red circles decorating your neck and chest.

You take a deep breath, turning cooly back to him. He looks almost frightened as you put on a smirk yourself.

“Pay back time” you state as your lips find him.

.

.

.

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[webslingingslasher]

i wanna bite peter. no. i NEED to bite Peter.

his skin looks so yummy i crave it😁😁

it's been a long three days and you've missed your frat boy past the point of insanity.

mentally, you were scratching your arms and had a twitchy eye. physically, you were power walking to frat row. the second, and you mean the second, peter texted you and told you he was back from his weekend trip, you dropped everything to see him.

he wasn't even done unpacking when he heard your soft stomps up the stairs, he knows it's you just by the sound. peter had missed you more than he would admit, he couldn't wait to give you a bruising kiss to prove it.

'petey!' it's loud and he doesn't care one bit. his girls in front of him.

'trouble!' opening his arms wide, he's ready for the hug of his lifetime. you're nearly bouncing over to him before pulling his arm down. peter's eyebrows furrow, he thinks you're going for an awkward wrap around, until you tug his shirt sleeve up and sink your teeth into the meat of his bicep.

'ah! you vermin, get away!' he's doing the world's weakest job at pulling away, you smile into his skin before shaking your head like a dog with a bone.

peter had expected you to jump on him and kiss over his face. you had done nothing but tell him how much you missed him and his 'strong arms' and the second you can be in them again, you treat him like a chew toy.

you missed his arms alright, missed eating them, that is.

'hey, c'mon, i missed you too! i want a hug and a kiss, then you can nibble as much as you want.'

you dot kisses over the skin you had under your teeth, 'i missed you so much.' peter's whiny this time, 'then give me a hug!' he wants his arms around you so bad.

you wrap your arms around him and tuck your head under his chin, you can tell how much he really missed you when he fully relaxes into your hold.

'slept like shit without you.' kisses on your forehead has you happily sigh into his chest. 'liar, you hate sharing a bed with me. you always threaten to kick me out.'

peter didn't realize how much he missed you waking him up in the middle of the night for some bogus reason. it made him feel loved, it didn't matter what time it was, you wanted him to be the first person you told anything to, even if it was just a weird dream.

he won't admit that though, instead he says, 'you're right, it was nice not being woken up to cold feet and philosophical questions.'

'knew it,' that means you know he missed you more than he'd ever tell you. 'can i please have a kiss now?' if you'd ever say no to that question, especially when he asks it as soft and hesitant as he just did.

but that doesn't mean you can't give him shit, you let out a pretend groan, 'fine, i guess so.' revealing your face, you blink at the overhead light in his room.

instead of grabbing you passionately, he cups your cheeks and smushes your lips together in a pout. peter takes his time looking you over, he's silent and it makes you feel shy.

While you look down for a second, peter whispers out to you.

'my baby.'

his lips are on yours, a sense of home and peace envelops you. clenching at the waist of his shirt, you lean up to fully melt into him. peter's thinking the same way, wrapping an arm around your lower back to pull you flush into him.

peter pulls away for just a second before he's back on you, placing three quick pecks before breaking out in a smile.

'i have no fucking idea how i'm going to survive the summer,' you bite down on your lip, summer is months away, he's not able to imagine a future without you and it makes you ultra giddy.

'easy, i come stay with you for a few weeks. i think may and i would get along.' you expected him to roll his eyes, instead he nods his head. 'i think she'd love that, she's always hinting she needs another woman around her.'

you kiss your teeth at him, 'three days without me and you're planning the future. i love to see it.'

'it made me realize how much i like having you around me, even if you're biting me.'

you gasp, eyes widening at the forgotten idea. 'oo, thanks, petey!' you swing your head to clamp your teeth into his arm, a hiss follows.

'you're a fucking rat and so uninvited from my aunt's house!' 

[wayward-persephone]

I just love when he goes "🖕"

HUGH JACKMAN as Logan/Wolverine in X-Men (2000)

[atinylittlepain]

Non-Disclosure Agreement

dieter bravo x publicist!reader

something unprofessional keeps them professional.

warnings | 18+ smut and nothing but(t), pegging, a little angst bc i like being sad lmao

a/n | another installment for the Peg that Middle Aged Man Campaign! In case you missed it, @beskarandblasters @wannab-urs @iamasaddie and @jksprincess10 have alllll posted delicious Pascalian pegging fics that you should go check out :) and there's still more to come, my darlings!

................................

They need this. Pressure released. Life forgotten. Whoever they are outside of this, dissolved at the door. They need this, and both of them are more than willing to provide it for the other.

It keeps him in line, just a touch more compliant, docile. And it keeps her from firing him, if not killing him, when he manages to whip up a new PR disaster for her to swoop in and fix. 

“You just gonna stare at it, or are you gonna get it ready for me?” His eyes are wide, dark brown blown out in lust as he looks up at her from where he’s sitting on the edge of her bed, hair in wild waves in only the way his could be. She had tried many times to get Dieter Bravo into an actual salon chair, but he’s always been too stubborn, too contrarian, and too goddamn paranoid to let anyone but her near “the goods.” But she doesn’t mind it right now, raking her fingers back through it, giving a sharp tug that makes him hiss.

“You know I don’t like to be kept waiting, baby. Are you gonna be good? Or am I gonna have to send you home right now with your dick still hard?” Neck arched from the grip she has in his hair, lips parted, and brow furrowed, it’s how she likes him best.

“Someone’s extra mean tonight. What? Is your husband fucking an intern again?” His eyes glint, lips just crooked in a smile, but she’s quick to wipe it away when she guides her strap into his mouth.

“That’s nice, isn’t it, brat? Give your mouth something better to do than run itself. That’s it, get it nice and wet for me, baby.” He lets out a low moan around her silicone dick, bobbing his head in an obscene rhythm, heat licking up her spine at the sight. 

They have it down to a science by now. He knows what it means when she calls him late at night, that it never has anything to do with a new script she has for him, and everything to do with expecting him at her front door in fifteen minutes, ready to be her human chew toy. And it’s always a rushed drag to tug clothes off and stumble into her bedroom. He’s learned not to ask her to come to his, she’d never go near his coked-out drug cave of a mansion.

“Look so good like this, Dieter. Always look so good when I get you to shut the fuck up for me.” Her biting words coax another groan out of him, the muffled sound getting cut off when she leans down to wrap her hand around his cock, squeezing him at the base before flicking her wrist up, thumb swiping over his leaking slit. 

“How do you want it, baby? Should I take you from behind tonight?” He pops off her strap with a lewd smack, eyes dazed and droopy as he jerkily shakes his head.

“Wanna watch you do it tonight. Wanna see your tits bounce, please.” 

“Well you know how much I like it when you say please. Lay back for me, pretty boy.” With that, he scrambles back onto the bed, legs splayed out, cock flushed and hard, resting on the sweet swell of his belly. And though she calls him it to tease, she has to admit, he really is a very pretty man. She kneels between his legs on the bed, landing a smack to the top of his thigh, eliciting a shaky huff from him.  

“Don’t be difficult, baby. You know this isn’t how I want you. Knees bent, feet flat, want you spread for me, there you go.” She can practically see his cock twitch at her words as he shifts into the position she demands, eyes glued to her as she rubs lube up and down her strap. 

“What do you say if you don’t like something and want me to stop?”

“EGOT.” 

“Good boy, gonna get you ready for me now.”

“Is that–”

“Yeah, paraben free, picked it up at Erewhon just like you requested, you spoiled brat. You gonna say thank you like a good boy?” She holds the bottle of ridiculously expensive, all natural lube aloft in her hand, flashing a smile his way as she waves it side to side. It’s his new thing, he read somewhere that parabens cause cancer and interfere with theta brainwaves, whatever the fuck that means, though it had caused problems for her last week when he refused to let her come anywhere near him with the lube she’s been quite literally using on him for months.

“Really, you should be thanking me, ok? Parabens affect us all.” That earns him another, sharper, smack to his thigh, forcing a grunt from his chest as she does.

“Fine, fine, thank you, boss. Now will you please do that thing with your fingers?” Warming a dollop of lube up between her hands, she curls over him, letting her lips barely drag along the underside of his cock, tongue flickering out over his tip before she takes him into the heat of her mouth, only a few quick passes to get him moaning before she glides a slicked-up palm down his throbbing length. 

“You think you deserve my fingers, Dieter? Really? After you showed up coked-out to that audition last week and I had to clean up your mess again?” She just barely lets her nails graze the leaking head of his cock, making him whimper under her ministrations.

“I– fuck, I’m sorry, ok? Won’t do it again, I swear, just– please, boss, need it bad.” She hums low in her throat, tilting her head at him as she gives his cock another squeeze, his moan cracking in his chest.

“Hmm, I’ll give you what you want. But there’s gonna be some conditions, ok?” She has to stifle a laugh at how rapidly he nods his head.

“If I’m gonna give you what you want, take care of you like you want, you’re gonna have to promise me that from now on, every audition I get you, you’re gonna show up sober, twenty minutes early, lines practiced, and not wearing yesterday’s clothes, you got that?” She emphasizes each point with a pass of her palm over his balls, a light squeeze that sends his eyes rolling back in his head as he frantically nods along to her words.

“Repeat it back to me, Dieter. What’re you gonna do from now on?” She keeps working his cock in her hand, his reply coming out stilted and whiny.

“Sober, e-early, fuck– lines, clean f-fucking clothes, I got it, I promise, please.” She shushes his cry with a pinch to the swell of his belly, finally giving him what he wants and slipping her fingers down to that tight ring of muscle, a slow press that sends him preening at her touch.

“Aw, there it is, feels good, baby? You like my fingers fucking you? You want another one?” He lets out a breathy uh-huh that she’s happy to comply with, slipping another finger in with her first one and finding a slow pump, her other hand lazily stroking his cock, setting his thighs into a weak tremor.

“Fuck, I don’t wanna come like this– wanna get fucked, want you to fuck me.” “I am fucking you, superstar. Gotta use your words if there’s something else you want.” He lets out a petulant groan at her crackling words, throwing his head back in the pillows as she continues to work him over. 

“Want your cock, now, please.” Well, at least he tried to use his manners. He lets out a hiss when she pulls her hands away from him to smear lube over her strap, her eyes set, steeled, on his as she leans over him, one hand planted in the sheets next to his face and the other pressing her fake dick forward, slow and smooth like she knows he wants it.

“So good for me, Dieter. Just relax, baby, I always take good care of you, don’t I?” His eyes roll back when she presses all the way in, her hips stilling between the frame of his shaking thighs. But she doesn’t wait long before arcing her hips back, finding a heady rhythm to fuck him to. It’s perfect power, feeling the way his eyes drag over her body, the sway of her breasts with each thrust, the swirl of her hips when she grinds against that spot that makes him groan, his hands fisted in his hair, having long learned not to touch while she’s working. 

“You do– shit, always take good care of me– so fucking good, boss– feels fucking amazing.” 

He always comes so fast like this, and she can tell he’s already getting there now, his chest flushed pink, moans turning long and ragged. And when she drags her hand down the length of his cock, dipping down to cup his balls, it’s enough to send him right over the edge, his come smearing over his heaving belly. 

“That’s it, superstar. You’re too easy, I swear. Just gotta keep you good and fucked out and you’ll do whatever I want, huh, is that it?” Her teeth nip at the arc of his neck, the hilt of his jaw, lips barely hovering over his as he comes down from his high, though she’s quick to jerk her face away when he tries to lean up for a kiss, giggling at the frustrated crease that settles between his brows. 

“I have something else for you to kiss, baby.” With that, she pulls out of him, shushing his whimpers as she shimmies out of her harness. 

“Aw, do you need to take a break, superstar? Can’t handle it tonight?” It’s the exact thing she needs to say to snap him out of his orgasmic stupor, his head whipping up from the pillows, eyes wide and hands grabbing for her hips. 

“Not a fucking chance, boss. I– you– just fucking– c’mere.” Not without a laugh at his impatient grumbling, she crawls up his body until her thighs are framing his face, scruff tickling the softness of her skin. As with most things, he doesn’t mind his manners, hooking his arms around her thighs and pulling her down hard onto his mouth, the flat of his tongue swiping through her cunt before she can even brace herself. It’s desperate, and almost too sloppy, the way he fucks his tongue into her before dragging her pooling slick up to her clit, his groans sending a shiver through her spine. His fingers press hard into the swell of her ass, holding her steady enough that her hands are free to hold her breasts, rolling her nipples between her fingers, her head falling back at the added sensation. His tongue is everywhere, finally settling into a heady rhythm of fucking into her as she grinds down on the perfect crook of his nose. She’s not the kind of woman to hold back either, dragging her hips over the heat of his mouth, gasping into the stillness of the room, the sound mingling with his muffled grunts and the slick slide of his smacking lips. 

A yelp looses from her chest when he brings his hand down hard to the curve of her ass and he giggles, a gruff hum into her cunt, the fucking tool. But she’s too close to that tight pull of pleasure snapping to reprimand him now, instead settling her hand in his hair and tugging harshly as she comes with a long whine, her hips spasming in his hold as he laps at her pulsing cunt. Eventually, she has to shove him back by his forehead to get him to stop mouthing at her dripping cunt, tenderly swinging one thigh over him to plop down on the mattress in a heaving slump. 

“Same time next week?” Still catching her breath, she waves her hand dismissively at his smug question.

“Just shut up and come shower with me.” 

Her husband had insisted on a shower the size of her first studio apartment, all clear glass and black marble, what her friends lovingly call the “douchebag shower.” But she doesn’t mind it now, sharing it with Dieter, who always hogs her fancy shampoo, smelling like her for days after. 

“You’ve got an audition on Wednesday, two o’clock, I’ll send you the script in the morning.” He hums at that, dipping his head back under the water.

“What’s the vibe?” 

“Limited series for HBO. Some kind of mystery-thriller-beach-read screenplay. Main character role alongside Nicole Kidman.” He tilts his head back down at that, eyebrows quirking at her. She just smiles.

“You can tell me I’m good once you’ve got the part. And remember our little deal, Bravo. I’m not gonna let you fuck all my hard work up with a few lines of cocaine.” His grin goes a little crooked as he nods, holding out her shampoo for her.

“You wanna do it for me, baby?” He does, slipping behind her and running his sudsed-up fingers through her hair, just a touch rough, how he knows she likes it. 

She gives him a pair of her husband’s boxers, knowing that he won’t even notice they’re gone, and they slip back into bed, limbs warm and sated after a fuck and a shower. It’s the strangest part of this whole arrangement, the way they always end up, tangled around each other in her bed. She only had to ask for him to do it once, and now he does it without her having to say a thing, tucking his arms under her waist and settling into her with his cheek pressed into her sternum, the weight of him pressing her down into the mattress, her mind running slow and easy from his warmth. They need this, and they give it to each other without having to say a thing.

“I want you out of here–”

“Before eight o’clock. Yeah, boss, I got it.” 

..................................

@swiftispunk come get your juice lol

[softpawpup]

hihihi!!! magical girl anon here!!! the magical girl wanted to ask you whos ur favorite tokyo mew mew character !!!!!!! i personally really like mew ichigo and pudding !!! i also really like mew berry !!! i need to get to her manga but i really like her design >_< - 🧸🎀

HIIII !!! good to see u again !!! hmmm favorite tokyo mew mew character... the answer is... KISSHU !!! he is MY FAVORITE EVER !!!! i love him so bad i wanna bite him and shake him around like a chew toy i am obsessed with him its crazy !!! i love him !!! ichigo is a close second but kisshu has my heart and soul forever.

i do like ringo's design tho, she's from the tokyo mew mew video game :33 !! her design is so cute. and pudding is very near and dear to my heart, i love her. her and taruto's friendship means the world to me

[astarions-bride]

His little fangs in the first gif 🥺

[lychiism]

i wanna bite, eat and shake dominik szoboszlai like a dog plays with its toy like godzilla shakes a goddamn trex around in its mouth

GODBLESS I HAVE FOUNF MY PEOPLE YESY ES YES

need to chew on him like a squishy gummy bear. Right Now.

[yourpersonaljester]

I wanna bite and shake Chilchuck around like a chew toy but also share a joint w him yannow?

[female-hysterics]

Absolutely SERVING 🥴

[just-a-carrot]

I wanna take orlams rattail and chew on it like a dog toy. actually I would like to chew on orlam like a dog toy... like one of those weezing pathetic dog toys methinks. just like grabbing his rattail with my teeth and just shaking him around a bit. maybe I would also chew on orlams arm. I like to chew on things orlam looks very chewable very bite-able to me for some reason.

(/pos for all of this btw)

well

i'm not gonna yuck your wow

but i don't think he'd taste very good i have to say

✨but to each their own ✨

[that--unusual-person]

Cosmic anon gets it‼️‼️

There is so much more i would do the Starscream like pick him up with my bare cold hands and shake him like the ginger girl from finding Nemo and force him to watch all Shrek movies while all stars from smash mouth plays in the back non stop. Baking him into a cake is also a great options and the salad spinner with him in is just a great way to stim❤️. Just aggressively making that thing turn around and around. i once broke a salad spinner as a kid because i did it so agressivly breaking the handle and making the spinner fall on the floor and partly breaking into pieces. I imagine Starscream just being a puddle at this point, if so then he goes right back in the jar and then i microwaves him because i wanna know what will happen. if nothing does i would bite his head (lovingly) and rattle him around like a dog with their chew toy, barking while doing so and run around on all four running in circles.

I would squeeze him like those stress toys who's eye pop out dramatically and then throw him on the wall and hope he would stick on it right above my bed, that way when i stare on the celling i can see him before i fall asleep ❤️. Bc he is so cool and awesome he should be the last thing i see when i go into dreamland and also the first thing i see when i wake up❤️.

With the others i can't say my thirst for pathetic meow meows oozes for them. Like Starscream has just this pathetic wet sock, crying in the rain while covered in the mud, hopeing you would take him back as a lover while, i will always love you, plays in the back and you just throw a shoe at him to make him go away. He doesn't tho and looks at you with those big silly eyes, you still take him back because there is just SOMETHING about him you don't find in others, kind of vibe.

He is so pathetic and loving, his dumb stupidity grin that melts your heart while his clownery makes you wanna put him in a potato sack where only his head peaks out and put him in the damp,cold, dark basement. He is so dumb and cute and ratty.

Soundwave is just straight up my loving husband that i would wife up and give all my love without the insanity. The Bot is already dealing with so much he deserves a break and a soft tenderly kiss on the cheek while i tell him how great he is. I would draw him like an old painter draws their lover and muse; full of grace and power, elegance that you don't see anywhere else. The paintings of the time where he still was by my side the only thing reminding me how he looks like while my brain slowly withers away. My mind forgetting how his voice filled my hears like a wonderful song and his touch like the warm rays of the sun. But my heart beating for him and knowing even if i forget how he looks like my it will still remember him. Writing love sick writing poetry about the fuzzy warm feeling i had in the past seeing paintings of this mysterious person i clearly knew in the past. Writing about his beauty that shines from the inside out. Watching the moon, thinking of his dazzling eyes feeling cold and lonely not having him by my side, wishing each day that he would finally be here to fall in love a second time❤️ (but your genius for the things you wrote down).

Same with shockwave, but i have to admit i really wanna bite his mono-boob while skedaddling on his body like an insect. My feelings for shocker is in between of soundwave and Starscream.

I wanna cling on his leg and try to shake him around (knowing it won't happen because he is a THICC BOY). he would need me to put me in those child dog leashes or cages to make me stop fooling around and chewing on him. I would probably just straight up gulp down one of his chemicals to mess with him not caring if i die or grow a third arm. I honestly hope i would be his Starscream ❤️❤️ Him observing me in my silly little jar while i lick the glass like stich at the beginning of the movie❤️

I would be the fluffy cat getting petted sleeping on the lap of the villain as they spin around to face the hero of the story.

Anyway i hope it's obvious I'm very autistic about these three.(apologies for the insane ramblings I'm sleep deprived and ate like 13 chocolate muffins).

-thick shockwave/jar Starscream anon