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stardustquills · 3 months ago

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thinking about sylus making you be on top, despite your protests. currently giggling and kicking my feet like a schoolgirl with a crush. 18+ mdni.

cw; smut, unprotected p in v, creampie, oral (f recieving), switch!sylus, pet names (kitten, sweetie), praise kink, sylus being annoying

wc; 1.5k

“come on, sweetie,” sylus teased, half-lidded eyes and a smirk cast your way. his hand lazily pumped his hard cock, head thrown back on the pillows behind him. “you’ll be fine-”

“sylus.” you cut him off with a whine. you hid your flushed face in your hands. he thought that was pointless. you’re naked in his bed. “i’ve never been on top before. i don’t wanna. why can’t you-“

“i’m always on top.” now it was his turn to cut you off. he didn’t mind always being on top - he was just being a prick because you were the one who initiated. sylus grabbed one of your wrists, pulling you closer to him. “you’ll be okay. i’ll help you through it.”

you let him pull you towards him, apprehensive and hesitant. he guided one of your hands down to his cock, his hand encasing yours as he helped you pump. sylus’ eyes closed as your hand moved under his. you watched his adam’s apple as he swallowed, a soft moan escaping his parted lips.

you didn’t even notice when his eyes opened again, garnet iris’ flickering all over your body. your own eyes were fixated on his pretty pink lips, still parted as he let out a melody of sighs. your gaze slipped down to his neck, where you could see the marks you’d left a few days prior, then down to his chest, hard muscles tensing as you stroked him, a light sheen of sweat on his abs.

finally, your eyes went further south, landing on the veiny cock in your hand. pearls of precum leaked from the angry tip and you could feel your own pool of arousal building. you couldn’t take your eyes off of it even if you tried. it was just too pretty - just like every other part of sylus.

his laughter snapped you out of your trance. “see something you want, kitten?”

“perhaps…”

“get on top, then.”

another whine left your throat. you shot him a pointed look, but he could see through it, see the hunger that laid just past that layer of annoyance. he could always see through you, no matter what irritated glance you sent at him.

maybe he’ll let it go if you give him a treat? so you leant down, licking your lips. you only managed to kiss the tip before his free hand dug itself into your hair, yanking your head up away with from his cock.

“ah ah,” he chided, raising an eyebrow. “being nice won’t get you out of this, sweetie.”

“sylus-“ you pleaded with a pout.

“it’s either you on top or nothing.” his eyes stared into yours, his tone leaving no room for your pathetic arguments. “what’s it going to be?”

when you didn’t say anything, only glaring at him, he knew what the answer was. but still, he decided he needed to hear your words be.

“well?” his rich voice purred. he grabbed your chin between his thumb and forefinger, bringing your face towards his. “i need words, kitten.”

a beat of silence, then, “fine.”

“fine, what?”

“…i’ll be on top.”

sylus smirked, letting go of your chin and lightly tapping your cheek a few times. “good girl.”

you found yourself on top of him, letting yourself leisurely sink down onto his dick. sylus was still being a jackass - he didn’t help you at all! just kept his hands resting on your thighs, watching with hungry eyes as he disappeared into you. your hands were splayed on your chest, bottom lip tucked under your teeth as you ever so slowly sat on him. you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding once your hips connected with his, a sigh of relief escaping you.

you felt awkward being on top. you didn’t know how to move, didn’t know how to do anything as you just stared at the spot where you and sylus connected. you like that for a moment too long, causing sylus to speak up.

“you gonna move?”

“i-“ you cleared your throat when you heard how meek you sounded. “i don’t know how,”

“just roll your hips,” sylus whispered, surprisingly gentle and soft compared to the last time he spoke. his eyes landed on your face, taking in the blush on your cheeks that began to grow. “like you do when you sit on my face.”

“sylus-!”

“what?” he laughed, fingers tapping your thighs. “maybe if you’re good, i’ll reward you.”

“you’re mean.”

“should i take away the offer?”

“no!” you responded almost too quickly, shaking your head and earning a chuckle from the man underneath you. you loved sitting on sylus’ face, but he cherished it more than you did.

he was a giver, after all.

you rolled your hips like he said, shakily exhaling as he reached a new depth in you. you weren’t used to the deep penetration from the get go - he’d always ease you into it, starting with slow, shallow thrusts before they blurred into hard and fast ones.

but still, it felt so wonderful. continuing to rock your hips against his, a pretty string of moans and sighs of sylus’ name left you. you took what you wanted, eyes closing as you threw your head back, and sylus watched proudly as you finally were on top of him, doing all of the work.

you started gaining confidence as you heard his own sounds of pleasure, soft murmurs of “there you go, kitten,” and “atta girl, you got it,” as his own eyes closed. you decided to start bouncing in his cock, a darling whine as you felt him ram into your cervix violently.

only a handful of bounces later and your thighs started burning, so you went back to rolling your hips against him. sylus noticed, of course, another demeaning snicker leaving him as his eyes opened.

he reached towards your face, brushing the strands of hair away from your face while your hips worked against his. “does it burn?” velvety and caring voice making your eyes snap to his. his hands moved up your thighs, settling nicely on the curve of your hips. “do you want some help, kitten?”

he already knew the answer before you nodded. his hands helped you up and down, his own hips bucking up to meet yours. tits bouncing in front of his face, your fucked out expression, and you on top of him - sylus thinks he’s at the pearly gates of heaven.

if he died, this is what he’d see in the afterlife. his perfect, sexy girlfriend riding his cock, absolutely losing herself. he thinks he’s enjoying this more than you are!

“s-sylus, h-ahh!” you lifted your head to look at him, hands still splayed on his chest. his dick absolutely ruined you, even more so with this new angle. brushing against that spongy spot, you let out a loud noise. “fffuck!”

“mm-yeah, you like being on top, don’t you?” he groaned when your nails dug into his chest, leaving crescent-shaped indents. “you’re doing so well, too.”

his hands wrap around your waist, pinning you against him as he starts slamming his thick cock into you, unable to hold back any longer. and just like all the times before, you took it like the amazing girlfriend you were. “hah, squeezing my cock so good,” he moaned into your ears.

his moans were much more musical than when he was actually singing.

only a handful of thrusts later and you’re coming undone quicker than you ever have - sylus has strong suspicions it’s because you’re on top, riding him like you fucking own him. he follows soon after, releasing his own pleasure into you. the sound of skin slapping skin slowly subdues as his tempo came to a halt, his face falling forward onto you chest.

he stayed like that for a few moments. just catching his breath as he buried his face into your tits.

sylus is a man of his word. so obviously, he kept his word - slipping himself out of you with a whine from you. he shifted so he laid on his back, his hands on your thighs encouraging to move up his body.

“wanna eat this pretty pussy,” he practically purred, eyes trained on your cunt. he grinned happily as you complied, thighs on either side of his head as you lowered yourself down onto him.

out of habit, one hand seized a fistful of his hair as the other held onto the headboard, steadying yourself as he ate you out like a man starved. a long lick, from your gaping hole to you clit, before he moved back to your slippery slit, greedily lapping up your combined fluids. he deliberately shook his head against you, making sure his nose rubbed against your puffy clit.

it was a nasty sight - your boyfriend’s mouth working wonders on you as his laughs were muffled by your cunt. he drank up your combined come as his hands wrapped around your thighs, immobilizing you against him.

with hearts floating in his red eyes, he looked up at you so lovingly, watching your every expression and reaction to his ministrations. sylus thinks he could stay like this for hours; eating out his girl after coming in her might be his favourite pastime. but fuck he can’t get the way you looked on top of him out of his head. next time, he thinks he’ll make you tie him up so you’d really have to do all of the work.

he’ll make you be in top more often from now on!

likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated:)

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sinkuna · 2 months ago

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୨୧ — Nanami’s uneven footsteps shuffle against the wooden floors, his tie already slung over his shoulder, dress shirt wrinkled. He toes off his shoes with a clumsy thud, muffling a hiccup as he shrugs off his crumpled suit jacket. The bed dips as he kneels behind you, his warmth seeping through the thin sheet fabric before he stills- breath held, as if afraid to wake you.

"Mm... there you are," he slurs softly, calloused fingers brushing aside your hair so that he can press feather light kisses to the curve of your shoulder, "Missed... hic… missed your warmth." breath reeking of bourbon.

"Couldn't... hic... stop thinking 'bout you," a trail of saliva glistening as he licks up your spine, teeth scraping the nape of your neck. His hips grind sloppily into your ass, slacks straining against the swell of his cock, "Just... needed t'feel you. That okay?… 'S been... too long."

You stir slightly with a sleepy murmur, but he shushes you with a nose nuzzled into your hair, "Shh, I-let me... let me just..." A shaky exhale fans across your ear as he continues to grind gently against you, "Mmph, always feels... so good, m’ my perfect little wife."

With trembling fingers, Nanami undoes his belt with clumsy haste, the metal buckle clattering to the floor, a hiss escaping his clenched teeth as he pushes down his slacks. His bare cock nestles between the swell of your ass, hot and twitching and slick with beads of pre cum drooling from his tip.

"Please," he groans, a desperate note in his voice, "I- hic- need to-"

He gasps as his bare cock nudges against your already damp underwear, the fabric catching on the swollen head. "Hah-fuck," he curses, hands sliding down your sides to squeeze at your hips, pulling them back until they're flush with his own, "So wet- so wet for me, dear."

His hands tremble as they slide down your thighs, hooking his thumb under the elastic waistband and pulling them aside, "Can't wait, 'm sorry, I need-" He cuts himself off with a soft whine, rubbing the head of his cock against your slick folds.

Snapping his hips forward, your drunk loving husband buries himself inside of you with a choked moan, his hands squeezing tightly, "Shit- you're so hot and-hic-t-tight." His head hangs over your shoulder as his cock throbs inside of you, twitching and spasming at the sudden heat, his breaths stuttering.

It's slow. Aching. Each shallow thrust accompanied by broken whispers against your skin-"So good... like this. Wanna... wanna hold you." His hips stutter, alcohol making him clumsy, but his hands stay gentle, adoring as they map the expanse of your body, his lips trailing across every inch of skin he can reach. "Love you- love you s'much. Never-mmm, never letting go, I- I swear it," his voice cracks, his pace quickening, desperation bleeding into his movements.

His rhythm fractures- a stuttering, vulnerable push as he bottoms out. You could feel it in your sleep- in your dreams where your mind showed your hardworking husband fucking a child into you- the first tremor through his thighs, the choked "Nngh—!" vibrating against your shoulder blade. Then the pulse before a flood of warmth spills into your fertile womb.

"K-Kento~," you sigh, a dreamy smile spreading across your lips.

He groans out your name, half sobbing, hips grinding in tiny circles as if to coax every last drop before collapsing against you, "My... my love... right here." His wedding band glints in the moonlight, sticky with proof. "Always... always here… always ‘gonna come… home to you..."

By morning you’re curled in his embrace, his tie knotted loosely around your joined hands.

⋆｡˚꒰ঌ 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ໒꒱˚｡⋆

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reignpage · 9 days ago

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♱ In which boyfriend!choso can't keep still long enough to last a punishment

“Don’t move, Cho,” you remind him.

He whines. Bare and standing, you’re free to kneel before him and suck at his leaking, throbbing tip. Your boyfriend can do nothing but hope he doesn’t shudder too much whilst you tongue his swollen slit and milk his length with a tight fist.

“Baby, please. I can’t. You’re being mean a-and cruel.”

Admittedly, you are being cruel – he can’t touch you, can’t make commands, and cannot, under any circumstances, let that glass cup balancing on his head drop. The pigtailed bastard deserves it after he tried sending a video of you getting your back blown out to your shameless ex, who wouldn’t stop texting you, only to end up sending it to your mother instead.

Cupping his heavy balls in one palm, you massage the pair, feeling the panty-soaking heat in them all while they promise to fill your stomach with his salty cum. For someone complaining about how much he hates this punishment, he sure is using up a lot of energy to keep his head up and still. Abs flexing, you can’t help but rake your long nails down the sculpted muscles. He shivers and gasps.

“I already -ngh!- said I’m s-sorry. Just take it off me and let me fuck you.”

Very tempting. Unfortunately for him, and your greedy pussy, he rarely ever gets his way with you. So, with a mouth full of his pulsating cock, you say, barely coherent, “Nope! You’re just gonna -mmm quit moving- have to man up and take your punishment like a good boy.”

A fat droplet of precum slides down your throat. Hmm, he sure does love being called a good boy. How sad.

Your arm stretches up his torso all so you can tweak the piercing on his blushing brown nipples. He doesn’t say anything when you slap his ass too, though he doesn’t need to – the sudden tightening of his ball sack says enough. Thighs begin to shake. Fists clench so tight his knuckles turn white. His jaw hangs. Any second now, he’ll burst in your mouth. For his own good, he better not drop the glass. You’ll make him clean it up with your hot pink vibrator tied against his frenulum, which he has grown much too familiar with over the years. Maybe that’s what he’s hoping for.

“My ex was never so pathetic,” you muse. “When my misbehaved boyfriend is struggling over such a simple task, it makes me miss hi–HMPH!”

Choso growled and grabbed your head with both hands, vein in those huge biceps flexing. Something animalistic flashed in those blown out eyes. That’s all the warning you got before he shoved his cock deeper down your throat, filling you up so manically. He doesn’t waste a single second before ramming inside your mouth and whimpering at the wet friction. The glass shatters in the background. You can’t even get a word out to complain because he’s pounding your throat like he’s trying to kill you.

“You’re -oh fuck!- mine,” Choso growls. Grunting and staring up at the ceiling, too stimulated when he looks down at you, you watch his Adam’s apple bob. Your eyes roll back. He looks so pretty desperately chasing his release and using you as a glorified fleshlight. “I’ll kill anyone who -hah- t-tries to take you.”

Those are his last words before he blows a scalding load into your stomach. You haven’t even swallowed and he’s already lifting you up and throwing you over his shoulder. When you bounce on the bed, your glare prompts an answer out of him.

“I didn’t want you to cut your pretty feet.” He presses a sloppy kiss against the sole of each of them. Then, he brings one to rub at his burning, hardening dick, moaning like a whore as he stares down at you with desire, love, and obsession radiating from every pore. “My girl’s gotta look her best for the video I’m sending to that loser, right?”

You sigh. “Whatever. Just make sure you don’t send it to my mother again.”

Choso pouts.

“Stop bringing that up; it’s embarrassing.” Climbing over your body, he sucks at every inch of skin he can before the need to kiss you overwhelms him. “Ugh. She heard me call you mommy.”

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk choso #jjk x you #jjk fic #jjk oneshot #choso kamo #choso x reader #choso smut #choso oneshot #choso fic #jjk choso x reader #choso drabble #jjk drabble

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dante-mightdie · 9 months ago

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some bluecollar!simon as a treat

“what the fuck d’ya think you’re doing? get back in bed.” simon growls at you, ignoring your whines of protest as he drags you back to the bedroom, leaving his work lunch unfinished on the counter

“you’re too sick to be out of bed.” he grumbles, ignoring the heart eyes you give him at his aggressive love, “stop lookin’ at me like tha’”

you giggle followed by a pained groan from the strain on your achy muscles as simon tucks the bedsheets in around you. “can’t help it, you’re so good to me, si… if I don’t make it through this… just know…”

he shakes his head at you, cutting off your dramatic joke with two hands on either side of your face and a firm kiss on your forehead, “don’t die before you fix that hole in my work trousers.”

he chuckles at his own stupidity when he feels your foot poke out from under the covers to kick his thigh, “right, I’ll be ‘ome after work and I’ll pick up food from that dingy cafe you like.”

you blow him a kiss as he grabs his stuff and makes his way towards the bedroom door, “if yer want anymore of that medicine, it’s in my bedside drawer.” he calls out before he leaves

you smile to yourself when you hear the front door slam, missing him already but you know the bills have been extra high recently so he can’t afford to miss work, your poor man has been working himself to the bone picking up as many shifts as he can

you’ll soon discover the real reason he’s been working so much when you open the bedside drawer later that day, looking for the medicine, only to find a small velvet box stashed in the corner :)

#simon riley x reader #simon riley #bluecollar!simon

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grenadehearts · 2 months ago

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katsuki with a mean girlfriend.. smut

katsuki swears the universe gave him the meanest, brattiest damn girl alive.

always angry. always quick to bite back. always faster than him with a sharper insult that even he wouldn’t dare cross.

you’re rough around the edges, sharp-tongued and demanding — barking orders at him like he’s some underling. do this, fix that, not like that, idiot. and if it’s not perfect, you're pouting, arms crossed, throwing the dirtiest, most lethal glares at him that leave him seeing red — not with anger, but with something worse.

because fuck, he's so pussywhipped he can't even think straight when you get like that. that scowl, the cruel curl of your lips when you talk down to him... it’s a migraine and a goddamn turn-on all rolled into one.

but this — this right here —

when he’s got you spread out bare for him, your thick thighs trembling under the squeeze of his palm, ankles hiked up to your ears, caged in a brutal mating press —

this is when katsuki wins.

when your sopping cunt clutches at him, sweet and wet and so needy, when all that sharpness bleeds out of you and leaves something soft, pliant, and his.

the change is fucking addictive.

that bratty mouth, the one that usually cuts him down in two seconds flat, now only spills high, broken whimpers, breathless gasps, words slurring together into sweet, incoherent babbling.

“ngh, k-katsuki—! f-fuck—!”

voice wrecked, desperate, so pretty when you try to snap at him and only end up whining.

“yeah? thought you had somethin’ to say, princess,” he growls, slamming his hips forward, skin smacking against skin, forcing another pathetic little moan out of you.

your fingernails dig into his shoulders, your glare watery and useless now, any fight you thought you had long pounded out of you.

he knows he's in charge.

knows your voice holds no bark, no bite, nothing but soft broken pleas when he's fucking you this deep into the mattress.

the only time you're really his — the only time you’re sweet —

and katsuki plans to drag it out for as long as he fucking can.

masterlist link here.

taglist: @twoplayergaymers @socialobligation @van9lla @dienamiight @sk1ppy-art @ni-aaaaaaa @kelisewrites @chosostonguepiercing @izzymff @swuzzin @aryuunachigiri @badslittlemuffin @yuhkai @candiiee @ugh-ellie69 @khloefrlsss @camydoesstuff @11thlife02 @alixezae @diamondocean001 @izycarrot7 @vivitg @cupkiki @wonubby @1explosionextinguisher @lotusstarr @tatumsscream96

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screampied · 9 months ago

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#BLOODLINE! s. ryōmen + c. kamo

☆ sum. when they’re both 10s but they’re also vampires. hungry blood-thirsty vampires who’ll stop at nothing to claim you. with how sweet you taste though, maybe humans aren’t so bad after all.

wc. 7.8k

warnings. fem! reader, thrēesomes, vampires! sukuna + choso, pwp, amateur's take on vampires, unprotected, cowgirl dp, manhandling, spīt-roasting, biting, dumbification, size kinks, fighting over you, brēeding kink, mentions of bloōd, implied marathons, fīngering, squīrting, pussydrunk men, cunnīlingus, hair pulling, choking, mistress kink, petnames.

➤ kinktober mlist!

this was crazy - no, this was insane.

not everyday do you have a century plus old vampire between your legs — a vampire who you were actually supposed to exterminate for a pricey reward that was held over his head. both heads. but oh, you were so screwed. not even three days in of getting your official vampire hunter license and you already failed.

rule number one stupid girl: never fuck the vampire. rule number two: never fuck the vampires, plural.

but, you had a scent on you. an alluring fresh scent that made the sukuna ryomen fall weak to his knees. the fragrant—whatever it was smelled very lush with a sprinkled spice of vanilla. it irked him badly, and what irked him the most was the simple fact that he was feeling quite . . parched.

he’s starved, and it’s been a while since he’s had a quenched thirst and satisfied appetite. vampires usually had it rough—especially sukuna, because he’d usually spend most of his years hibernating, and he could live without blood . . for a certain amount of years before he comes well, feral.

but that all changed until you came along, and long story short—here you were sprawled out over his throne with your legs wide open.

“woman,” he snarls, buried right between your thighs. sable honed claws gingerly caress against your skin before his long tongue drags itself out of your pudgy folds. “spread your cunt f’r me before i bite it off.”

“what if i’m into that?” you sheepishly hum, feeling a tear of sweat trickle down your quirked brow. but right as you let off your cheeky remark, a big hand swats at your sopping entrance hard, earning a whimper from your mouth. so wet, your squelches ring through his rusted victorian walls.

sukuna snarls at you, crimson ruby eyes boring into your soul practically before with a sobbing creak, his chamber door opens. the hinges were whining as it unbolts and peeked out was whom you assumed to the other vampire, kamo choso.

you did research on them both—especially choso.

even though both of them were classified as dangerous notorious special grades with huge bounties placed on each of their heads dead or alive, choso was worth far more. you always did want to know why though.

he’s even prettier than person. choso was dressed in nothing but dark toned yet elegant dim clothing. both of their styles were strictly victorian-esque. choso’s hair was slightly matted and down, flowing past his tense shoulders. as unkempt dark strands went through his eyes, it created an attractive a shaggy wolf cut look. “oh,” he timidly murmurs, his eyes averting toward sukuna then at you.

a human,

his heart started to race and he could feel the inside of his mouth salivate with a minuscule amount of water. choso openly stares for a lengthy amount of seconds before nibbling on his tongue with his fangs. with the way he scoffs under his breath and how his body language grows stiff — you can tell, he’s jealous.

“am i .. interrupting, sukuna?”

sukuna groans internally, his tongue still attached to your swollen clit. you were close—he knew it from the way your breathing patterns started to grow irregular and you were struggling to stay still. as your feeble fingers resume to spread your soddened folds further apart for him, he slurps you clean, making all sorts of sloppy noises leave from his think pink lips. “mhm,” and he gives his comrade a side eye. “c’mere, choso. greet our new meal—eh, special guest.”

choso’s gaze never leaves yours, and as he tucks his head underneath his cape, he kneels down beside sukuna. “h- hi,” he swallows thickly, trailing his bloodshot irises that dramatically dilated each second he spent staring at your body.

god, were you pretty.

“hi ch— fuck,” you moan, feeling sukuna’s fangs delicately brush near your cunt. it almost tickled but you weren’t laughing, and your thighs were on the verge of snapping shut. choso stands there, watching as his own whetted fangs dig into his pouty bottom lip. “choso, do you wanna try too?”

“can i?” he blurts eagerly, but he gets flustered the second he sees your lips curving into a soft smile. after all, embarrassment was always his best friend.

choso’s kneeled right beside sukuna and he has an almost scowl marinating against his facial features. with a grumpy glower, he’s watching his partner act so greedy. the pink haired vampire’s got a chin that’s just streaming with slick and he can’t help but pout.

it’s probably been decades since he—since they encountered a vampire hunter, and now you were here. not only that, but choso was the entire opposite of sukuna. he doesn’t know the first thing on how to please a woman. “i mean . . is it okay, miss?”

sukuna snickers, briefly breaking his lips away before strumming a fat thumb down your drooling slit. “tch. such a wuss,” and his reddened gaze meets yours as a sly smile twists across the crevices of his lips. “excuse him. he’s a bit, heh, inexperienced.”

“that’s not—” it was, and choso lets off a cute frustrated huff but his demeanor softens the moment you claw a hand through his slightly matted wolfcut. dozens of loose tresses twirl between your fingers and he lets off a quiet purr, leaning into your touch. “mhm,” and he looks up at you—then at your pretty swollen cunt that was just pulsing second after second.

so pretty, it almost looks like a flower. easily akin to a vanilla orchid—he found himself about to drool the more he stared. choso was just millimeters away from a single taste and he couldn’t help but moan once he abruptly got a strong whiff of your candied balmy scent.

“it’s okay,” you murmur, trailing your middle finger down his tender scalp. sukuna’s right beside him, rolling his eyes whilst licking his spit-slick lips. as you remain slouched on sukuna’s primeval throne—your legs sprawl out just a bit wider and you bite your lip. “give it a little kiss.”

“y- yes, miss,” choso utters, and your eyes flicker down toward his lips. perfectly shaped—they have somewhat of an almost natural pout as they purse together—rosy pink and quivering in anticipation.

as he moves his face closer between your legs, you let off a gasp once his plump wet lips gradually smooch against your clit. “hng,” he groans, the sap of your own slick stringing against his mouth. choso can’t help but sneak his tongue down your pulsating clit for a better taste and oh, the way his eyes rolled back. “s- so good.”

sukuna clicks his tongue, growing impatient as his sharpened claws dig into the thin wooly fabric of his burgundy-black cloak.

“that’s it—good, yeah,” you softly coo out, tightening your grip against his head just a little.

choso had no clue what he was doing and it was adorable. his tongue was just as long as sukuna’s, mirroring the same forked-like shape. the softly spiky texture makes you squirm and writhe, feeling pleasurable twinges surge all throughout every inch of your body.

“fuuckk,” you gasp, feeling him suck against your clit. it’s overly sensitive, and he moans, feeling you throb right in his mouth. “mhm, suck there. right there, baby.”

baby, he wasn’t used to such words of affection. petnames, what you might call it. choso’s pointed ears cutely twitch and his nose wrinkles the second his sucking steadily intensifies. “mpmh,” and you can feel him taking a few seconds to sniff against your cunt once more.

“he gets off to being praised,” sukuna huskily jabbers, watching choso turn absolutely pussy drunk within seconds. you could tell just from his expressions alone. that sly yet sleazy grin compressing near the corners of his mouth, hooded eyes and drooling profusely from the sides of his mouth—

yeah, he was entirely weak. weak for you.

as his tongue slowly massages its way between the cracked slit of your pussy, he feels your grip in his hair tighten. “does he?” you utter, and you can hear a shuddering breath leave from choso’s mouth.

he swallows thickly again, wondering when the part was gonna come. the part where you’d finish your job, your mission—out of all the vampire hunters he’s stumbled across, he’s never been between one’s legs . . let alone being spared.

but he wasn’t complaining, not at all.

“mhm,” the older vampire sukuna grumbles, teasingly wrapping a hand around choso’s broad neck. choso moans from his touch too, and sukuna brushes a thumb down the valley of his sensitive scalp. “he can’t help it. praise him once and he’ll finish right on the spo—”

“s.. sukuna,” choso glares, still having a mouth full of your cunt.

the squelches you made from each succulent suckle was quite loud, constantly reverberating through the ancient chamber walls. but oh, your taste was simply divine. unlike any cuisine he’s ever tried. choso would rate your pussy five stars if he could.

you’re so wet — sopping a pretty cascading stream that flows down his chiseled chin to where he’s literally just drowning in your cunt. choso was a quick learner though, despite having little to no experience.

a raw breath rips out of your lungs once you feel your thighs grow weak. his tongue extends a bit inside of your cunt, curling it’s way around and in zigzags to make your toes curl in surprising rapture.

“f- fuck, like that,” you whimper out, and suddenly a dark silhouette overshadows you. slowly, your eyes look up to see sukuna standing right over you with a cunning toothy leer.

your eyes rove down his dark cloak that covers his body entirely, although you couldn’t help but want to see more.

like mentioned before—you’ve done your research about them both. as a vampire hunter, it was well, required.

sukuna had to be over a few thousand years old with choso not that far from behind. “silly, silly woman,” he tsks with a taunting head shake.

sukuna cups your chin and you moan once choso’s hooked nose starts to brush up and down against your clit.

you meet the eyes of a blood-thirsty vampire who’s got the most smuggest grin you’ve ever seen. “you know,” his voice seductively pitches low, and the rough bass that smooths underneath his tone makes you feel a wave of butterflies swarm near the pit of your stomach. a thumb swipes against your glossed lips before he bends, getting right close to your face level. “usually, this is the part where you kill us, you know that, right?”

“i—know,” and for a second, you nearly let off a mewl once you feel choso’s fangs softly nip against your tender cunt.

you were throbbing heavily, and he’s just slobbering all over your entrance just to lap it right back up back with his tongue like the feral animal he was.

it was cute how conflicted you were — your eyes didn’t know where to look, whom to focus on, nothing. .

even so, as your back remains reclined back against the timber-made throne, your brows furrow. he’s right, moments ago you should have pulled out your stake or firearm, getting rid of them and collecting quite a delicious sum of bounty for both of their heads - dead or alive.

but, as the thought struck you — why, why didn’t you finish them off. what’s stopping you?

you didn’t know, and quite frankly, you didn’t care.

besides, it was technically only the first few days of your new job and something internally was screaming at you that this probably wasn’t your right field of expertise anyway.

and the fact that the ‘target’ you were supposed to eliminate was propped up between your legs was . . something.

hell, maybe it was even a sign.

“oh, i see,” sukuna huffs, sliding a thumb across your pursed lips, wanting your pout crease more. cute. “you want more, that right, stupid girl?” a rough voice purrs out to you, and he can see the pout starting to form over your lips once you give him a slow nod. “yeah, yeah you do,” and he looks down at choso who’s got his pretty flapping lashes closed, sliding a hand inside of his cloak.

he’s groaning against your cunt, stroking himself off and whimpering against your folds that sobbed for more. sukuna cups your chin, pressing your lips together. “i don’t speak nod. use those words, tell me what you want.”

“y.. you both,” and it comes out like a lewd broken whisper. by this point, you were shameless. it’s almost as if you were in a dream—maybe even a fan fiction.

as those fatal words leave from your lips, your eyes roll back once choso’s continuing to slurp against your cunt - savoring each honeyed drop of your juices. he’s still on his knees as his pointed ears twitch from each whine and mewl that pours away from your lips.

sukuna groans under his breath, feeling himself get hard as he takes a few occasional glances.

choso’s face was right up against your pussy, and he made sure to run and trace his tongue in every single spot that would make you sing out pretty ‘ooh’ and ‘ah’'s for him. he’s craved a good meal for the longest and the meal between your thighs was all that he really needed.

“greedy girl,” sukuna grouses, lightly squeezing your chin, making you give him your attention back. ruby red eyes flicker toward your exposed nude neck — such precious skin all out and on display, a vampire’s favorite part of the body.

the thoughts of imagining what you tasted like from just a single bite clogged his entire brain. just a single drink of you - just one would have him probably at your mercy - no, he had to focus.

sukuna shakes his head with an annoyed grunt, pressing his head against yours as you lied back. “both, huh? can you really handle that, princess?”

“yes—”

“look at me when you speak, girl,” and you feel an overwhelming increase of thumps in your heart once he’s only inches away from pressing his lips against yours.

the eye contact was brutal - sensual.

his eyes lock onto yours and it’s as if you’re staring directly at a pool of bloody scarlet jewels. you could honestly get lost in sukuna’s eyes. such irises never leave yours and you gulp, looking him right in the eye before watching choso starting to bite near your thighs. “repeat yourself, go on.”

with a shaky voice, you drag choso’s head closer between your thighs before whining once he glides his forked tongue against your throbbing pearly nub. “i want you both. p.. please, wan’ you both.”

and the last thing you’d expect was for them to be eating you out — at the same damn time.

both vampires were propped up between your legs as you’re spread open with the cutest expression plastered on your face.

god, this was fucked.

as two forked tongues flick and swipe against your clit, nibbling on your tender gummy flesh, you let off the most melodic whine. it rips straight out of your throat, bouncing off the century old walls. the texture of both tongues — you felt the plush spikes that run against their tastebuds, feeling sukuna hold your nub hostage with choso trapping his your pretty clit with his fangs.

“fuck, ‘m so c- close,” you’d whine out, staring at them both as they’re between your legs with hazy blown pupils. both of your hands fish through their hair, gasping heavily once they start to slurp nearly everything out of you at such at maddened pace.

it was one thing with teeth — but they had fangs, and they both made sure you felt the keen edges against your sopping cunt every single time.

“mmph,” choso mewls out, wrapping his mouth around your slick entrance. sukuna’s only a few kilometers apart, and the older vampire grunts once he tries to push him away. with pouty glossed lips, choso gives your clit a kiss before briefly departing. “ ‘kuna,” he huffs cutely, and you watch as his chin has an even shiner coat of your arousal racing down. “you’re bein’ greedy..”

“good,” sukuna jibes, and you whimper loudly once his long tongue trails further down. it stops right once it reaches your winking hole. it was so long, it located places you didn’t even know could be reached. a fluttering feeling settled inside the very pits of your stomach before he spits on your cunt.

it’s a rude ‘pft’ and you watch as a syrupy strand dribbles down onto your heat. choso’s lip quivers as he stares too, going back to touching himself.

he rarely touched himself — but when he did, it always felt heavenly. “cho,” he grouses, smearing a fat thumb against your cunt that’s soaking up the dribbling saliva. “clean her off for me.”

choso’s eyes widen. but he was too feral to reply, and as if his lips had a mind of it’s own, he leans in and let’s his mouth do the rest of the talking.

honey, your taste was almost equivalent to honey. choso whines against your clit as he drinks you clean, the soddened pure taste of you never departing from his tastebuds. he shamelessly laps up sukuna’s saliva that pours down your pudgy wet folds before softly thrusting his tongue in and out of your cunt.

“fuck,” you moan, feeling your legs starting to spasm. sukuna goes back between and they’re both latching their pink pointed tongues against your tender muscle. you even watch as their tongues touch, getting tangled together and all. choso grows flustered and sukuna’s for the same sly smile on his lips, teasingly licking near choso’s bottom lip before going back to your pussy.

squelch, you were so wet . . profusely drooling. with how wet you were, you were putting faucets to unruly shame.

your thighs were covered in various marks and as they both shared the same pussy drunk grin, that’s when you finally snap.

right when the tip of sukuna’s forked tongue rudely thwacks against your sweetened g-spot, you end up gushing out right away. it creeps up on you like a jump scare, hitting you like a truck, an inevitable wave that came crashing down without warning.

“fuck, ngh oh my god!” and as you’re coming undone on their tongues, you were holding in a breath you didn’t even know you had.

seconds later as you gradually let go, your tummy’s continuing to heave from each exhilarated pant leaving from your lungs. with hooded eyelids fluttering, you end up spraying a sweet amount of sap onto the bottoms of their chins. sukuna snickers and choso quietly gasps—

“my my,” sukuna hums, licking his tongue underneath his bottom lip, savoring the taste. “so the human’s a squirter also, interesting,” and you couldn’t my stop panting.

your orgasm was loud, and it rang through each of the ancient walls that were so old that they were on the verge of crumbling down after centuries of standing tall. your own voice nearly shatters the victorian mirrors as you leisurely succumb into awaited pleasure, releasing your grip from their heads. you glance down and see sukuna already staring at you, giving your cunt one final kiss. “cute, think i’ll take my time with you, princess.”

choso pouts, panting himself as his tongue licks near the crevice of his lips. “y.. you mean us, ‘kuna.”

sukuna rolls his eyes with a grimacing scowl. “eh, right.”

many moments later — once you’re lightly thrown on sukuna’s king sized bed, you gulp.

now you were fucked.

they were more hungrier than ever, especially choso. the taste of your sweet cunt still lingers and his mouth, on his tongue—and he only imagined how sweeter your sacred blood must be.

“choso, watch me,” sukuna gruffs, and you let him flip your body over. landing into the cushions with a soft ‘oof’ your cheek gets pressed against a velvet pillow. “humans are fragile, so you don’t wanna break ‘em too bad,” and you moan once his hand swats against your bare ass. the recoil makes your entire body tense and you chew on your lip, quietly wishing he’d spank you again.

you weren’t really wearing anything except for maybe a black skirt that was now torn to practical shreds and a blouse that was halfway raised toward the top. as sukuna shuffles a bit, he springs out his thick cock and oh, you could tell he was big just from hearing the stroking sounds from behind you.

he grunts, giving his veiny shaft a few ample pumps before aligning himself against your swollen entrance. “look at herrrr,” he purrs, spreading your cunt apart with two fingers as your ass arched upward.

you were still drenched with your panties clinging toward the gummed crevices of your thighs. right as he toys with your dilating clit, he can hear the sloshing sounds make it’s return before darkly chuckling. “eager, isn’t she choso? her pretty pussy’s tryin’ to talk back. how quaint.”

“sukuna,” choso pouts, pushing him off. “let me, i know how to—” and he pauses, his eyes intently gazing at your pulsing cunt.

he was still so hungry. he just wanted another taste. just one more slurp of your slick and he’ll be satisfied. his thirst would be quenched. choso shakes his head, letting off a shaky sigh. “i know how t- to fuck.”

“he doesn’t,” sukuna mouths to you in a cocky manner, getting in front of you.

the pink haired vampire stands near the edge of the bed, a hand cupping underneath your chin. “it’s okay, you can look,” he smugly says, feeling your eyes burn into his weighty length that’s standing tall.

the shadow that’s underneath it makes it appear even bigger, and oh, it’s not just big - it’s huge.

sukuna’s very thick with insane amounts of girth for days, and your eyes slowly flicker toward his pretty tip that’s swollen. spurts of pre-cum seeping from his frenulum and you can’t help but give his tip a few greeting kisses. he sucks his teeth at the audacity, wide jaw tightening at your tender touch. the more you stare, you notice he’s got a bit of pink hair that curls it way around his fat base, almost forming a bush.

it’s unintentionally attractive, and you even found yourself gawking at his shaggy happy trail too. “touch me more, woman,” he utters, as if he read your mind. his rough tone getting a bit softer. “go ‘head.”

as you wrap a hand around his cock, you can hear choso’s sweet whimpers in the background. “oh, my,” and his sweltering hot tip’s just ghosting against your yearning slick entrance. you let off a hum, teasingly wriggling your ass a bit just to get a reaction out of him and you did. “ugh,” he moans with an needy hiss following, sliding his flushed crownhead against your swallowing cunt. “kuna she’s gonna m- make me cum.”

“thought you said you knew how to fuck?” sukuna titters, ogling as you slowly bring your plump lips up to his shaft.

with a grumble, choso kisses his teeth. “shut up,” and as his dick aligns itself between your swollen folds, he lets off a breathy sigh. “fuuuck,” he could feel you wholly trying to swallow him as he eases his way inside.

right there, choso felt a chill run down his spine. you were warm inside, and it makes him gnaw a fang down his quivering lip once his lengthy inches rummages farther. “hng, ‘s so good, she’s so wet, ‘kuna,” he murmurs in a soft tone, his words that slide past his lips shaking from each breath.

hearing your own moans leave from your lips makes him harder. sukuna grunts, watching as you press another chaste kiss against his mushroomy tip.

lustrous strands of pre-cum stick against your lips and he groans, tight abs that hid within the inside of his cloak tensing right away. “that’s it, ‘s all yours, princess,” and a hand of his paws it’s way onto the top of your head. once his dick starts to slowly disappear in your mouth, he lets off a near growl. whitened fangs poke from the outer parts of his lip before he feels your moan vibrate against his shaft. “mhm, atta girl. get it wet, spit on it.”

“hah, ‘m not gonna last,” choso breathlessly huffs, and with his hands gripping on both sides of your waist, he’s starting up a pace. it’s a slow pace that you could keep up with in terms of rhythm, but fuck was he big too.

choso had just as much of girth as sukuna did, maybe even more.

he’s stretching you out with just a few beginning thrusts and your eyes already widen. “mpmh,” and as your mouth’s full, cheeks all puffed from storing sukuna’s cock inside, you pull it out to allow a bit of drool pout from your lips and onto his tip.

the vampire flashes you a wolffish smile as his fingers softly massage down your scalp, his claws gingerly stroking against your tresses. your back was arched to a sudden with your body slightly raised, facing sukuna whilst your rear was focusing purely on choso.

sukuna studies your body, your pretty face, your fluttering flapping lashes, your tight tight throat that’s making lewd noises every once in and while, but most importantly, he studies you.

it doesn’t take long before his fat cockhead starts to create ‘love’ taps against your uvula. your eyes widen and you let off a tiny gargle at feeling him reach the roof of your mouth within no time, clawing your own hands into his beefy thighs.

“such a tight ‘lil throat for a pretty human,” he grunts, feeling you pop out his cock to lap up the remnants of your saliva.

choso’s still plummeting into you from behind, giving you soft sensual strokes yet they soon turn rigorous and deep once he feels your ass slam into him. once your skin goes back against him, that was merely all it took for him to lose it. it makes his ears twitch even more—and he whimpers, falling on love with your cunt right away.

it’s sloppy. already, you’re starting to stick and glue against his chiseled pelvis each time you rut back into him. choso’s hips were downright filthy, and it only takes him a few minutes before he’s meticulously drilling into you at full speed. his cock’s precise, making sure to hunt and search through every part of your cunt with his aching tip.

“fuck,” he hisses, a sweaty palm of his giving your right ass cheek a squeeze. as he grabs a nice chunk of your ass, he can’t help but spank it.

but he feels bad afterwards so the sting shortly goes away once his palm caresses a few circles against your hot temple.

the recoil of your skin always mesmerized him - he found himself in a trance every time. simply put, you had him enticed.

choso moans again, feeling your warm body rock back into his at such an unsteady pace to where he’s stammering over his words. “s. . so pretty.”

“the inside of her mouth’s even prettier,” sukuna sneers, and with a loud ‘pop’, he removes his dick from out of your throat.

you pout, lolling out your tongue without him having to say anything and he hums in patent amusement. “ain’t that right, princess?” and with a whack, his fat meaty tip slaps against your pink tongue.

you moan, and he slaps his flushed cock against your tongue three more times just to hear you whine for him to finish. “fuckin’ hungry, are ya, ‘lil hunter? you didn’t care about bounties, you just cared about gettin’ your sloppy cunt wet, huh.”

“mmph—sukuna,” you mumble, your words nearly inaudible once he rubs his leaky tip against your lips. his tip’s so fat and swollen as a rosé color shades over it from top to bottom. just a few seconds of him being out of your mouth and you were already drooling for more - literally.

choso’s breathing starts to pick up the longer he’s giving you such rough pivotal thrusts. you could feel him practically humping his weak hips into you, and he’s sniffling because he can’t believe humans felt this good inside.

“aw, are you mad, little human?” sukuna gruffly mocks, tracing a thumb over your arched brow.

the scowl that indents between the corners of your lips was adorable. “heh, how spoiled you must be. fine. open your mouth again,” and he views as you quickly comply, sticking out your tongue with your hands grabbing your neglected breasts that hid beneath your bra. “good girl.”

this merely lasts for a century — not really, but it felt like it.

lightning like veins ran down sukuna’s cock and you felt them prod against your tongue, meanwhile choso’s almost hysterical once he ends up dumping ribbons of cum into you. early at that, and he’s never been more embarrassed.

choso fucks you for a long while, and it’s until his thrusts against you becomes insignificantly sloppy and he’s overflowed your cunt with ropes of searing hot cum. it’s so much that it dribbles down your thighs, spritzing all on your clit and gluing against your skin like paste.

“ngh, f- forgive me,” he’d whine, peering as sukuna’s finishing up himself.

with a feral growl, he’s fisting his cock just a few more times before it’s his turn to finish now. you got filled in both ways, and once the bitterly sweet taste of his seed mists into your mouth, you let off a moan. “good . . good girl,” choso rubs the back of his neck, trying to mimic sukuna’s praises he did on you earlier.

you’re still on all fours and your eyelashes flutter as he’s continuing to spill out such slimy amounts of cum. the taste has a bit of a sugary tang that makes your nose crinkle. “swallow,” the older vampire murmurs, a long black claw of his softly caressing the edge of your lip.

a few droplets dribble from the corners of your lips once you obey, moaning once you feel choso unhurriedly pull out. he’s slow, feeling his chest heave out with a heavy sigh as your cunt let’s out a loud ‘pop’ after he gradually takes it out of you.

his tip was throbbing, and as he stared at his own cum oozing out of your swollen pussy, he can’t help but run a finger down it. you feel yourself clenching around nothing now and you can’t help but pout.

“tch. where’s your manners, woman,” sukuna raises a pink slit brow, grabbing your chin. your lips still remain pouty due to how much he’s squeezing against your plump lips together and you let off a whimper.

crisp air sets against your bare ass and skin as you meet his carmine-red gaze. “you’re supposed to say ‘thank you’ for the meal. go on.”

“t . . thank you, ‘kuna,” you softly snivel, feeling yourself pulse the more choso runs his finger down your flabby folds. he’s touchy, his fingers felt hot and shocking like static - and the more he maneuvers tiny circles around your clit, the more you felt your knees starting to grow weaker again.

“hn.” is all he replies with, and just when you thought they were finished — they weren’t.

you said you wanted both of them, not just one but two. and you know what they always say, the more the merrier . . right?

but it’s a bit different when the ‘merrier’ involves two ancient cocks.

to say you got stretched to the very fullest was merely an understatement. they each took turns with you, round after round after fucking round . .

your legs felt practically nonexistent, and every time they’d dump a knot into your sweet cunt, you’d feel like you were about to burst. round after round after round, they’d coax out orgasms out of you like it was nothing—especially sukuna.

choso was the one whining in your ear, whining even louder than you sometimes. he couldn’t help it, especially with how good your pussy wrapped around his dick so freely. it was a feeling he doesn’t think he’s ever experienced—and if he did, it was a long long time ago anyway.

but now, you were preparing to take them both at the same time. the thrill of the thought alone makes your thighs shudder as sukuna’s sinking his thick cock into you. already, he feels you gaping and you can’t help but moan at the elastic stretch unfurling wider and wider. .

the pink haired vampire was propped behind you while choso’s lying flat back against the sofa. it’s a pretty view, and choso’s staring right into your eyes. your pretty eyes—he’s never been one to lust over a mere human, but it was just something about you. with you, it was different.

sukuna on the the other hand—he couldn’t really care less. he’s centuries old and it’s been what, a decades since he’s got laid? it was just who he was - but he wouldn’t mind keeping you around for a while.

for centuries, the two of them lived their tedious lives inside of what appeared to be some kind of abandoned castle—you actually ended up stumbling upon it in the forest by accident while looking for them. the vampires you were supposed to kill, and yet here you were, about to be double stuffed by both of them.

“nice ‘n easy you two. biiiig fuckin’ stretch,” sukuna gruffs, wrapping a big hand around his hardened cock.

it’s flushed and veiny from the rigid sides, florid from the crowned tip with a ruby shade as he’s still getting over his recent orgasm. you’re sopping, your cunt’s crying for more and the sloshes that sang out from your folds only grew louder the more he’s burying himself inside of your gummy pasty walls. “choso, you’re not gonna faint again, are ya?”

“s- shut up,” choso grumbles, a rosy tiny spraying a half part of his face. as choso aligns himself between your entrance also, he let’s off a low sigh at the welcoming squelch your pussy make.

‘pop’ and fuck, could he listen to that all day. just the sloppy noises you made—to him, that was music in itself. “god, ‘m still so sensitive, m- mistress.”

with a sheepish hum, you cup both sides of his face, speaking in a teasing tone. “mistress?”

“i—” choso pauses, a vermillion flush spraying over his entire face. fuck, his words slipped, and he’s felt that wave of embarrassed returning right away.

it was adorable though, and as you continue to bare around both of their cocks, he can’t help but lean into your tender touch. “i mean-”

“no, it’s okay,” you reassure him, moaning once your bare ass gets a swift rude swat from sukuna’s palm. within no time, you’re starting to move your hips again, feeling yourself get stuffed in all orifices.

your sheeny-slicked lips part into a gasping ‘o’ once you feel sukuna then rub a hand against your clit. “fuck,” you whine, and sukuna hisses himself once he feels your clingy grip around his cock tighten. his hips were sharp, and it doesn’t take long before you start to match his deranged rhythm. averting your eyes back toward choso who’s laid back so prettily on the bed underneath you, speak in a soft voice. “ ‘s okay, you can call me that.”

“yeah, cho. call the pretty girl ‘mistress’, heh.” sukuna derides.

with a cute grouse, choso glares at sukuna—but his expression quickly falters once you fall into his chest, slumping into his body. his tight sculptured abs that resembled a greek god peeks through his victorian inky cloak ghost against you and a bit of hair from his happy trail tickles against your tummy.

“shut . . up,” he grumbles at sukuna, but now it’s his turn to cup your face. “m- mistress,” and a thumb of his runs against your cheek.

sukuna groans from behind you both as he’s fucking you from behind—his deep pivotal strokes slowly weakening due to how sensitive he was. it almost stings, but with the way your cunt’s holding him hostage for all its worth, he just couldn’t stop.

“hm,” your eyes meet the dark haired vampire and his bottom lip quivers. just your stare alone was enough to drive him up the first street of insanity.

you’ve done quite your fair share amount of research on these two and what the media reports about them in the papers always shocks you. they typically always describe them as the ‘blood-thirsty duo’ monsters who would mercilessly tear limb from limb off of anyone who dares cross their path.

funnily enough, they said the most heinous things about choso in particular—but now that you were quite literally being filled with them both in each hole, choso was more sweet than anything. the papers described him as a ruthless blood-sucking vampire but he was the sweetest—especially whenever he’s overstimmed and whiny.

and sukuna . . he’s sukuna.

but you were still alive—so that was something, right?

“can . . may i,” and it takes you a moment to realize what he’s asking for.

choso wants to kiss you, and you can tell by the way his big wide eyes continue to flicker toward your own eyes, then back toward your glossed plump lips. he wanted a taste, he needed it.

“y- yeah,” you moan, feeling sukuna’s heavy cock reach an even deeper angle inside of you. you’re taking them both, feeling your entire legs get weaker by the second but that feeling suddenly disintegrates once choso presses his lips onto yours.

it’s a sultry hot kiss. a kiss that he’s been longing to do ever since he walked in on you and sukuna. choso’s forked tongue delves more into your mouth as you’re riding him with sukuna guiding your hips in place.

it’s sloppy, and he’s been pathetically aching for more of a taste from you for the longest. choso wasn’t fond of sharing you with sukuna—he wished it was you and him, but he couldn’t complain. at least he wasn’t going to complain yet.

“mmh,” you moan into his mouth, feeling his scarred hands softly caress near your breasts that poke through your bra. choso whines, nipping at your tongue with his serrated-sharp fangs before he lets off a gasp.

“ngh, oh fuck,” choso whimpers between your lips and deprived kisses. his arms end up enveloping around your waist, holding you close as sukuna’s driving his cock into you as such a crazed speed from behind.

as your lashes stick together briefly — they flutter shut before opening again. glancing up with droopy eyes, you watch as choso’s currently grabbing onto the wooden creaking headboard, a plethora of veins bulging down his swole biceps.

sukuna grunts behind your ear and within seconds later, he’s taking a playful harmless chomp out of your left shoulder blade.

your skin - so sweet, and his pronged tongue swirls its way around the fang marks that starts to form before choso ends up cumming early again.

“fuck, fuck,” choso whines, feeling his chest tighten. your pussy had them both weak, especially with choso more than anything, because he fills you up with another knot that exudes its way deep inside. it shoots out fast, pouring into you before a few remnants trickle down the crevices of your inner thighs.

your deadened legs struggle to stay open and he brings another needy wet kiss to your lips before he starts panting. “i- i need, need more,” and his eyes stare at your neck. “please, just a taste.”

“wait your turn, choso,” sukuna snarls, pulling you back to sink his fangs further into your skin. oh, they were fighting over you. choso lets off a cute huff before ignoring sukuna, glancing at you.

his eyes and pouty quivering lips were telling you ‘please’, and as you continued to slowly jerk your hips against them both, you let off a soft bashful, “g. . go ahead.”

but choso’s still cumming too—his ropes of cum was so sweet and came out so smoothly that it’s like he was pouring molasses of syrupy ribbons into you.

within a blink of an eye, it pumps into you raw, and choso nearly loses it once his fangs pierce down into the right side of your neck. “ah,” he whimpers, hot breath fanning against your skin. softly, his sharp fangs delicately nip into your sweet toothsome skin and it feels like a tiny prick.

you moan as you’re barely moving anymore, but they’re both still very deep inside, keeping each sloppy aperture of yours very, very busy.

“so dramatic,” sukuna rolls his eyes, a feeling of jealousy washing over him. you’re squeezing around him tight and he groans, clawing a few fingers toward your chest and unclasping your bra.

with hungry claret eyes that favors the color of rich red wine, he openly gawks as your breasts spring free and he gingerly pinches one of your perked nipples. “look at these girls, so perfect,” and you moan at his touch.

choso on the other hand looked so pretty. he’s still enjoying his ‘meal’ and the second his fangs cut deep enough into your skin, he tastes that sprinkle of metallic sweetness before he ends up cumming again.

he’s cumming while he’s feeding off of you — drinking your lusciously appetizing blood, and he hasn’t had a fill as good as this in probably centuries.

it’s so good that his mouth was watering, and the vampire loses his momentum before slouching further back with his teeth still attached to your skin like velcro. a pout curls against his lips as he makes you grind back into him, feeling both cocks stretch you open even more. “mh,” he whimpers, honed edges of his fangs creating various marks. you couldn’t wait to look at it later.

sukuna’s still fondling your tits and cupping them with both side hands before he bites near the other side of your neck, showering the exposed part of your skin with a multitude of kisses.

“careful, princess. you’re gonna break him,” he whispers in a raspy tone, and a hand of his trails further down between your legs.

“s- shut up, suku— fuck,” choso whines, and it’s an even larger knot than before.

it’s hot before it pumps inside of you yet again, filling you to the very peak. creamy globs of it race down your thighs as his mouth’s still clinging onto your bare shoulder blade. your taste, it was so rich . . so succulent.

your taste was almost so overbearing that it makes the flustered vampire’s eyes roll all the back until it reaches his skull, and he’s now feeling his dick twitching sporadically inside of you. “mistress, fuck. i- ‘s so much inside of you, f . . forgive me.”

he ends up shooting a huge load inside that stirs the insides of your flittering tummy. you were sure some even reached deep into womb, you wouldn’t be surprised due to just how big they both were.

but even so, and you couldn’t help but ponder . . could vampires get humans pregnant?

you didn’t plan on it, but that reality of being stuffed full of each of them made your stomach churn with a pool of butterflies living inside, swarming all around and fluttering at just the lewd thought of it all. you were filled to the very max - the very brim, and it leaves you panting for more.

you all remain like that until sukuna finally pries you off of choso, crimson eyes gazing at the mess that spills between your thighs. “tsk. how filthy,” and you land on your back, staring up at the two vampires who share the same blood-lust gaze.

“spread ‘em again, princess. least we can do is clean ya up,” and he nudges choso who’s just lied flat against the bed, still in awe—starstruck.

your pussy probably did break him.

“choso. c’mere,” he snaps in his face, and the dark haired vampire blinks thrice, returning back to reality. he groans, sitting up with sheets of sweat racing down each sides of his face. “our girl need’s cleaning.”

“o- oh, right,” he quietly stammers, a bit of your blood from earlier staining his pink lips. a permanent pout remains on his mouth before he licks them clean, and he can’t help but lean in, giving you one more kiss.

your heart swoons, and as you return the embrace. milliseconds pass and you gradually start to feel sukuna spreading your legs, ogling at the mess they created, the mess that’s pumped into you fully.

velvety ribbons of cum racing down each of your thighs, you were still throbbing ferociously and you let off a moan once you swipe your tongue across choso’s lips, relishing in the taste of your own sweet irony blood.

as your tongues vigorously twirl around each, trying to assert dominance between each twisting muscle—you let off a whimper in choso’s mouth once you feel sukuna’s breath aerate against your clit.

without even batting an eye, he starts to lap the cum out between your puffy folds before he gives it one loooong suck. your chest automatically heaves in and out before your arms wrap around choso’s broad shoulders, tangling saliva strands together and creating lustrous sleek cobwebs.

but, as your lips were locked against choso, you feel something between your legs. sukuna gives your pussy one long sniff, then he does it again, and one more time before gifting it a pat. “oh. .”

choso nibbles at your bottom lip with his fangs before sukuna meanly spanks your cunt. a bit of your own slick sprays against his palm and he hums.

“choso,” he huskily says, teasingly pointing the end of his claw near your pulsating clit. it was hovering over your entrance . . and still, you let off a whimper at the sensitive feeling. “i think i know why our pretty girl smelled so good all this time.”

“huh,” the dark haired vampire briefly pulls away, panting heavily just as you. choso glances down at sukuna before feeling his chest cave in and out. “w . . why, sukuna?”

you look down at sukuna, your brows contorting into a curious look yourself.

sukuna gives your sopping cunt one long stare before giving it a kiss. “mwah,” and you moan, watching as wet strands peel away from your pudgy folds and glue back onto his mouth.

he’s sloppy, and he couldn’t care less. the vampire rubs a circle around your entrance before snickering darkly.

“because,” and he spanks your pussy once more time before playfully putting his fangs against your clit as if he was about to bite you. with a dull expression, sukuna leans in to smell between your legs one more time before whispering against your clit.

“—you’re ovulating, princess.”

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ceramini · 1 month ago

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DAMN IT NERD ⋆˚࿔ ARE YOU LISTENING?

pair loser!jake x hot!reader ͡ ͘◡ ꫶᳝᳜᳝᳜᳝᳜৯ tags creampie, cockwarming, overstim, dirty talk = nerd talk, jake likes legos ✿ scene jake is sweet, dumb, and accidentally packing a weapon between his legs. no one understands how he landed his insanely hot gf, not even him. but she loves him anyway, even if he won’t shut up about legos, star wars, or his ridiculous love for her… especially during sex. note let’s pretend jake likes star wars ─── library ⊹ ࣪

like + reblog appreciated <3 click to join taglist

You’re not even sure how you got here.

Well, no… you do know. You were in bed, legs tossed over Jake’s shoulders, back arched, spine pressed into the mattress like a damn sticker. He was inside you. Deep. Relentlessly deep, like he was on a fucking mission.

You weren’t sure what the mission was, but Jake clearly was.

He was, talking.

Still.

“You know the Republic Gunship set?” he pants, rocking into you a little too slow for how breathless he sounds. “I’ve been saving up for it. It’s so cool. It has, like—twenty clone troopers. Twenty. And they all have these little helmets that come off. I didn’t even know they did that until—until I watched this review last week—shit, you feel so good—wait, so anyway—”

You cut him off with a groan, fisting the sheets. “Jake.”

“Huh?” He looks down at you, blinking like a golden retriever who just got caught chewing drywall. “What?”

“You’re talking about Legos again.”

“Oh.” He pushes his hips forward with a little whine. “Sorry. You’re just so warm and I was thinking about that set and how cool it’d be to build it with you while we watch Clone Wars and—and—fuck, you’re squeezing me again.”

You squeeze him on purpose this time. “That’s because you’re babbling about minifigs while you’re raw inside me, Jake.”

His eyes go big. “You like when I’m raw inside you.”

“I did. Before you compared it to building a Lego set.”

“Okay, okay, fair.” He nuzzles your neck like he’s not splitting you in half. “But also? You’re kinda like a Lego set.”

You stare at him. “Jake.”

“I mean that lovingly.”

You drop your head back against the pillow. “I swear to God, if this is going where I think it’s going—”

“Because like. You’ve got all these beautiful little pieces. And I wanna learn how they all fit together. Every time I touch you it’s like I’m figuring out where the next part goes—”

“Jake.”

“—like, do I kiss here?” He sucks a hickey under your jaw. “Touch here?” Trails his hand between your legs. “Or maybe—fuck—maybe I just fuck you and see what happens.”

You’re clenching again. Hard. And you hate that it works.

He beams. “See? You do like my metaphors.”

“I like your dick,” you hiss, arching as he thrusts up and hits that spot. “I tolerate your metaphors.”

“You love my metaphors,” he says smugly, fucking deeper like he’s trying to prove it.

You moan into the heel of your palm. “You’re insufferable.”

Jake whimpers, forehead tipping to yours. “You’re so hot when you’re mean to me.”

“You’re hot when you shut up.”

He slows, just a little, and looks genuinely wounded. “You don’t like when I talk?”

“I love when you talk,” you gasp. “Just not when I’m trying to come and you’re talking about fucking battle packs.”

“Oh.” He slips out almost entirely, just to push in again, hard. You cry out. His ears go pink. “Noted.”

You try to glare. You really do. But he leans down to kiss you and his stupid soft lips and stupid tongue make you forget how to breathe, let alone stay mad.

And the way he’s throbbing inside you doesn’t help.

Jake pulls away with a dumb little grin. “I think I’m gonna come. Can I stay in? I know I asked earlier but I wanna make sure it’s still okay—”

“Jake, yes, God, yes—”

He sinks into you one last time and shudders, full-body, like he’s short-circuiting. You feel him twitch, warm and heavy, and moan his name as his hand clutches at your waist like he’s scared you’ll float away.

He comes like he’s overwhelmed. Pretty and flushed, forehead pressed to your collarbone, one hand gripping your thigh like a lifeline.

You’re both panting. Slick. Shaking a little.

And then.

“Did you know the Lego Titanic set is almost four feet long—”

“Jake.”

“Sorry! I’m just—still inside you and happy and thinking about boats and I love you and—”

You grab his face and kiss him hard. He whimpers against your mouth, cock twitching again, not soft at all.

You pull back. “You’re gonna shut up now, right?”

“Totally,” he breathes, blinking fast. “Except—can I keep talking if it’s just about you?”

You blink. “Maybe.”

Jake buries his face in your neck. “Cool. ‘Cause I was gonna say, you’re prettier than every minifig I’ve ever owned. Like, if you were a collectible, I’d never take you out of the box.”

You groan. “That’s not romantic, Jake.”

He laughs. “I thought it was.”

You wrap your legs tighter around him and sigh. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“I’m lucky you let me fuck you.”

He kisses your cheek, then your jaw, then, very slowly, starts moving again. Just a little. Deep and slow, the kind of rhythm that makes your eyes roll back.

“Can I stay in?” he murmurs. “Just for a bit?”

You nod.

He smiles. “Cool. You feel better than any Lego set.”

You cover his mouth. “Just fuck me.”

You don’t know why you let him stay inside. You really don’t.

Maybe it’s the way he’s so big, the way he fills you up like you were made for it. Maybe it’s the post-orgasm brain melt. Maybe it’s the genuinely tragic puppy-dog look he gave you when he asked if he could just stay for a little while longer.

You said yes. Like a fool.

And now he’s talking again.

“Okay, but hear me out,” he mumbles against your collarbone. “If you were a Lego piece, I feel like you’d be one of those rare ones that only come in, like, three sets. And I’d trade my whole collection just to have two of you.”

“Jake.”

“Or like, like if I was building a Millennium Falcon and your piece wasn’t in the box? I’d cry. Like actual tears. I’d email Lego Customer Support and tell them it was a tragedy. I’d say my girlfriend is missing. That I can’t build without her. That it’s ruining my life—”

“You’re still inside me.”

“I know. That’s why I’m being romantic.”

You groan and throw an arm over your face. “Your idea of romance is comparing my vagina to missing plastic.”

“It’s not just plastic, it’s—hey, wait—” He props himself up on an elbow, wide-eyed. “Are you getting mad again?”

“I’m not mad,” you sigh. “I’m just. So full. And so tired. And you’re talking about spaceships and crying and clone troopers while your dick is still hitting my goddamn cervix.”

Jake flushes. Hard. “Oh. Sorry. I’m just…this is like, peak life for me. Like, I don’t know what I did to deserve you but I think about it a lot and it makes me feel like I should be doing more. Like, you’re smart, and you wear those little skirts that make my brain short-circuit, and you never make fun of me for how much I love Star Wars even when I definitely deserve it—”

“Jake.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you getting hard again?”

He pauses. You feel him twitch inside you.

“…Maybe.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I can’t help it!” he whines, and somehow he sounds genuinely upset about it. “You’re so warm and soft and I like how you clench when I say dumb stuff, and I know I’m not supposed to keep talking, but I love you and I’m having a feelings crisis and also your tits are out and I didn’t even mention them yet.”

You uncover your eyes and glare. “Don’t.”

Jake glances down at your chest. Immediately goes pink. “Too late.”

You shift under him and he moans, a soft, helpless sound like he’s ashamed to have made it. You can feel him starting to get hard again, slow and steady like a threat.

And the worst part is? You like it. Your body’s already reacting. He’s still so thick, so deep, and now he’s whining like he can’t help but want more of you.

“God, you’re pretty,” he whispers, like he’s confessing something serious. “And I’m, ugh, I’m such a loser, I know. Everyone always asks how I got you and I never have an answer. They’re like, ‘is she into Legos too?’ and I have to lie and say yes, just so they don’t try to hit on you.”

You laugh. You shouldn’t, but you do. “So you lie about me being into Legos to keep me safe?”

He nods solemnly. “It’s the only way.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Jake beams. “Your idiot.”

He leans down and kisses you again, sloppy, soft, so sweet it makes your stomach flip, and you groan against his mouth when he accidentally rocks his hips.

And just like that, you’re clenching again. Wanting him. Wanting it all over again.

He breaks the kiss with a gasp. “Oh. That was—yeah. We’re doing it again, right?”

You roll your eyes. “Not if you keep talking.”

“I can be quiet!”

“You can’t.”

“I can. Watch—” He places a hand over his own mouth.

You raise a brow. “You look ridiculous.”

He wiggles his brows, nods, then thrusts.

You gasp. His hand flies off his mouth. “Oh fuck, that was hot—”

“Jake.”

“Sorry. Sorry.” He puts it back. Mutters behind his palm, “I just love you so much.”

You stare at him, flushed, wrecked, still hard and inside you, his hand awkwardly slapped over his own mouth, and you realize something terrible.

You’re gonna marry this dumbass.

You sigh, toss your head back, and say, “Fine. Just shut up and fuck me again.”

Jake nods furiously. Slips his hand from his face and whispers, “Yes, Captain.”

You sigh into the pillow.

🪷 ─── @gyarumindd

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holeforzenin · 2 months ago

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Watching Toji take a piss + tiny blow job…. :3

Toji shifts under you for the third time in five minutes, heavy arms tightening around your waist. You don’t miss the way his jaw flexes, or the way his muscled thighs tense beneath where you’re perched on his lap, snuggled into his chest like you belong right there, glued to him. His voice finally cuts through the quiet—deep and strained.

“Darling”, he rumbles, a slight whine at the edges of his tone, “I gotta piss. Bad”.

You whined and hug him tighter, your soft cheek smooshed against his broad chest. You don’t want to let him go—he’s so warm and he feels sooo comfy under you like a big teddy bear. You feel him groan low in his chest, a frustrated sound, one of his hands squeezing your hip like he’s pleading.

“I’m serious, kiddo. M’about to bust”.

Reluctantly, you pull back while pouting up at him. His green eyes catch yours, pinched with urgency but still soft, fond even. He kisses your forehead quickly before setting you off his lap, grumbling under his breath as he hurries toward the bathroom, his big hand cupping himself through his sweatpants like he’s about to start leaking if he doesn’t hurry.

You follow behind him, barefoot and quiet, peeking in from the bathroom door just as he yanks his sweats down and his cock flops out—thick, flushed at the tip, and twitching slightly. He doesn’t even have time to shut the door.

The moment he finally releases— a thick, powerful stream shoots out, splashing noisily into the toilet. Toji sighs, loud and relieved, his whole body finally relaxing as the tension drains out of him. His head tips back, Adam’s apple bobbing, his eyes fluttering half shut as if it’s pleasurable.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes, a ragged groan, his stream still going strong.

You can’t look away—your thighs clench together as you watch it, fascinated, almost hypnotized by how long it goes on, the way his cock pulses slightly with the force of it.

Finally, the stream tapers off, a few last strong spurts hitting the water before he gives a final, shaky sigh.

He shakes himself a little, but a few golden droplets cling stubbornly to his flushed tip, glistening in the light.

Before he can tuck himself away, you’re kneeling in front of him, your hands settling gently on his thighs to steady yourself on the floor. Toji freezes, staring down at you with blown pupils and parted lips.

“Baby…” he warns, his voice rough and unsure, but he doesn’t stop you.

You lean in with your tongue peeking out, and slowly you lap up the lingering droplets, savoring the musky, salty taste from his leaking tip. Toji groans—a low, helpless sound escaping his throat, one hand tangling in your hair, his cock giving a heavy little twitch against your lips.

“Fuck you’re something else, baby,” he rasps, voice trembling just a little as if he’s surprised, pride and affection thick in every word.

You hum against the fat head of his cock, tongue swirling around it lazily before you pull back just far enough to let a thin string of saliva and leftover gold drip from your tongue to his tip. His stomach flexes hard.

“You gonna let me clean the rest?” you whisper, eyes gleaming up at him with something wicked.

Toji lets out a shaky laugh, somewhere between turned on and wrecked which is understandable because even in his 43 years of living, he’s never met anyone as freaky as you. “You’re fucking—hnngh—insane,” he pants, “but yeah, sweetheart. Knock yourself out”.

You flatten your tongue against the underside of his shaft, licking a slow, wet stripe all the way to the base that’s decorated with his curly pubes. He watches you, his jaw slack with every muscle in his thighs trembling as you mouth at him like it’s worship. And when you suck one of his balls into your mouth, his knees nearly buckle.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—gonna end up cumming in your mouth if you keep that up”.

You glance up again, your lips slighty swollen with your tongue peeking between your teeth.

“That’s the plan”.

He groans like you punched the air out of him—he grabs a fistful of your hair, guiding your mouth right back to the tip of his cock.

“Open up, baby,” he growls. “You wanted nasty—gonna give it to you”.

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xoxojisu · 1 month ago

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dicksuki.

synopsis: seeking out comfort from unofficialbf!katsuki and he says something mean and it's your final straw. + katsuki can't stand seeing you cry.

notes: i will be exclusively referring to mean katsuki as dicksuki from now on

it has been a long, long day. you're running on maybe 3 or 4 hours of sleep, you're on your period, you've been buried under homework, and you're 2 seconds away from a nervous breakdown. so, you did what any girl would do and sought comfort from katsuki. you’re curled into his chest, warm and tired, tucked under the covers in his dorm bed. it’s late. the room’s quiet. and he just kissed your forehead like he always does. casual, gentle, thoughtless in the way it’s become second nature.

“i love when you do that,” you whisper, voice barely above the hum of his fan.

he hums low in his chest. “do what?”

“kiss my forehead,” you say, already sounding half-asleep. “it feels like you really love me when you do.”

his heart skips. it stutters, even. but he doesn’t show it. instead, he scoffs, because that’s what he does. dumbass defense mechanism kicking in without permission.

“maybe i don’t,” he mutters, a teasing edge in his voice. “maybe i just do it to shut you up.”

he smirks. like he thinks he’s being funny. like it’s nothing.

and for a second, he thinks you laugh. or maybe you’re just shifting under the blanket.

but then he feels you go still. not the relaxed kind. not the sleepy kind.

the kind of still that makes his stomach twist.

he glances down, still smirking, until he sees your face.

you’re staring at nothing, eyes wide and watery, lashes clumped from blinking too fast. lips trembling like you’re trying so hard to hold it in but you’re already losing the battle.

and it hits him like a truck.

“wait.”

his smile drops instantly.

“wait. shit. baby.”

it wasn't exactly what he said. sure, it was kind of hurtful, but it was more the accumulation of all of your stressors and he happened to be the final straw. don't crash out over this. it's ok. you don’t say anything. you don't trust yourself. you don’t move, either, lest some tears fall out with the motion. your chest rises with a shaky breath you try to swallow.

his whole body tenses. “fuck, i didn’t mean that. hey, no, no, c’mere. look at me.”

he’s cupping your face before you can turn away, thumb brushing your cheek, voice suddenly so soft.

“i was just messin’ with you,” he says, frantic now. “i didn’t mean it. of course i love you. fuck, of course i do.”

you blink up at him, eyes glassy. you're so vulnerable and emotional right now. honestly, you'd been sort of insecure about loving katsuki more than he loves you lately, and he confirmed all of your worst fears. after all, you were technically 'just friends.' just because he hangs out with you doesn't mean he loves you. “but you said-”

“i know what i said,” he cuts in quickly, guilt written all over him. “and it was stupid, okay? i was bein’ a dick like always and i swear i didn’t mean it. not even a little.”

your lip wobbles and he practically whines, pulling you against him and hiding his face in your hair.

“god, don’t cry. please don't cry. i’ll do anything, i’ll kiss your forehead a hundred times, just.. don’t think i don’t love you. and also stop cryin'. it's killin' me. i love you, sweets.”

you sniff against his collarbone, voice muffled. “you do?”

he leans back just enough to kiss you. your forehead, your temple, your hair. kiss, kiss, kiss.

“so fuckin' much.”

masterlist

#jisu writes!#unofficialbf!katsuki #you have my whole heart #but lowk this is too boyfriendy for unofficial bf like bro kissing is TOO INTIMATE to pretend ur just close friends #bakugo x reader #bakugo fluff #bakugo katsuki #katsuki fluff #katsuki x reader #mha fluff #mha x reader #bnha fluff #bnha x reader #bakugou fluff #bakugou angst #bakugou x reader #bakugo angst #bakugo comfort #bakugou comfort

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agentstarkid · 11 months ago

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I've been having a fucked up week at my job, my hours were changed, so essencially, now I wake up, eat breakfast, go to work, come back from work, eat dinner, go to bed and repeat. From 8 hours, now I work 9 (technically)—I actually work 10 to 12 hours but being paid for 8. And now I have to work on Sundays from 5am to 3pm because "that's the business and sometimes we have to make sacrifices" (like my mental health i.e.). And all of this while being underpaid and not paid for extra hours. Plus now the company's higher ups are dissecting my area's work and questioning every single thing as if what we do is fool around on work hours—sometimes we don't even have time to eat lunch or go to the bathroom with all the things we have to do.

And I'm reaching my fucking limits here. I've been having more anxiety/panick attacks in the last month than my whole life.

Yesterday I was feeling so so bad, but I pushed through and finished my work hours. I was asked to hang out by a friend because it was the last time in a while that she was gonna be able to because she is gonna go through radiotherapy in a few days, and I couldn't make it because my boss thought that it was okay to start working at 7:39 pm and asking for things 21 minutes before my departure time.

I just wanted to come home and cry—I did cry at my job though. I wanted to just talk to my mom, for her to tell me that it's gonna be okay and to just let me cry.

I did cry in front of her what I heard was that I have suck it up, that she went and goes through worse everyday, that her day was worst than mine and lots of other things.

It's been almost 12 hours since I've gotten home last night, in 1h I have to go to work again and I can't stop crying. I can't look at anyone in the face or have anyone say anything to me because I instantly start fucking crying.

So, what did I learn so far is:

1. How not to be as a boss.

2. My problems will always mean nothing compared to my parents.

3. I should stop expecting comprehension and affirmation that what I'm feeling it's valid.

4. To treat people with dignity and kindness.

—

Off topic, but I totally understand Carmen Berzatto from The Bear, when he sees the the stove go up in flames and all he's thinking is that, if he lets it to consume everything, to burn the whole place down, it would consume and take with it all his anxiety-ridden thoughts, his doubts and problems. Everything would be gone. And I think about that a lot when I'm driving. What if I swerve the wheel a little bit? What if I get too close to the edge of this bridge? What if, what if, what if...

#warning: lots of whining and venting under the cut.

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yeyinde · 2 months ago

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caging a wolfdog

Simon Riley x Babysitter!Reader

18+ | groping. dubcon. infidelity. blue-collar Simon in a loveless marriage finds another way to entertain himself when his wife is too busy fucking her Pilates instructor to come home. victim blaming. future wife grooming. breeding. implied contraceptive tampering. spitting/spit kink. gross/mean Simon.

It's something to mend the gap between paying for college tuition, and surviving on more than air and the stale crackers they give out at the food bank. A job that takes up less space in your calendar than studying for finals or finishing up last-minute projects due before the end of the term.

And, in all honesty, the kid makes it easy.

Tommy doesn't fuss like most his age. He sits on the couch with his iPad perched on his knees, watching grown men scream in front of a camera for hours. Sometimes he stirs, asks for snacks. Something to drink. But mostly, he just scrolls YouTube Shorts, and puffs out peals of childish laughter at whatever he finds amusing.

It's the easiest job you'd ever had, really. He has no complaints about eating chicken nuggets and Kraft dinner on the nights when you stay later and have to cook something for him. Even when you try to make it healthier by chopping up celery with homemade ranch on the side, it barely makes him whine.

He eats. Scrolls. Pouts about his bath. Negotiates bedtime for ten more minutes with his iPad. And then he's sleeping by ten, hugging the device tight to his chest as a man hollers about Minecraft beneath him.

And that's the extent of it.

An easy job. An easy kid.

The problem, really, is his father.

And more specifically, the way he can't seem to stop touching you.

You're not sure why it happens, just that it does. Becomes some strange staple in this arrangement where you never leave his house without having his hands on you at some point.

But maybe the writing was always on the walls because even as he was showing you Tommy's bedroom, he folds himself over you, spine pressed against his chest, and murmurs in your ear about bedtimes and baths and all the things a babysitter is meant to hear—

But not with the hard, firm outline of their employers cock against their ass.

You should have said something then. Put your foot down. Rained hellfire and retribution over this man and his gross, foul perversions.

Should have done a lot of things, probably. But in the end, the span of his hand over your belly, so wide it threatened to swallow you up, kept you quiet. Docile as he shifted his hips—wife down the hall, flatly informing him she has a class tonight and probably won't be home, so don't bother waiting up, Simon—and rubbed his cock against you, grunting in your ear about how pretty you are. Such a sweet girl, too.

So good for his baby boy.

Keeping quiet seems to spur him on. Spreading the thick, heavy length of his body against your spine isn't enough to quench whatever sticky, awful desire brims in his chest. Insatiable now that he's had a little taste, he gorges himself on what he can get away with.

What you let him get away with.

(if you didn't want this, pretty thing, you'd have said so, wouldn't you? big, strong girl like you. you can 'andle yourself. but you ain't because you want this—)

Broad hands cupping your breasts as he leans over your shoulder and pretends to instruct you on how Tommy likes his lunches. Little more, he rasps, calloused fingers slipping under the band of your bra, and pinching your stiffening peaks between a too-big thumb and forefinger. The rough, dry graze of his scarred skin was some awful amalgamation of stinging, abrasive pain and pleasure. Likes his sandwiches cut up jus' like tha'—

Grabs a handful of your asscheek on the way out the door, pinching the flesh so hard, it aches when you sit down. Rutting into you like a beast when he comes home, and Tommy's already in bed. C'mon, he grunts, hefting you up from the couch. Gotta go an' check on 'im. But it's just an excuse to bend you over banister as you peer into Tommy's room, groaning as he shoves his clothed cock against the cleft of your ass.

Husks in your ear about how good you are for him. He and Tommy both. Such a good girl, ain't you?

It's strange. All of it. And maybe that's why you let it carry on. Continue even though you know he's married, and has a child. And—

He's odd. Intense. Weird.

Looms in the corners of the room sometimes, content to just watch you. Eyes dark, endlessly black. Fixed on every move you make. A wolf wearing a man's skin. A monster in faded blue jeans and black steel-toed boots.

Uncanny.

Scary.

Massive in a way that stole your breath the moment you laid eyes on him. A full body bloom of dread at the scale, the size, of him. Like staring at the face of a mountain, mind reeling over the incomprehensible height of it. Vertiginous. Dizzying.

Thinking about him always makes you feel a little bit sick. Lying on your back and staring up at the sky. Cosmic quasiness. Unease that trickles down from your ancestors and fills your pores with the bitter, acrid tang of fear.

But between the noxious, rolling worry—the unmistakable feeling of a starving man staring at you like you're nothing but a scrap of tender, fresh meat—is a heavy, sick sort of heat congealing in your belly.

It was easier, at first, to lie and say you stayed for the money. Broke college student with a sinkhole of debts already growing on the periphery, biding its time before it sucks you into an unfathomable, inescapable chasm. Bled dry. Used up. It'll crush you.

But this—

Simon works around your schedule. He's gone for most of the day—pulls twelve-hour shifts Monday to Saturday at the oilfield—and is fairly lenient when you have a test, sending Tommy to his uncle's instead. Staying the night is an unorthodox arrangement, you're sure, but it works itself out in the end. Being here to take Tommy to school before heading to your morning classes (the rest all available online), and then free to pick him up after and wait for Simon to come home eases the stress of a long commute to your dorm and then here, to the dorm and then back again. A small respite, sure.

And if he pushed, insistent, that you sleepover, well—

You can hide it behind a wall. Pretend he's just looking out for his son even if you have to lock the door in the spare bedroom at night, and wake up sometime to the sound of the knob rattling.

He lets you use his spare truck whenever you need it. There's always a pot of coffee waiting for you in the morning. He keeps a tidy house and a strict schedule, but money is always in your bank account or tucked into an envelope on the counter a day ahead of when you agreed he'd pay you.

But living on top of each other like this is almost unbearable.

You see more of Simon than you do your own family. Friends. Even his wife. A woman made of contradictions, it seems. Dutiful mother, but only when it matters—parent teacher conferences booked in advance, the darling starlet of his birthday party that passed—and you try to keep out of her way. Shame, maybe.

Do you know what Simon does to me when you're in the next room? Do you know what he says when you're bent into downward dog as your Pilates instructor fucks you on the matt?

Or just the knowledge that both of you, in your own way, are adulterers.

But having something in common with the woman who is more of a guest in her own home, her child's life, than you are is a sickening thought. So you squash it. Ignore it.

All of it—

His hands on you, rough and proprietary. The foul, dirty things he whispers in your ear—Tommy's been askin' for a baby brother, 'bout time we gave 'im one, don't you think? Spread your pretty pussy around my cock and keep ya nice an' plugged until it fuckin' takes—when no one is around. How these incidents keep getting progressively closer to his bedroom door, his marital bed, and one day, you think he might drag you in there and not let you out again until those promises he forced from your lips are fulfilled.

You bite your tongue. Taste blood between your teeth hours after he leaves for work, and curl into the couch as the minutes tick by until Simon's supposed to come home. Trying to distract yourself as much as you can, but there's no escape from it. From the way there was something different about him this morning. Something heady. He didn't touch you, but just quietly observed you with those strange, unfathomable eyes of his. Sinkholes wanting to swallow you down.

Hungry.

And when you asked him if he wanted breakfast, he'd just said, oh, I'll eat, birdie. You can bet on that, and then left out the door without another word.

It takes you until noon to unravel the knots in his expression, and what you find makes your heart jump like a trapped rabbit in a snare.

Possessiveness. Want. Hunger.

But most damning of all—

Anticipation.

In the room over, Tommy giggles, high and shrill, at a video. The noise jars you back into reality. A car drives down the lonely street. The timer on the oven dings. Tommy gurgles again, the sound pasted over a loud, pitchy shout that rankles down your spine. Slowly, achingly, you unfurl your body from the tense crouch you collapsed into, head thick. Underwater. In a fog. Thoughts dripping down the sides of your skull in a slow, syrupy crawl.

Your eyes dart to the clock. Three hours.

oh, I'll eat, birdie.

"Come on, Tommy," you warble out, gingerly moving towards the kitchen. Three hours. There's a buzzing inside your head that grows louder, more restless with every step. "The pizzas done."

On the fridge, a neon pink post-it note mocks you. PILATES TONIGHT AND DRINKS WITH THE GIRLS!!!! DON'T WAIT UP!!

Three hours.

You lick the blood off your teeth.

oh, I'll eat, birdie—

He doesn't bother cleaning up before he goes home.

Caked in grime, sweat, dust from the fields, crudeoil glued under his nails—a walking biohazard of filth, but he lumbers into his truck the moment he's finished, cock already thickening, straining against the harsh fabric of his jeans. Sticky on his thigh where it lays, twitching at the thought of his little birdie sucking his dirty fingers clean.

And you'll do it. He knows you will.

You've been so good for him, haven't you? Sweet little thing.

He scrapes the top of his tongue against his teeth, pulling up the taste of stale, bitter coffee. It's acrid, sour in his mouth. Swallowing around it, he grips the wheel tightly and sifts through the multitude of things he wants to do to you as he navigates the familiar path home. Muscle memory, but there's an emptiness in his belly. An itch under his skin. If fizzles, cracks; want and desire thick in his throat.

He's been thinking about this all day. You—laid out on his bed, fingers gripping the sheets tight as he folds you in half, kneecaps to your ears. Feet kicking out behind the heft of his shoulder. Bearing all his weight down on you. Crushing you.

Pumping you so full of his cock, his cum, that you whine afterwards—too empty, Mr Riley—and he has to stuff you full again just to shut you up.

Whiny little thing, he'll coo, nasty and mean as he fucks you again and again and again—

Another scrape. Tongue against teeth pulling over tastebuds. Sourness in the back of his throat. So bitter, so nauseating, he can't wait to make you swallow it down and beg for more as you try not to dry heave all over his dirty boots and onto the clean floor.

More, please, more even as you gag.

He's too hyperaware for the drive to pass in a blur—it's all startling present, each second ticking down in technicolour—but when he finally slows to crawl in front of his house, he has everything he wants to do to you laid out in a neat, concise list. Left you a defiled mess in his head, leaking cum and begging for more.

Anticipation is a maw in his gut that growls and snaps its jaws, too eager to sink inside the pretty thing that's been playing House in his mind. In his home.

He left it unfed for too long.

And now, it's time to eat.

You're not in the living room when he enters.

It's silent. The idling television paints the room in a pale, neon pink.

The clink of his keys, the thud of his boots, are the only sounds popcorning through the dim, quiet room. He casts his gaze towards the stairs to the left, sees light spilling out from Tommy's room down the hall. The nightlight burning away.

He shifts on the balls of his feet, hums something under his breath. A relic from a bygone era when the man Tommy was named after might have pulled him aside and said man, this isn't you.

Simon keeps his boots on as he trudges through the still, winter night of the house, eyes shifting past each corner, every crevasse. More muscle memory he can't shake. All filed away. Catalogued. Meticulously scoured as he shifts through the hall, pausing only to crack Tommy's door open and steal a glance of his son. Knows he won't be able to sleep without it.

He finds him tucked safe and sound in his bed. iPad on the floor connected to the charger. The screen is frozen with the image of some brightly coloured game that'll hold his interest for another day before it becomes yet another thing Simon packs away. More memories on shelves. Something to feel scraped out, hollowed, when he grows another inch and Simon starts to see more of Tommy in him than he can stomach.

The air stings his nostrils when he breathes in. The burn gives him time to shift around the potent ache of fatherly affection he never thought he'd feel back into the guarded lockbox he keeps it in whenever Tommy isn't in view. With it tucked back in, safe and sound, he lets the thrill of the pursuit fill him again.

Another hum. He peels away from the door.

"Hidin' on me, birdie?"

He knows you're here. Your boots are still drying by the front door. The air still clogged with your scent. He follows it like a bloodhound until he reaches his bedroom door where he finds you on the bed. Waiting. Uncertainty clinging to you like a second skin he can't wait to peel off, run his fingers through the bloody mess until you're raw and aching; shiny new toy stripped bare just for him.

Your mouth pops open. The inside a pretty ring of pink. He thinks about it, about sinking inside that soft little hole, making you gag around the thick of him as he feeds you his cock.

Clean it up f'me, birdie

But it's clear from the way you flit nervously on the comforter that he'll have to work you up to that.

Slow and steady. It's not his usual approach—he's in the habit of taking what he wants. Still. He slows. Glacial. Notches his shoulder against the doorframe, staring. Waiting. Waiting—

And finally:

A shift. You tense. "Mr Riley—"

"Take your clothes off."

Your throat shifts when you swallow. "Mr—"

If you didn't want it, he reasons, you wouldn't be in his bed. Waiting for him.

"Now, birdie."

There's that pause he expects. The hesitation as you stare, searchingly (pleadingly), at him, trying to take a measurement of just how serious he is about this. But he knows he gives nothing away. Just stares with streaks of dirt on his brow, washed down by thick trickles of sweat. Eyes lazy, lidded. Mouth flat. Even.

You demure after a moment. Hands falling shakily to the hem of your sweater, curling beneath the fabric. Gaze downcast, staring wide-eyed at the curve of your jean-clad knees. Bemused, maybe, that it got this far. That you let it get this far.

He doesn't give you time to think about it. Cocks his head to the side, puffs out an impatient breath. "Hurry up. Ain't got much time before my wife comes back."

It's a low blow. He feels it skim his knuckles, a sucker-punch.

You suck in a sharp breath. He wonders if you'll make things difficult now. Fight back. This isn't right. What you're doing to me isn't right. We should stop, Mr Riley—

Instead, you peel the sweater off.

It's artless. Clumsy. Each movement wracked with nerves, uncertainty. There's no coyness to the action. It's not even sexy, or coquettish; nothing about it is done to entice, to seduce. This is an action completed twice a day, every day. Routine. It's mundane, perfunctory.

And yet—

"Fuckin' hell, birdie—"

Something about the latent unwillingness of it all chokes the air from his lungs.

Cock thick in his trousers, throbbing like a wound, he steps into the bedroom, making his way towards you in nothing short of a prowl. It's been building up since you first appeared at his doorstep, eyes wide and bright and scooped Tommy up into your arms until he squealed with laughter.

"I got him," you chirped when he reached out reflexively, dancing artlessly out of the way of his snatching claws. "Don't worry. He's fine with me."

This is your fault, of course. For looking the way that you do. For burrowing under his skin like a parasite. A festering itch. Being close to you always felt like a toothache. Dry socket. Something that made his head split.

"On the bed, birdie," he grunts, hands falling to his belt with a urgency he hasn't felt since he was a clumsy, knobby-kneed teenager. "An' spread your legs f'me."

You give a startled gasp that makes his cock throb, and he groans low in his throat at the waxen look in your eye, the slight quiver to your lip. You look queasy—torn between disgust and fear, eyes slipping to the scarred hands that yank hard on his zipper, cup the bulge that splits through the spread seam, dirty fingers gripping himself tight—and he has to roll his head back to keep from snapping at you to roll over.

A noise does spill out—an impatient rumble gnashing between jagged teeth—when you sit there, bared from the waist up, and watch him with wide eyes. Making no move to show him that pretty pussy he cupped in his palm before. That soft, wet heat in his hand that felt too delicate, too sweet, to be touched with his dirty fingers. Something that rankled down his spine, buzzed in the back of his head when he pulled them free—stained, nails blackened with dirt, crude oil, and glistening in the low light of the kitchen.

He wants it again—on his cock this time. Wants to see that soft pussy get him all wet as he ruins it. As he peels back, sitting on his haunches, and takes in the awful mess he left you in. Poor cunt swollen and abused from from being forced to take the full, fat length of him as he bullies it inside over and over again; puffy lips all sticky with his cum. Sore and stretched and used. Raw after such a vicious pounding—

"Pants off, birdie," he bites out, yanking his jeans down beneath his aching balls. "Ain't gonna like what 'appens next if I 'ave to ask again—"

You give a startled gasp at the rough, callous growl hewing his words, and he wonders if anyone has ever spoken to you like this before. So demanding. With an edge of cruelty slithering out. Demeaning—

No. No one but him, he decides, stroking his cock as he watches you clumsily kick out of your pants, demurring in a faux show of bashfulness as your fingers skim the hem of your panties. The picture of coy shyness as you drop your chin to hide the wobble in your lower lip, the glistening wetness in your eyes as you grapple with indecision. Child's play of modesty.

A farce.

Just the mangled growl of your name is all it takes for those trembling fingers to inch into the hem of your panties, tugging them clumsily down your thighs.

He could come, he thinks, to just that. This. The bloom of fear etching across your brow, panties tangled against the knob of your knees. Unwilling to bend down and push them off the rest of the way. Scared to, maybe.

It buzzes in the back of his head. The idea of paralysing you with nothing more than a sharp bark and crook of his finger; your fear as delectable as that little sliver of skin he can see peaking out at him.

"ain't go' all night," he cuts in with only a quarter of the ice he uses on the field, and feels a deep thrum of satisfaction purr through his chest when you squeak, flinching at his rough, brassy tone.

Your panties fall to the floor in a rumpled pile between your feet, toes curling into the carpet as you try to close your knees as tightly together as you can get them to hide yourself from his heavy-lidded gaze. A last play at modesty. Gaze inward, nervous. A skittish little rabbit with nowhere else to run.

The way you stand before him on shaking knees, trembling like a leaf, makes him want to sink his teeth into you and shake. Little virginal offering to a rapacious god. A feast all for himself. He wants to chew you up. Eat you alive.

But he opts, instead, to bite his tongue until he tastes blood, and bark at you to get on the bed as it oozes between his teeth. Feels something animal split open inside his chest when your eyes widen as he steps into the room, a slow pursuit, a prowl, and has to bite down on the urge to give chase when you flinch, backing away from him quickly. Naked and scared. Running from him with a nervous tremor, but he doesn't miss the way you make, quietly, for his bed.

Eager. Obedient. Fleeing from him like a scared little animal unaware of just how enticing you are.

"Good girl, birdie."

It takes three fingers to open you up, but even that doesn't feel like it's enough.

Not when he knocks your knees apart, wedging his too big, too thick body between them (and then stares, and stares, and stares at your bare cunt, slick and sticky from his hand; flesh left swollen from the brutal spear of three thick, dirty fingers shoving inside—less of a stretch and more a carve: he carved you open) and spits.

You weren't expecting it. Nothing could have prepared you for the suddenness of this degrading act—the nasty, demeaning way he spits on your pussy, and huffs, amused, when the foamy mess slides down your swollen clit to pool between your folds. His finger chases it, rubbing it into your skin, pushing it into your hole.

Ain't got lube, he says, words bordering on a strange equinox of bluntly nonchalant and utterly caustic. Should be thankful m'doin' this much.

Thankful.

Your fingers curl into the sheets, and you try not look at his cock again when he grips himself tight in his big, dirty hand.

He's too big. Too fat. It makes you a little nauseous to stare at it, him—his cock. Marbled like a bruise. Thicker at the base. Veiny. The head is swollen. The tip is soaked in a thick, paste-like spill of precum, and for a horrible second, you almost thought he would make you lick it off.

(later fills the empty space in your head, and you try to mould yourself around the idea until you can decide whether or not the feeling that blooms in the pit of your belly is really dread.)

His hands were rough. Scarred. Dirty. Caked in oil. Stained. He didn't even bother to clean up before he lumbered onto the sheets behind you, one hand falling to grip his cock through his dusty pants, the other heavy on your neck, pushing you down into the mattress that reeks of fabric softener and stale cigarette smoke. Old sweat.

He doesn't need to tell you that she doesn't sleep in this bed anymore, but the idea of it prickles in the back of your head as he pushes you against the sheets and undoes his jeans with an ease that's more muscle memory than thought. Practiced.

You don't have the right to be jealous, but it hums through you like a sickness when you think of him doing this to her. His wife, you add, just to make it hurt. A knife in your gut that aches when you breathe—

"keep breathin', birdie," he grunts, spreading his fingers wide apart inside of you. "Don't get all tense on me now, or I'll have to start over."

You're not sure what that means, but you think you know better than to test his tenuous patience anymore than you have, and so you still. Go quiet. Breathe as he spears you deep, deeper still, and carves a space for that monstrous looking cock to fit—

where it belongs, he'd said, hunched over you like a nightmare in the daytime. All shadow and sinew. Stitched from broken daydreams of a brassy voice in your ear murmuring soon, birdie as his wife pretended to pack a lunch in the kitchen and he rubbed your nipple through your shirt before he slipped off to work.

But it's over too soon. His dirty, stained fingers slipping free from your aching, sopping cunt, leaving you empty—bereft—for a moment as he shuffles up the bed, splitting your knees wide apart to make room for the asburd width of him to fit.

An impossibility, really, but as Mr Riley—call me Simon—is wont to do, he makes it so. Wedges his wide thighs beneath yours until your hips tilt up in his lap, opening you wide. Obscenely so. And—

A grunt.

He stared. And stared. And stared.

Just looked at the split of your cunt sitting invitingly in his lap, wet and messy from his fingers, the cruel push of his palm against your clit. Swollen. Aching already—

"Want it, huh, birdie?"

The words I'm not so sure anymore hitch in the back of your throat, rearing up as he reaches between your legs to grip himself tight, too tight, until he turns a sickly shade of purple around the head that looks wider than anything you'd ever had inside of you before. But he doesn't give you a second to think before notching himself against you, giving a little push that forces the swollen head to sink inside of you—

Just the tip, really, and it already hurts. Stings like a papercut as he stretches your cunt around him, sharp and sudden.

"Too big—" you whimper, tossing your head to the side, breathing in the tang of fresh linen and musk as he grunts above you, pushing and pushing—

Something has to give.

It doesn't surprise you much when it ends up being you.

"Tha's it, birdie. Open up f'me."

It's not so much an opening as it is a siege. A conquest. And with him perched above you, heaving like bull and bathed in shadows that glue alone the mismatched asymmetry of his face, making him look less like a man and more like a figment, a statue—this Stygian being that swoops down and presses his palm against your throat, the other digging into the pillow beside your head, grunting—you feel ever bit of the battered receptacle he turns you into.

Forcing himself into you with a rough grunt, a brutal shove that—for one dizzying, awful moment—you swear you can feel inside your throat, taste on the back of your tongue. Choking on it. But then he's sinking in. Splitting you apart with brute force and that little bit of slick that you know must be stained pink—

"Good girl," he's grunting again, shoving another inch into a space much too small for him to fit. Savouring it. Relishing in the whimpers, the hiccups punched out of you with every flex of his hips. Eyes rolling a little, just a touch, when you feel something warm tickling your cheek and realise you're crying. Shush, birdie, he says, a quiet coo, but he looked delighted. Don't cry. Not yet—

another flex. two more inches. it feels like being speared open; flayed alive. it hurts. it hurts so much, you can't even begin to think through the pain, but he's huffing. groaning low in his throat as he adds:

"—'cause m'not even halfway in yet, pup."

The admission shocks you so much, you barely notice him spreading his knees beneath yours, squaring his stance, until it's too late.

"Wait—!"

If it weren't for his hand tightening around your throat before he speared the last several inches into you, you're sure the wail you might have let out would have woken Tommy. A good thing, you think, dazed, still soundlessly howling around the burning ache of him using his absurd weight to drive into you (balls deep, birdie, he grunts, and sounds so ridiculously proud, you nearly preen—), making you take every last inch. Selfishly carving more space for himself inside of you. Hollowing you out until his whole cock is drenched in your pink-stained slick—

"Makin' me all pretty, aren't you?" Huh, birdie? Nice and fuckin' pink.

A sob bubbles up beneath his palm, and he coos when he feels it, shushing you with a groan as he keeps an awful rhythm, flexing into you. Grinding deep. Carving and cutting and hollowing you out—

"Tha's it, pup," he grunts, eyes masting in leonine pleasure as he bucks into you without respite, taking his bliss from the burning stretch of your cunt. And stupidly, you think about preening. Smiling wide and big and lying to yourself about how bad you want this, him, even as the tears dribble down your chin.

Siphoned satisfaction, maybe. Or just the press of his fingers against that little thing inside of you that made you turn your cheek to his touches. Letting a married man shove his hands down your pants while you made breakfast for his kid and his wife called out to him from the next room about not waiting up for her too late.

Giving in.

That's what this feels like. A slow corrosion from the moment you knocked on his door and said you were here to help him with Tommy to now, buried under his bulk as he batters into your aching cunt, splitting you apart.

Sweat drips down his nape, pours off his face, and when it hits your skin, it feels like battery acid against your cheeks. But with his hand still lodged around your neck, there isn't much you can do except take it. Like his cock, his spit, his sweat. Let him ply you with all of it, every inch, until your body becomes accustomed to the ache.

"Fuckin' stranglin' me."

His cock hits something inside of you, and it isn't really pleasure that blooms in the pit of your belly, but something like a panacea. A wound that's soothed through touch.

Like a knife that hurts more coming out than it does stuffed inside.

But it' saws and it splits. Tears flesh. Rearranges your insides until you're wrapped tight around him, throbbing like bruise against the thick of his cock. A tight fuckin' fit, he says, and inches his fingers up to grab your cheeks. Squeezing until your mouth pops open, mewling at the deep, aching pain, and then he spits.

You don't need him to tell you what to do this time. You just close your mouth and swallow what he gives you, whimpering around the sudden ruck of his hips, a harsh jerk that slides his cockhead against the seal of your womb, dredging up a wave of pain that's soothed by the kiss of that fattened tip pressing against the sting once more. Soothed by touch. By the flood of endorphins.

Fitting, you suppose, since it feels a little bit like being eaten alive when he fucks you, grunting and snarling like a beast as he pounds into you, half-mad and starved, and you remember reading somewhere that people rarely experience any pain when they're bitten by a shark.

An oddly serene experience, out of body almost, as they're taken apart by razor-sharp teeth.

That's how you feel looking up at him, feeling the drip, drip, drip of his sweat splat on your cheeks. Warm, milky breath ghosting over your forehead. A barely there kiss when he bends down, growling into your hairline that he's gonna fill you up, pup; that Tommy's been begging for a little brother, 'asn't he? and ain't it time we gave 'im one?

You think no and don't. please don't, please, but your hands stayed curled into the duvet instead of reaching up to push him away. Knees dropping further apart as he bends down with a brassy grunt that you feel in your belly, between your hips, like molten lead. A pulsing flutter—sore muscles gripping tighter and tighter as he grunts again, and tells you to keep opening that pretty cunt up for him, birdie. Let him get even deeper.

The collar of his shirt dips low, unveiling a mass of moulted flesh suffused together in a pink ribbon array of crisscrossing scar tissue and burns. It's an odd time to notice that he hasn't bothered to undress, just shoved his jeans down his thighs and pulled his—monstrous, ugly—cock out, and forced it into you. But you do. And you feel it so acutely in your chest that even without his hand on your throat, you doubt you'd have been able to breathe. It just—

It says something, you think. Means something.

And maybe it hits you like a fist, too. A bludgeon to that little thing in the back of your head that keeps reminding you this isn't okay. That you're not supposed to be in this bed, with this man.

Marital vows, it says, all wrapped up in the scent of stale sweat and detergent. A whisper of Candy Kiss peppering the room when you arrive; a sweet sillage that tickles your nose whenever he leans down, cupping your breast in the palm of his hand. The flash of metal sitting snug on his thick ring finger. Cold and dry against your damp skin.

It crumbles under the sway of his big, thick body sawing away between your hips; turns to dust, dissolving into soot as the growls spilling out his chest tremble through your bones. The ring doesn't matter. It never did.

Not when he's decorating the space he hollowed out inside of you with these dizzying daydreams—weaving a damning tapestry with fingers bleeding from cuts made by the knife of his own artifice. Staining it red.

Pretty pink.

And eventually the ring warms between his hand and your heated skin until you can't tell the difference between metal and flesh.

(but in the smeared residuum of ash and rust, something stirs, asks if you ever really could at all—)

"Gonna make me a dad again, ain't you, pup?" Huh? He growls, rough and mean. Gonna have t'start callin' me daddy soon—

You're not sure when it started building, but the edge is suddenly there. Within reach. And he tells you in rasping groans that he feels it too. Gonna cum, biride, he says, and it sounds like a threat. A warning. It's a razor scraping against your nerves, pooling heat between your hips.

No, you think again, but your hips roll as much as they can with him bearing down above you, cradled between your slick, damp thighs—roughened up, chafed by the repeated scrape of denim. Eager for it. Hungry. Like you're starving.

And what did he say before? Oh, yeah—

Oh, I'll eat, birdie.

You feel that gnawing, gaping emptiness in your belly as he huffs, breath sticky and warm, glueing to your skin as he pants his desire over your flesh, inside your body. Pace stuttering on his next exhale, morphing into a choppy, clumsy grind—just the desperate, furious graze of his cockhead digging into that bruised, tender spot inside of you where pleasure and pain suture themselves together until one is almost indistinguishable from the other. Fear and desire warping around the edges until you're trembling from the urge to flee, but bearing your neck at the vicious spread of teeth gaping open above your caught jugular.

Simon presses his face against the side of yours, smearing sweat and spit over your heated, damp skin from where a cut in his upper lip leaves his teeth in a constant snarl, bared to the world in a vicious, brutal display of aggression, and the nudge of it against the softened, ripe apple of your cheek is what sends you over the edge before you're ready.

It's mean. A nasty, ugly climax that throbs more like a wound than a satisfying end; pulsing and spitting fire as you yowl into the bubble bulging along his ear, clawing at the duvet, and bringing your other hand up to twist into the wet fabric clinging to his broad back. Needing to hold on. To find purchase as he grunts into your skin with each brutal plunge of his hips, and then sinks his teeth into your pulse, drawing blood—

You're still clenching around him, throbbing like an infected wound, when he lifts his pinked up muzzle, bearing his crooked, bloodied teeth, and grunts with his release. Filling you with a burning, stinging heat. Painting the tapestry he hung on chiselled flesh. A home of his own making. The apex of your being is a crevasse for him to sink his desire inside until something grows.

Tommy wants a baby brother, he'd said, and as you knot your hand tighter around his sweaty shirt, you wonder if maybe you should have paid more attention to the pills you shoved into your mouth each morning, making sure they all looked exactly the same—

"Fuck, birdie," he snarls into your neck as he throbs inside of you, cock jerking until it lodges against the battered, bruised seal of your womb—soothing the ache, you think, giving a weak pulse, a little, desperate clench around him—grunting like this is all your fault.

And maybe it is. But he doesn't give you much of a choice when he ruts into you still in rolling, feverish humps that knock your teeth together each time you unhinge your jaw to tell him to stop.

(But you won't, of course—)

His hands are hot against your clammy skin, searing and rough as he pulls you back into his chest with a grunt, mumbling something about a cigarette as you pant into the sweat-slicked nook of his arm, trying to make sense of what happens next.

You should leave. And really—you're a little surprised he hadn't kicked you out already. Shoved you off of him, told you to pack your things. He'll call when he needs you next because with this burning desire of his sated, what else does he need you in bed for?

But he tightens his grip when you try to wiggle away from him with a salt-crusted, sleep-drenched noise of dissent.

He isn't done with you, he mumbles, pawing at the end table for the carton of cigarettes he left there this morning. Blue Zippo still tucked neatly inside.

It's something you'd noticed during the first week when you opened a drawer looking for Tommy's iPad charger and found his hidden stash—along with the rest. Little clues that piled up until the pieces fell, and you realised this was a strange, habitual thing of his where he needs to leave things lying around the house—a carton of cigarettes with a lighter; a duffle bag full of clothes for him and Tommy. Non-perishable food stuffed inside a rucksack. Cash. Knives. All within reach.

Most people live in their homes. Clothes in the drawers. Shoes on a rack or piled by the front food. Food in the cabinets. They carry their smokes with them or keep them in a convenient place for whenever they need them next. But Simon seems keen to uproot himself at a moment's notice. Bags within reach. Necessities all packed by the front door, ready to go. Each room has a satchel hidden somewhere. A carton of smokes. A lighter.

It means something, you're sure. Nestled between the layers of a restless, caged tiger circling its iron-barred domicile for the first chance at escape is a travesty written in spoiled ink. Chiselled into the bars, imprinted there like braille for you to run your fingers over until pockmarks make sense.

Like why Candy Kiss is left on the vanity, sitting atop a drawerful of untouched clothes. The smell of fresh linen. Pilates on a weekly basis. Don't wait up peppering the air; a soft echo cradled in the harsh snap of a door closing. Eyes barely blinking away from the flashing screen.

Or—why your clothes disappear each time you do the laundry. Lace panties and satin bras first—an almost banal perversion that barely made a gurn at. Then tights. Sweaters. Shirts. Jeans. All missing with a nonchalant shrug of a massive shoulder, and a stare that didn't much pin as it skewered. Flayed. A flat, even dunno, birdie. Maybe the ghost knicked it.

Tightly wound artifice you'll never make sense of beyond the bags and the cigarettes. The stares that make the hair on your neck stand on end—

"Fuckin' hell, pup," he grunts suddenly, pinching the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger as the other slides down your curved spine, grabbing a handful of your asscheek in his palm, giving a vicious, painful squeeze. "Can feel your little cunt leakin' all over my leg—"

He slips the filter between his teeth with an appreciative hum when you jerk, a mocking huff spilling out when you try to clamp your legs shut around the thick split of his hip wedged between them. You can feel it, too—the thick, sticky ooze of him leaking out of your sore cunt, smearing pink-tinged cum all over his jeans. He hadn't let you get up after rolling off of you—just barked at you to leave it. Keep it, birdie. Gotta take, don't it?

A barb you hadn't said anything to, opting to ignore that, like everything else he does. Did.

Will do because you can tell, even beneath all those hidden layers, that this isn't a one-time thing. No. This isn't just a man stuck in a bad marriage fucking the nanny because he can. It's deeper. Worse, somehow, than a gross older man with a fetish for younger women he can financially control. Another pervert slaking his lust on whatever artless little thing falls into his web.

No. No—

This is missing clothes stuffed inside bags kept around the house. Pills that leave a strange aftertaste on your tongue of something a shade too sweet—

You think about running. Slipping out of his hands, this bed that reeks of stale sweat and sex, putting on your clothes, and leaving this house. Burying yourself in debt again, schoolwork, and limping (with your tail between your aching thighs) back to your landlord. Never looking twice at an ad for a babysitter in your life.

—and maybe spend your whole life wondering why people mix wolves and dogs to create something that never truly feels at home in the patchwork skin it wears; pieces of ancestors it can't relate to;

But you don't.

(—you never do.)

You lie there and take it. Like the leers he aimed at you when you first showed up on his doorstep, reeking of financial desperation and swallowed down the litany of things he said to you under his breath with a wobbly grin and your eyes fixed on the tile, convincing yourself it would pass. That you were more than just a pretty face he couldn't wait to cover in his cum. A soft ass he wanted to sink his teeth into before getting his cock in there next. Tight little pussy he was so eager to break in. Pantin' like a bitch in heat, ain't you, pup? can hear you gaggin' for it a mile away—

Biting your lip so hard it bled. Blood between your teeth. Your hands curling into the coarse, starchy fabric of his work shirt when he leaned down, permanent snarl on his face from the manmade cleftlip, and reached down to grab a handful of it. Testin' the merchandise, he cooed, low and mean and ugly. Words wrapped up tight in barbed wire. Brassbound. Said nothing as he pinched your nipples through your shirt, or when he shoved his hand beneath the hem and groaned at how soft you were.

Dirty hands leaving stains all over your skin you couldn't see, but felt like a fresh, weeping tattoo. Pulsing with infection.

(Such a needy little thing he trusts with his son while his wife is gettin' railed by 'er Pilates instructor, huh? But that's fine, ain't it? Need another one, anyway. A better influence for Tommy. Someone who'll give him that little brother he's been buggin' for—)

And so, you slacken your jaw when he grunts, barking at you to open up. Say nothing when he drags his hand back up your body to grip your jaw tight in his palm, squeezing your cheeks until they pop open. Let him spit in your mouth, and swallow down the foul, stale tobacco taste of him on your tongue.

Nod, like an obedient little pup, when he says good, ain't it? and let him roll you onto your back again, wrenching your thighs apart so he can see for himself the mess he made. The one you let spill all over his jeans.

Good ones, too, he huffs, eyelids slicing over the jaded edge of obsidian into a derisive pantomime of a contented cat squinting to show affection. Half-mast in pleasure as he says he'll wear them again tomorrow an' let all the boys see what a mess you make of me—

His gaze drills into the wet, slick seam of your puffy, bruised cunt, grip tightening—vicious, possessive—until his blunt nails sink into your skin. Branding. Bruising. His fingers clench down until it almost feels like he'll break through muscle to touch bone, but just when it starts to really hurt, pushing past that strange equinoctial point where pleasure and pain wrap around each other on a razor's edge, he peels back with a grunt. Leans over you to spit in your mouth again, a wet, foamy glob that hits your bottom lip before it oozes into your mouth, tasting of stale smoke and bitter tobacco. A flavour that reeks of permanence, and smells of an incipient wolfpack—all animal musk and wildness brimming up against stale sweat, laundry detergent, cigarette smoke, and sex.

Cruel, almost, like the gurns etched into his face by the missing chunk of flesh on his upper lip. Snarled and deadly. Mocking in a certain light. Like a constant sneer. Derisive and dangerous.

But not nearly as terrifying when he lists forward, dropping down to catch your jaw in his hand, the other planting itself in musty pillow beside your head, caging you in, and says:

"—and now you're makin' me a daddy again, birdie."

There's a taste in the back of your throat that's much too sweet for the dirty, oil-stained fingers he slips between your slack lips, scratching over your tongue. It reminds you of a spoonful of sugar. Grape-flavoured medicine poured over the top. And you wonder how quickly the pills you have been taking would dissolve in water when you sprinkled the white granules down the drain.

Something else you won't mention even as this house he burrowed inside changes shape—clothes in drawers, bags in the closet; the lingering scent of Candy Kiss a spoiled, stale sillage hidden under the smell of newborn and warm milk. Crushed animal crackers and Nicorette. The sound of a gaping, newly formed maw yowling for attention clashing sharply against the exaggerated screams of a grown man howling about a video game on Tommy's iPad.

thanks for hiring me and don't worry, Mr Riley, I can manage him morphing into a new sound, a continual echo of welcome home, and she called again asking about custody, daddy.

Something that throbs like a fresh wound before knitting itself together again into a thin, pink line; skin all shiny and new. Pulsing with the echoes of everything you dipped your chin again, mumbling around the malformed words of please, and don't, and now,

don't stop, please don't stop

What else are you supposed to do, really, other than lettingnhim slake the remnants of his lust between your sore, slick-stained thighs until he grunts, coming inside of you again to the damning symphony of a creaking bed, heels against the floorboards, and the sizzle of a cigarette burning away in an ashtray.

"Wait—" swallowed down by a mangled mouth. A hooked, crooked nose slides along your sweaty cheek as he all but purrs in satisfaction.

All his, he says.

And you don't fight it even as the blood pools between your teeth because you knew that from the start.

#this was originally a request but tumblr ate all of my asks so :/#babysitter!reader x ghost anon this is for you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghostfics

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