#and his belly was always so heavy and low that in the finale everyone was sent into labor during the end of an obstacle course and he won b

[preggydump]

#forgot to tag this and accidentally hit post instead of draft #anyway this based of a preg dream i had about a monster preg game show and the main guy in my dream got knocked up w living statue twins #and his belly was always so heavy and low that in the finale everyone was sent into labor during the end of an obstacle course and he won b #bc he was already used to the babies being so low on his hips already that he had an advantage on his fellow laboring contestants #i didnt draw this in the context of that game show but the concept was still interesting enough to me to draw #this guy wasnt in a game show but he did find what he thought was a nude Grecian statue in the forest and despite his better judgement h #he fucked himself senseless on it and then didnt find out til he was pregononte that apparently it was a magical being of stone #and theyre sentient and capable of communicating but insanely slow moving so theyre often mistaken for just regular statues #he gets help from a special foundation that focuses on living statues specifically because holy shit is that how these being are born??? #who knows??? #mpreg #nbpreg #preg art #mpreg art #monsterpreg #monster preg

[eupheme]

— take it slow

joel miller x f!reader

Rated E - 3.2k

tags - soft smut, established relationship, sloppy make out session, softdom!joel, grinding/dry humping, teensy bit of jealousy, teasing, begging, PiV, 1 spank, creampie

A/N: one-shot! (but could be read as a sequel to renegade)

“I want you to kiss me until I’m begging for it.” You can barely make out his eyes in the dim light, the dark glitter as they drop to your mouth.

“And then you can have me any way you’d like.”

The couch creaks as you shift your weight on it - the old frame worn down after the years. No longer built for a family. Barely strong enough for two.

But this is better, his thigh fitting snug between yours. Giving you another few inches to move closer, while your lips press against his neck.

It’s cold - the sun fleeing the sky before dinner. The clouds above heavy and grey, the cry of the wind and a steady swirl of snowflakes keeping everyone inside.

That chill is what has you here, sharing a couch with him. The body heat warming you both - the two of you at a loss, the sudden storm wiping out any carefully-laid plans.

So used to never being able to take a breath.

Funny that after the earth came to a stop, there never seemed to be enough time.

His skin is hot under your mouth. The flex of his muscles as he swallows, jumping beneath your tongue as it peeks out to taste him.

With this angle, you can feel him. A rock of his hips, a strong thigh pressing against your core. The nudge of his clothed cock dragging across your inner thigh, hip.

Your teeth scrape his jaw on the way to his mouth, your own fingers smoothing across a half-unbuttoned shirt. Sliding over worn fabric, the coarse hair dusting over his sternum.

Eventually traveling up. The rough sound in his throat as his lips press to yours. Another shift as he tugs you closer, a bright spark seeming to throb in your core as his tongue brushes your lip.

The hand at the small of your back drifting down, to the waistband of your prized pair of sweatpants. Rolled up at the ankle and pilling - but after everything, it feels like a soft luxury.

Sliding under the fabric, against the swell of your ass at he starts to tug it down.

But you want more of this. The soft gasps as Joel’s lips slot with yours, as your tongue meets his. The way he leans into it - his licking into your mouth - as your hips roll again.

Everything was so rushed, now. Barely enough hours or energy for a slow seduction - a quick brush of mouths and fumbling hands was usually all you had time for.

“Wait.” You gasp into his mouth.

He goes still. Leaning back, as his hand withdraws.

“What is it?” Joel’s voice is a low drawl, the mark between his brows deepening.

“Sorry. Nothing is wrong.” Your hands smooth over his chest, “Just… can we do this, a little longer?”

This was nice. Finally warm and half-dressed and kissing him. You think you could do this all night. It’s been years since you kissed someone like you used to.

Close to ten years, you think. Not since college. Not since it happened.

Soft things that turned messy, teeth and tongue as something low in your belly built and built. The need that grew until your were both desperate.

“This?” He asks - always wanting to know the details, seeking clarification.

“Yes, this.”

You mouth tips up, but he stays just out of reach. Waiting for more, until you’re sucking in a breath. Your answer coming as an exhale, the confession of what you truly want.

“I want you to kiss me until I’m begging for it.” You can barely make out his eyes in the dim light, the dark glitter as they drop to your mouth.

“And then you can have me any way you’d like.”

He makes a sound then, a low noise in his throat.

Joel wasn’t kissed often. There were years where he hadn’t been kissed at all. It can be easier that way, sometimes.

There was something too intimate about it. Something he never had to worry about before - but that was a different lifetime, now.

But you’re soft and sweet.

And he thinks he likes kissing you. Likes the little moan in your throat when he licks into your mouth.

When he kisses down your stomach. To where you’re so warm and wet for him. It’s easy then, he knows he likes kissing you there. His own groans hidden under your cries as he fucks you with his tongue.

Much less vulnerable.

He doesn’t know how to answer, so he deflects.

“You already beg for it, whether or not I kiss you.”

His words, so deep and smooth, make you clench. Fingers twisting in his shirt, another button slipping free.

You both know you do. He’s able to wind you up like no one else. Just thinking about him gets you squirming, and you can’t pretend that you don’t already need him now.

“Sure do.” You huff a laugh, an acknowledgment, “Don’t have time to make out like a couple of college kids. But I miss that sometimes, you know?”

He watches you, a tilt of his head. There’s a shine on his lower lip from your own tongue, a flutter in your stomach as you think about it.

Joel hums, and you frown.

“We have time tonight, don’t we?” You ask, and then you’re pushing yourself up on an elbow, “Are there other things we need to be doing?

It’s half-rhetorical, half-confirming.

There’s a few things he could be getting to.

Cleaning his gear properly, instead of the quick wipe down from yesterday. Finally taking a look at the sink in the kitchen, that slow drip that’s been going on for about a week, now.

But then again, it’s cold. And you’re warm and in his arms, and if he’s being honest - he wouldn’t mind staying like this.

For a long time.

He could leave the sink. With the freezing temperatures, he would have needed to leave it running anyways.

Your voice breaks his train of thought.

“Please, Joel.”

He can pretend it’s your idea.

That he’s doing this just for you.

A hand cups the back of your neck, twisting in your hair. Holding you in place as his mouth lifts to press to yours again.

You moan gratefully, kissing him. Shifting against him as your hand cups the back of his, feeling the curls with your fingertips.

Another whine as it turns a little sloppy - his teeth scraping over your lower lip, his other hand finding your breast over your top. Palming you, the brush of his thumb as you arch into him.

Rocking against his thigh, the press against your core easing a bit of the ache that has you so worked up already.

Fingers pinch the tight bud of your nipple. His mouth dropping to your chin, lips dragging to the hollow under your ear. All the things he does to you when you’re bare, the sensations dampened with the layers of clothes.

But the memories are fresh.

Your own hands wander. Plucking the last of the buttons free. Roaming over scarred skin, feeling the muscles jump under your palms. His own hips grinding into yours, starting a slow rhythm, as his hand drops from your hair to curve around your waist.

Holding you against him. The brush of his facial hair against your neck as his lips seal against your skin. Sucking a bruise for later, marking you for himself.

In the dark like this, all the hard edges soften. Going blurry and fuzzy, your thoughts going with them.

“Joel,” You moan, meeting the rock of his hips. The seam of your sweatpants rubbing against your clit - his mouth an accelerant to the pleasure that burns in your belly.

His lips lift from your neck, “You beggin’ already, honey?”

Fuck, you’re tempted. It would be so easy to say yes - for him to give you what your both need.

“Not yet.” You manage, in a voice that’s almost level.

The smooth hum of his laugh is like sin.

“Guess I’ll have to try harder, then.”

His hand drifts low, again. To your waistband, and then under the fabric of your shirt. Palm flat against hot skin as his fingers trace patterns, rising higher.

Your mouth finding his greedily again, and this time it’s your tongue brushing against his lip, waiting for them to part for you.

As his fingers tug down the cups of your worn bra, knuckles sliding over the tight peaks beneath.

The moan seems to come from your chest, high and long - pushing into his touch. Letting him move you with him, the steady grind where you need it most enough that you’re sure you’re dripping and soaked beneath.

Your fingers skating lower - down past where his shirt hangs open. Tracing the dark trail of hair that disappears below his jeans, your hand cupping where he’s thick and hard for you.

He grunts with your touch, a harsh thrust that presses you against the back cushions of the couch.

Before he’s curving over you, and you’re pressed half-beneath him. His hips grinding against yours, your hand.

Leaning back, his eyes opening. His gaze heated, burning for you, “You touch the others like this, while you were makin’ out?”

Your fingers flex against him, the tips dragging over where his length presses against the fabric. Back and forth, your answer coming out breathless, “Only if I liked them.”

He inhales a breath, hissed through clenched teeth. The word “fuck” ground out, a harsh bite to it as your lips press against his jaw.

“What about you, cowboy?” You ask, your voice rasping with want, “You drive all the girls crazy like this?”

There’s a look in his eyes, as he hovers above you. A moment where his guard drops, his voice low and smooth.

“Only if I-”

Even though the words cut off, they feel as sweet as the honey of his voice. It’s not the same admittance as yours.

But for Joel, it was more than enough.

He swallows, and you come to his rescue. Bringing out mouth to his. He doesn’t have to continue.

Because by now, you know.

The hand at your breast mirroring your own. Trailing down, working between his thigh and yours so he can touch you. Fingers pressing against your cunt over the thick fabric of your sweatpants.

Slow circles right where you need it, as you moan again. Pressing the damp fabric against your slick skin, over and over.

The touch isn’t enough - too teasing, too slow. Your breaths growing shorter, gasping as you rut into each other’s touch, until it’s too much.

“Okay, okay.” You whine, your fingers fumbling to the button on his jeans, “Fuck, Joel. I can’t-“

He lets you tug his zipper down, easing some of the pressure, before his hand grabs your wrist.

“Show me how much you want it.”

You blink up at him - lips parted, brow pinched. Making a needy sound in your throat, but all he does is ease back, holding himself over you.

Leaving you to tug your shirt up, show him the soft curves of your breasts. The pretty peek of your nipples from your bra, from where he tugged it down.

A shift of your legs as you work the waistband of your sweats and underwear down, your knees falling open. Baring yourself to him.

His eyes dropping down, to where you’re glistening. Dripping - not used to the slow tease anymore.

Joel’s hand moves without thought, fingers sliding over slicked skin. Your moan bursting loudly from your chest when a calloused tip drags over your clit, your hips jerking into his hand.

“Joel, please-”

He hums, low in his throat, “Turn over, darlin’.”

Rocking back onto his heels so you can roll over, push up onto your knees. Hands bracing on the padded arm of the couch, your back arched as you glance over your shoulder.

Watching as his shoulders roll, the shirt dropping on the couch. Broad hands tugging at his jeans, unable to help watching him pull his cock free, hanging flushed and heavy.

His fist closes around the base, the other bracing on the small of your back. Dragging himself against your slit, smearing his length with your arousal.

You’re bracing yourself - ready for the sweet stretch when he presses into you. Shifting and eager as your fingernails press into the fabric.

But he doesn’t. His cock dragging against you again, pulling away when you rock back against him.

“Joel.” You bite out, glancing back again.

His eyes are fixed down, and the heat in your chest creeps up to your ears. Where he’s looking at you, all of you.

The tip presses against you, parting your swollen folds. Barely nudging inside, as you sigh - before he’s drawing back again.

Before doing it again.

You whine, rocking back again. The hand on your back keeps you from moving too much - from taking more of him.

“Keep beggin’.” Joel’s voice is ragged, the words drawn out, “Once more, for me.”

Fuck. He’s cruel - turning your own word against you like that.

“Please fuck me.” You beg, just like he asked, “Joel, I need you so fucking bad.”

Months ago, it would have been “I need your cock so fucking bad.”

You both know it - you’d been so careful with your words back then.

It does something to him, finally giving you what you need. Fitting himself into you - filling you - as you moan at the stretch.

His own sound, echoing yours.

Until his hips are flush with your ass, and you’re already squirming back against him. Your release simmering with all the teasing, his words.

It’s funny how things work, now. Words meaning more and less at the same time.

Not many spoken when you fell into bed together, the first time.

Fewer, the night when you snuck in for the last time. How you had just stayed - a silent offering late one night, and an equally silent acceptance.

For all the communication needed in the day-to-day, sometimes words weren’t needed if things were working out right.

And they were, because your things have mixed with us. His shirts on your back when you go out. Your scent on his pillows and on some mornings, he finds himself wanting to stay for just a moment longer.

Wanting to keep you for himself.

Like he’s wanting now.

There’s something about seeing you like this - eyes glassy and half-lidded when you look back at him. As his hips work in quick circles, all those words in your head getting lost on their way to your lips.

How tight and warm you are around him, how you thrust back to meet him because it’s never deep or close enough.

He never leaves you waiting long. Drawing back before he fills you again. The sound of skin-on-skin, and the wet suck as you take him.

Heavy breaths and the creak of the couch as he sets a rhythm that sends sparks up in your head.

You won’t be able to hold on for long. He’s deep like this, hands on your hips, tugging you back as he drags against your inner walls.

The sound you make is just noise - a long, high whine, your eyes closing. Focusing on the swift coil in your belly, each stroke winding it tighter.

He can’t fuck you like he wants to. The couch is too old, wouldn’t survive the way he wants to pound into. The old girl would break, and you’d end up sitting on the floor for the next month while he looked for something else.

But it works, this way. Each thrust deep and long and slow, as you concentrate on where you’re connected. Each one knocking you higher and higher.

“Fuck.” The rasp of his voice has your eyes fluttering open, the hand on your back tracing around your hip, then thigh, “Makin’ all those pretty noises. You gonna come already?”

You hadn’t realized you had - each of your breaths open-mouthed, ragged gasps. When his fingers reach their destination, pressing down against your clit, you keen.

“Yes. Oh my god, please-”

He makes a low groan in his throat, fingertips teasing the tight bud as his hips snap just a little bit faster.

“Did they fuck you like this?”

You can barely breathe, right on the cusp. About to fall over. It takes you a second to realize he’s asking about those boys again - all those years ago. Never taking him for the jealous type, but maybe he’s as good at hiding things as you are.

“Make you come as hard as I do?”

Or maybe - he just likes hearing how much you want him.

“No.” The word is ragged, a rough gasp, “J-Just you, Joel. Only you-”

Your voice cuts off, failing you. Turning into a long moan as you’re there - hurtling off the cliff. A hand comes down to crack against your ass, more sound than pain, and it’s enough to tip you over.

Crying out with relief as you come hard, pulsing around his cock. Gripping him as he fucks you through it, his fingers rubbing until you’re grasping at his wrist, holding them still.

You weren’t stroking his ego - only Joel makes you come like this, makes you see stars. Turning you into a mess as you soak his cock, as he tells you just how fucking good you feel.

Joel’s grown tired of a lot of things, but not this. Your pretty sounds, the tight, hot flutter. His name on your lips, sounding like salvation.

How you want him. Need him.

He can’t deny there was something about this, tonight. Won’t say it out loud, but he too was affected by the soft touches, the slow build. The pressure ignited low in his own belly, even before he sunk into you.

Liking the way you wanted. How you begged.

Delayed gratification, he notes for later - tucking it away.

One of the last coherent thoughts before his thrusts turn shallow and quick. Unable to help but follow, gritting out a string of curses as he finds his end. One of them standing out, because you know it. It’s a part of you, bone-deep.

Your name.

Pretty on his lips as you feel him flood you. Warmth spreading as his hands curl around your hips, pulling them flush against his own. Letting you milk every drop as you clench down.

It’s new. Something you haven’t done with him until recently, but you like how he feels in you. The way he curves over your back, an arm wrapped around you to keep you tugged close. The slight twitch of his cock, the pulse that slows ebbs until he starts to go soft.

Staying like that, for just a second. Hands sweeping over skin as your head turns. One last press of his mouth to yours, sharing a sigh.

Before he’s gently easing from you. Sitting down heavily on the sofa with a deep, contented groan. As you follow, twisting around - legs feeling like jelly.

Before you push yourself up, a cozy warmth spreading from fingers to your toes - before padding off to the bathroom to clean up.

Leaving him on the couch, where the cushions are still warm from where you laid beneath him. He fits himself into the space, waiting for you to come back, for his own turn.

Head turned to look out the window. The chipped white frame with it’s locked latches. Almost looking like a painting, with the quiet streets outside, the swirl of drifting flakes that still fall down. Just as heavy as before.

He thinks… maybe he wouldn’t mind.

If it kept snowing.

Would love to know what you thought! 💕 Thank you for reading!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine

[leighsartworks216]

Moon Blood

Astarion x gn/fem!Tav/Reader

(Basically anybody who experiences periods can read this I just don't know what to tag it as)

Tav is described as having irregular periods and a heavy flow, which I know doesn't really leave it open to everyone. But it's true to my experience, so I'm sure some other irregular-period people can also appreciate this

(Also it's just a really self-indulgent story I wrote for me lmao)

Warnings: blood, blood drinking, period fic, references to sex, swearing

Word Count: 1,210

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You roll over in your bedroll again, groaning as quietly as you could as you clutch at your abdomen. An aching pain roiled just below your belly. And there it seemed determined to stay for however long it deemed fit.

Your moon bloods were always a shock - you never knew when they would happen and you never knew how long they would last, because the gods seem to think it’s funny to make it so relentlessly inconsistent. Not to mention how heavy they could be. After everything you’ve faced on your perilous journey so far, this was the fucking worst.

The pain rises to a peak. All you can do is curl in on yourself, hugging your stomach as tight as possible to will the pain away. Does it help? No. But there’s nothing else that could… Well…

You feel like an idiot when you knock on the wooden post outside Astarion’s tent. You were pretty sure he already knew of your problem, if the restlessness whenever he was near was any indication. You couldn’t imagine the temptation, but you could admire his resolve. That wasn’t why you were here.

He calls a muffled ‘Come in’ and you push aside the canvas door. You see the change instantly. The way his eyes darken with the scent of blood, his smirk more predatory than usual. You begin to wonder if this was a bad idea.

“Hello, darling,” he purrs, low and seductive. His book is set aside in favor of standing to greet you in the small space. His hands slide around your waist, nails pressing lightly into your spine. He leans down, pressing his nose to your pulse as he whispers, “You smell delicious.”

You clear your throat. “As tempting as that is…” You step back slightly, and he doesn’t try to stop you. Instead, he pulls his face from your neck and rests his hands at your sides. One more step and he would let you go entirely. “I just want to cuddle.”

He huffs, face scrunching in annoyance. “You come in here with a banquet between your legs, and all you want is to cuddle?” The irritation can hardly be read as genuine when his thumbs begin to rub circles into your hips soothingly.

“Mhm. My cramps and back are killing me,” you explain. You gesture back outside the tent. “I could go ask Gale, if you think you’ll be too tempted.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he hisses, but it’s an empty threat.

He pulls you with him back to the pile of pillows he was lounging in before, sitting down and leaning comfortably against the pile. You stopped, standing just before him, even as he nudged your hip toward him, silently telling you he was ready for you to join him.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright with…” You don’t know how to phrase it in a way that doesn’t sound strange. But your need to make sure he is comfortable wins out above everything else. “With smelling the blood all night?”

His eyes soften as he smiles. The tinge of animalistic hunger still lingers behind it, but your dismissal of his preposition has pushed it toward the back, almost entirely hidden. “I’ll be alright. I’m not starved enough to lash out at any moment, I swear.”

You frown. “You know that’s not what I’m worried about.”

He chuckles despite your scolding. “I know.” You give him a pointed look and he rolls his eyes with a sigh. “Yes, dear, I’ll be alright smelling your blood all night. Now are you going to stand there all night?”

Assured in his comfort, you finally lay down, draping yourself over him, legs slotting between each other and arms holding each other close, and your head resting on his chest. The first few times you cuddled like this, you were worried your weight would make him uncomfortable, or worse, remind him of his 200 years of abuse. But he insisted, when he didn’t want to be cradled to your chest, of course.

He rests a hand at your lower back and begins working his fingers into the aching muscles there. You sigh and relax further into him. He doesn’t need air, but his chest still rises and falls with slow breaths. It’s disconcerting without a heartbeat to accompany it, or it would be if it was anybody else. But it’s Astarion, and instead the sound of his breathing alone was soothing.

You rest there for a moment, eyes closed. The position you’ve taken eases some of the pain, hand-in-hand with Astarion’s nimble touch. For now, the pain is a little more bearable.

You lift your head to look at him. He’s already looking at you, soft and at ease, eyes round with affection. “If you want to, you can eat,” you tell him. You jump to add, “From my neck.”

He chuckles. “Thank you for clarifying,” he teases.

“Well, like you said, I’m here with a banquet. I don’t want you to suffer just because I’m not in the mood.”

“I’m hardly suffering, dear,” he assures. “But I will take you up on your offer.”

You smile as you tilt your head, exposing your neck to him. He sits up, shifting you as he does until you’re eye-to-eye, before he buries his face against the nearly-faded marks he’s left. He continues to rub your back as he uses his free hand to cup the back of your head, keeping you in place and steady. He takes his time to press kisses all around his target. Your moon blood makes you taste sweeter; your skin smells so enticing. But he can savor it later.

You only get two warnings he’s about to bite: the hand holding your head tangles its fingers in your hair, holding you more firmly in place, though still being gentle about it; and the flat of his tongue running along the old punctures.

The sharp pain of ice in your veins never lasts. His mouth sucks and tongues at the punctures, drawing your blood out with practiced ease and drinking it down greedily. You close your eyes and relax into it. You trust him. And the odd feeling of your blood being pulled from your veins like liquid through a straw and the dizziness that accompanies it is much more bearable without vision.

Once he’s had his fill, he pulls his mouth off your neck and licks languidly at the last few drops until your blood clots. He slowly lowers himself back into the cushions, careful not to worsen your light-headedness with the motion. You rest your head back on his chest like a rag doll, limp and tired. He cards his fingers through your hair a few times before simply wrapping his arm around you. He mindlessly continues to rub circles into your back, keeping the pain at bay for you to sleep.

You try to speak through half-intelligible thoughts as exhaustion and comfort begins to claim you. Mostly ‘thank you’s, though a heavily slurred ‘I love you’ surfaces once or twice. He gently sushes you. And then you’re fast asleep, as if speaking was the only thing keeping you awake.

And in the morning, well, he’s more than happy to take care of you.

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @mheerdraws @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @phantoms-fandom-blog @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars

#fanfic #fanfiction #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate tav #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #fem reader #x fem reader #female reader #x female reader #period fic #fluff

[writersblockedx]

Dependency Problem

Pairing - Conrad Fisher x Fem!Reader Summary - When you return to Cousins this year, you find that Conrad has picked up similar bad habits you once had. Warnings - Use of drugs and alcohol, good bit of angst, NO SPOILERS FOR S2 Words - 2.6k

A/n - Possible part two if people want? Let me know!

Masterlist

Every Summer was spent in Cousins. And every Summer, it was spent with the Fisher and Conklin clan. It was always refreshing, that slow drive back up to the house. The air was sprinkled with salt and the skies seemed always clear, a blue-painted ceiling that you could bathe in all day if you so pleased. But, the most important part of the drive was the reunion.

To see them little differences that had changed in everyone in between the last ten months. For Susannah, she had chopped a good bit of her hair off as her golden locks hung close to her shoulders. Laurel had started wearing less make-up, settling into a more comfortability with herself. Your mom had been the opposite, she was experimenting with makeup and style like she was a teen again; you blamed it on a midlife crisis. Belly had hit puberty, no longer plagued by a pair of glasses. Steven even more relaxed that he had been the year prior, and slightly taller. Jere's hair had grown, giving his curls the space to spiral over his forehead. And then there was Conrad - you noticed it instantly.

It was a familiar essence that was loitering over him. The unironed hoodie he had crowded his more lean figure into. His eyes were dragged down by the black bags, irritated with patches of red within the whites of his eyes. His posture was low, tired, aching. And his expression, while uplifted with a smile of welcome, was a facade. You caught it in a moment.

"Finally!" Jeremiah called as he rushed over to his friends, capturing Steven in a bro-hug first, then Belly and leaving you for last. "Good to have you back." He told you as his head sat on your shoulder before pulling away.

From there, you met Conrad's gaze.

You ignored the way your heart felt heavy. You weren't sure what had happened between now and when you had last said goodbye, but you felt far than enough sympathy. "Hi," You breathed, trying to not let out your surprise at the changes the boy had made.

He greeted you in reply with a, "It's good to see you." And took you into an embrace. It was loose and short-lived, leaving you desperate for more once he finally pulled away.

As the first day back went on, it soon all started coming out. Conrad had left football, barely sailed anymore and, as of this moment, wasn't doing anything at all. Compared to Steven and Jere who already had part-time jobs lined up. Something was wrong and you were beginning to wonder about would you could do. Such was confirmed after dinner came to an end. The boys rushed to play video games and Belly went upstairs to catch up with her friend, Taylor.

Which left you and the mums, clearing up the plates from the dining room table and taking them into the kitchen to be washed. For a moment, you stood alone at the kitchen sink while the others grabbed what was left at the table. And there, your eyes wandered to the window which looked upon the pool. There sat Conrad, legs dangling in the flickering water that reflected the moonlight. His eyes were down, his back facing you but even so you caught the cig he placed between his lips, lighting it and letting his lungs inhale the smoke.

It was there you felt that sympathy, that desperation with the lingering feeling of betrayal. The same exact thing Conrad had felt all of last Summer; it was a role reversal.

"He could really use you right now, you know?" That sweet voice almost made you jump.

A part of you felt flushed as you turned to face Susannah who was standing in the doorway; you'd just been caught staring at her son. "Hmm?" You resulted in responding.

The blonde let a smile grace her lips for a moment, "You two bring out the best in each other." She stated like the wise woman she was. "I think he could really use that right now."

You nodded in understanding, "I'll talk to him." That was a promise.

Once the table was cleaned up, the moms travelled towards the living room, wine glasses and blankets in hand. It hadn't taken them very long to get comfy as they switched the tv on. Though, it was made for only background noise, as their chatter rose above it. It left you with that nagging curiosity, the question that you hadn't stopped asking yourself since you had arrived: what had changed?

Before you could stop yourself, your feet were dragging you to the outside, where Conrad had thought nobody was watching. He didn't care enough to jolt when he heard the back door rattle open. Rather, he simply turned his head and huffed before looking back at the pool and the joint in his hand.

You didn't say anything. Not for at least two minutes as you occupied the space next to him, dipping your bare legs into the water below, almost close enough they could brush along Conrad's. "Theres about a hundred things I could repeat that you told me last year." You didn't look at him when you spoke, you didn't dare glance at the expression you were sure painted his face.

"But you're not going to?" He questioned, brows raised, plucking at his never-ending wonder when it came to the girl he had grown up beside.

You shrugged, swallowed the lump that was growing in your throat and finally looked over at the boy you had known since childhood. "What's the point?" You said, almost with a laugh you ended up suppressing. "You know it's not good, you know everything wrong with it. You're making the decision to do it anyway."

His expression was blank. It didn't seem as if there were many thoughts being processed. "Then what are you doing sat here?" There was a snap in his tone, a way to protect his bad habits from any helping hands.

The answer for you was simple: "Because I care for you, Conrad." As easy as that.

But such statement had prompted an incentive you hadn't meant it to. Rather than something thoughtful in reply, Conrad had started leaning in. You were too close and he was too fast for you to stop it. Within a moment, the sentiment you had just said had been cut off by the boy's lips as he met your own in a deep, yet rushed, kiss.

One hand reached his shoulder, tearing his lips from you. You breathed like you had been gasping for it and looked him in the eye. All that stared back at you was a regret that wasn't fading. "You're high." You reminded him.

"I didn't mean to-" Your other hand took the joint that was still caught between his fingertips. An action which made him shut up as he followed your hands quickly. "What are you-" Once in your grip, you chucked the substance into the pool, making it impossible to smoke again. "What the hell Y/n!"

When you stood, so did he. "Please, just go to bed." You advised him. Though, you highly doubted he would listen. You never did.

"You're not my mother!" His voice rose.

And you didn't step down, "No, but I'm sure she'd tell you the same thing." You took a breath to fight off the fury that was bubbling within the pit of your stomach. "If you can't go the rest of tonight without smoking the rest of that joint, then maybe accept you've got a dependency problem."

He scoffed as he took a step closer. "You can say all you want, I'll just call you what you are: Hypocrite." His tone was laced in more than just a snappy manner, now it was toxic, it wasn't a tone you ever saw Conrad use and it pained your heart to have it aimed at yourself.

You sucked up the tears that were brimming at your eyelids and made your last statement of the night, "What have you turned into?" You left him with that, turning your back before he could spit any more insults your way, making a B-line for your room again.

There, you let the tears fall. You wondered yourself, who had replaced the gentleman, sweet boy you once knew? You wondered if he was okay, if he would go back to normal? Truth being, you couldn't be sure. The year before, Conrad asked himself the same things. You had been just as angry, just as snappy, with a bad temper that could blow at any given moment. It was like living with weights on your back that tired you into a shell of a person until you felt utterly transparent in this world.

You didn't much talk to Conrad after that encounter. To be fair, Conrad hadn't really been talking to anyone other than the odd grunt if you were lucky. It wasn't until Belly's birthday when things got shaky again. This year, the birthday girl had taken the decision for everyone to go to Nicole's party. Nicole who also happened to be Conrad's not-girlfriend.

As much as you lied to yourself, being in her home felt wrong. Being on her territory knowing what Conrad had done two nights prior. The lingering ghost of his lips had never felt more prominent than right in that moment as you stepped foot into her house. You felt guilty being there. And not just because of the kiss, but because you had been yearning for Conrad to kiss you for a long time now. You just hated the fact such a big moment was ruined by the stench of weed on his mouth that soon caught onto your own.

Steven budged your shoulder, "You alright?" He asked, a sweet smile hanging from his lips, breaking you from the oblivious stare you had been making.

You nodded forcefully, "Yeah, yeah I'm good."

Steven wasn't convinced but a feminine voice broke him from his concern, "Steven!" His head spun around and his lips twisted even further upright like a Cheshire cat.

"Shayla." And like that, the boy was gone.

With a sigh, you followed in Taylor's footsteps to get a drink. She filled herself a cup of some red beverage and then grabbed one for you too. She huffed and you watched as her eyebrows raised, "Well look how quickly we've been forgotten." You would have been annoyed if she hadn't been right. Belly had left her for Nicole as had Conrad left you for her too.

You raised your red solo cup, "Cheers to that." Your tone was flat but Taylor clinked your cup anyway.

You weren't sure what the night had planned, but you could tell something was brewing.

Three or four hours later, a good few drinks down (you had lost count) and you were on the hunt for another one. The night was still lively, music blaring through the house, struggling against the volume of eccentric, drunk teenagers. When you reached the kitchen, you became hungry for something that wasn't tequila and juice. Thinking the kitchen was empty, you waltzed in. Only then to find yourself face-to-face with the one person you were avoiding.

You came to an abrupt stop as your gaze clung to one another. He was leant against one of the counters, his own glass in his hand, so casual in his checkered shirt and wavy hair. A thousand pictures ran through your head. You almost became nervous that Conrad could see you replaying that kiss in your mind. It was all you had been able to think about all night with the booze and having him dancing around you all night.

It took resilience for you to tear your eyes from him as you continued around the kitchen, searching the cupboards for something that suited your tastes better. It took a minute of you shuffling through cereal boxes and plates before Conrad spoke up. "Top right." He nodded to the cupboard he was talking about and you dared to catch a glimpse of him.

You nodded and pushed yourself from the floor to your tip toes as you opened the cupboard. A selection faced you of liquors and beers. You took the bottle of your choice and poured it into your red solo cup. Conrad didn't let his eyes leave you. "You're not gonna say anything this time?" He pushed.

You thought about whether it was best to reply or whether he was just picking another argument. "Why? So you can yell at me?" You raised your brow at him, and let your hip fall to lean on the counter as you faced Conrad, a good three meters between the two of you. But you cut it short, taking a step as your eyes narrowed with your next words, "Or so you can kiss me again?"

As if he were scared of the very word, he stepped from the counter, "Don't-" His finger was lingering towards you as he bit down on his tongue.

"What? Scared your girlfriend's gonna overhear it?"

"She's not- my girlfriend." He almost couldn't say it. "I didn't mean to do that." Once again, you found you lied to yourself thinking you weren't hurt by that fact.

You swallowed that pain and looked him right in the eye, "I'm not gonna argue with you if that's what you want. But, if you ever just want to talk, you know where I am."

You stared at him, waiting, willing, for him to say something. To do as you had offered and talk to you like a human being, to open up about whatever was driving him to make all these reckless decisions. The moment fell and you realised he wasn't going to say anything. You accepted it and went to leave, "Okay, I'll see you around Conrad." Said so disinterested.

You were almost out the door when his voice stopped you again, "Wait." It was hesitant but, somehow it was sure it was the right decision to make. When you met his eyes, they were like a child's. Somehow filled once more with innocence, but mostly, desperation. "I don't wanna talk, I just-" His gaze flickered to the floor for a second. "I just want you to be there...please." This time, he was the one on the edge of tears.

Once that left his mouth, you were in front of him, taking him into your embrace. He had never hung on so tightly to you like he didn't dare let go like you were keeping him afloat. Partway through the hug, you heard him sniffle, causing you to rub his back. "It's okay," You soothed. "It's okay."

"Conrad?" The voice cut through your's and Conrad's bubble like a blade.

You spilt from one another, turning to the doorway to find Nicole standing there. There was a familiar look on her face; the same one you had been wearing all night. You could only imagine what she must have been thinking.

Nicole left, taking half the girls with her. And, not long after, so did you and Conrad. Maybe you were drunk and he was drunk, or high, or both, but it didn't matter. He had let that shell open only slightly and because he had asked for you to be there, you would be. That night, you found yourself in his bed, soothing him as he fell asleep in the crook of your neck. It pained you to see him with the same habits you had once plagued yourself with. And, as tonight had shown, it had only gained him consequences. Ones of which you would worry about another day. For now, you would be there for him.

#conrad fisher x reader #tsitp #tsitp season 1 #tsitp season 2 #conrad fisher x you #conrad fisher #conrad fisher x y/n #conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher oneshot #conrad fisher fanfic #conrad fisher fic #conrad x reader #conrad imagine #tsitp x reader #tsitp fanfic #the summer i turned pretty #jeremiah fisher #belly conklin #x reader #imagine #fanfic #oneshot

[cowboylor]

baby honey

pairing: austin butler x fem!reader (reader uses she/her pronouns)

wc: 1.4k 

warnings: smut, pwp, slight dom/sub dynamics but nothing extreme, oral (female receiving), teasing, manhandling, bad dirty talk, allusions to breeding kink, established relationship, no use of y/n, reader was written as plus size but really you can interpret however you please, austin calling reader honey is pure self-indulgence sorry

“Did you miss me?”

The question goes unanswered as you struggle to unbutton his shirt, cursing under your breath when the third button down refuses to cooperate with your shaking fingertips. Austin can’t help but grin at your blatant urgency to get him out of his clothes and through your bedroom door. 

When you finally get to the last button, you feel his hands reaching to cup your face, forcing you to look away from the task at hand. You feel warm all over when you take a moment to look into his eyes. And God, they’re so blue. Were they always this blue?

“Honey,” He speaks in a low-tone, in an endearing way that shoots right to your lower belly. “I asked, did you miss me?”

His stare, if you didn’t know better, almost looked intimidating. Austin peered down at you expectantly with those damn eyes. His hands were still holding you upright, warming your cheeks.

You nod, dumbly. “Of course, I did! Hence the ripping-off-your-clothes.”

Austin chuckles, removing his hands to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you into him. He leans towards the shell of your ear, pressing a kiss there before murmuring, “I missed you too.”

Humming into the embrace, you relax your hands from the material of his button-down. He was home. You truly couldn’t believe it. He was finally all yours again.

“And when I saw you in this little number,” He tugs on the fabric of your sundress that tightened around your waist, before leaning over to whisper in your ear: “I wanted to bend you over and fuck you right there. Even with everyone watching.”

You’re too far gone to be embarrassed at his choice words. Whining, you inch your body closer to him until you were flushed against his chest. “Please, baby, take me to bed.”

He doesn’t waste anymore time, crouching down to throw you over his shoulder, to which you protested in a shrieking manner.

(You were slightly indifferent to the ways he would toss you in the bedroom. You were also slightly insecure about the idea that you would be too heavy for him to do so. Whenever he’d lift you off your feet and carry you to bed it made you stricken with fear. But when you mentioned this anxiety to Austin, he simply shook his head in disbelief: “You think I can’t manhandle my own girl?”)

When the back of your head hit the pillow, he was already bunching up the fabric of your sundress to your waist, gently pulling your legs apart before toying with the band of your panties. His breath wafted over you, making you tense at the subtle sensation, and moving to close your legs in hopes of the slightest friction. Austin didn’t give you the chance.

“But now,” He continued, prying your legs open, and propping one of your calves over his shoulder. “I think I want to taste you.”

You moan at the sight. Drinking in the way he gingerly presses a kiss to your calf, before trailing down your leg.

You couldn’t ever think clearly when he was between your thighs. Couldn’t formulate the sensual words your boyfriend probably wanted to hear when he was trailing gentle kisses up your inner thigh (over the bumps and all). All you can muster are high-pitched moans and shallow breaths in response to whatever you’re currently undergoing.

He hums at your breathy gasps, peering up at you through tufts of freefallen blonde hair. “You’re so pretty, honey.”

You scoff at his smug smile. “No teasing, Austin.”

“No?” He reaches your inner thigh. “Won’t even let me savor my meal?”

You desperately wish you could say something sexy back. Something that would make him shudder with the same intensity that he does to you. Maybe even something so witty and quick-witted that it would make him chuckle at your bratiness and then instantaneously flip you over on all fours to fuck your brains out. But, your body never allows you to do so when he’s so very close to your cunt.

You groan out. “Just… Need you.”

Dragging his fingertip up to your clit, you swear you’re going to collapse then and there. Austin pondered your honest words, humming as he circles your clit with the rough pad of his finger.

“Holy shit, please.”

“Yeah?” He pressed his lips against your slit in one swift motion. But he was gone again before you could properly cry out. “Need me so bad, honey?”

You nod, furiously, blindly reaching out to tug down roughly on his hair, guiding him back to you. “Can’t wait any longer. Need your mouth.”

Now, he may be a little shit sometimes, but he was always fair with you.

Before you could whine out and plead again, his tongue was lapping at your cunt. You just about shriek, instinctively moving away from the intense sensation, but before being able to do so, Austin wraps his arm around your left thigh, while keeping your right leg propped up over his shoulder.

A string of “holy shit” plays out as you grapple with the intensity of your built up need. You mewl at the sight of him wrapped over your thighs, reaching out to grab whatever you could (his sandy blonde strands fall victim to you).

“You’re sweet as honey, honey.”

His tongue is hot and wet against your cunt, as you arch your back and cry out as he nudges your clit with the tip of his nose. You make eye contact when his eyes peer up at you. There’s a glint of cockiness in his eye, knowing how quickly he can have you come undone with just his mouth. 

Your heart is stuttering at the intensity of everything, and you can only throw your head back as Austin moans at the sight of you being unable to settle. He pulls away, briefly, leaving a string of saliva in his wake while he circles his thumb around your clit.

“That’s it, honey,” Austin groans out. “Gonna let me have it?”

“Yes!” Maybe that was rhetorical but you’re too far gone to care. “Please, baby. Need you to take all of it.”

He found it endearing, groaning into you at the sight of you dripping before him and the noises you made whenever he touched you in the slightest. You are so in tune for him, so bad for him it was unbelievable.

“Gonna let me fuck this sweet pussy after?” He continues to circle your clit, his pace grower harsher in the same way that he always amps up when you’re almost over the edge. You squirm, feeling your stomach coil tighter within every second. “Gonna let me fill you up good? Want me to fuck a baby into you? Would you like that, honey?”

And that’ll do it.

Austin didn’t stray away, dipping back down to return to his lapping motion, burying his face into your cunt. His right hand held your leg in place roughly, fingernails embedding into your skin to show that he was not keen on the possibility of letting you go any time soon. 

You’re almost positive you feel every possible sensation at once. The coil inside you unravels so deeply, you’re not even sure if you’ll be able to come down from this one. You pull at his hair, almost yanking him away from your shaking thighs in an effort to come down from your high. For good measure, he presses another kiss to the inside of your calf before gently lowering your leg to rest on the comforter.

Austin crawls up the bed until he can cup your face and kiss your forehead, bringing you face to face with his glowy complexion. You spend a second regaining your breath, before burying yourself into his chest (which is only partially exposed due to the mishap of the third button). 

“You kill me,” You say defeatedly, bringing your knees to your chest, testing out how sore and strained your inner thighs feel just from one act alone. He barks out a laugh, apologetically running hand over your stomach. “I’m running out of energy for you.”

He only hums at your words, pressing another kiss to your temple before muttering, “Take a moment, honey. Afterwards I want to unzip this dress and find out how flexible you are.”

#austin butler #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader #austin butler smut #elvis #elvis 2022 #elvis x reader #elvis imagine #fanfiction #*my writing

[sensei-venus]

don't get me wrong i love robby's tiny baby girl but the idea of robby's gf having a big fat 10lb baby and being so big during the pregnancy and robby constantly apologizing to her because he feels bad because he "did this to her"

and she's just so cute about it like "stop no, this isn't ur fault babe"

and when their baby girl is born she's just so big and chubby cheeked and sweet and uncle miggy teases robby because he did that, good for you man, kind of thing

The news of Reader being pregnant was a huge surprise to everyone, even Reader and Robby. For Robby he is already feeling bad about even getting her pregnant. Not that he is upset about her having the baby, just at himself for getting her knocked up.

They both talked about having kids before but it was always lukewarm. Both had issues with their childhood and needed to work those problems out first before even thinking about having kids.

But here they are having to speed run now that they where pregnant.

But that by no means makes Robby not love his baby, and later known to be baby girl.

Robby fully admits to not knowing jack squat about baby's and pregnancy in general. He buys a book or two from the store and even lends one from Miguel. He reads them a lot, more then you would think he would. He starts to get a little nervous when he reads about the pregnancy growth stuff. It isn't like he really cares to much about Reader's body changing. He loves her at any weight, hes more worried about her health and confert.

His mom assures him that he was a pretty small baby and she hardly had any issues during her pregnancy with him. Her bump was really tiny. Besides the normal aches and pains of a regular pregnancy she was fine. Johnny sticks up for her saying he barley could tell she was pregnant even by the end. In some weird way he feels a little better after hearing that. Thinking maybe his poor pregnant wife wouldn't end up being to uncofterbul.

With in months of the first few appointments with the ob Reader is showing, big time.

Her belly is round and heavy, pushing her poor shirts out of the way no matter how many she trys on. She has to go out almost every month to get a new set of meturity shirts and pants. There is just no way she is fitting into any of her old stuff, even if she had just bought it a few weeks ago.

She is so uterly in love with her bump though. Cant keep her hands off her belly no matter how much she try’s. Always trying to hold and cradel it even when she doesn’t exactly have to. She’s all smiles and laughs during the pregnancy.

While Robby is just holding her and saying how sorry he is that he made her GET this way. But she cant care less about that. She just laughs at his constant comments and tells him that she loves her bump and their baby.

When she finally gives birth, she’s not surprised when the nurse hands her their baby and is told in a very happy voice “You have a healthy 10 pound 3 oz baby girl!” Which as Reader crying. She’s perfect in every way possible.

Robby is in love from the moment he catches a glimpse of her tiny chubby cheeks, wrapped up in a perfect blanket.

But of course the minute Miguel sees the little girl he's poking a little fun at the guy.

“This is your uncle Miguel, your going to be seeing a lot of him now that your out.” Robby whispers as he hands off the girl to a waiting Miguel. Miguel makes a tease when holding the girl, acting like she weighs a ton. Robby is rolling his eyes and Miguel shoulder bumps his side. He chuckles and bounces the bundle holding the new Keene girl. He says in a low voice “Wow look at her man! She's adorable dude. I can't believe you finally did it, you have a baby now.” Robby can't help but let a small smile slip into his lips. Looking down at his daughter in Miguel’s arm.

“Yeah well I can't believe it either, but I already love her so much.”

I actually really like this idea, I don't know why I made this so short. If anyone has any more ideas To go along with this please leave them in my inbox because I would love to make something a little longer with this idea in mind.

#cobra kai #cobra kai blog #cobra kai ask blog #cobra kai headcanons #cobra kai imagine #robby keene fluff #robby headcanons #robby keene imagine #robby keene headcanons #robby keene #cobra kai robby #robby keene x chubby reader #robby keene x reader #robby x reader #chubby reader #chubby!reader #pregnancy headcanon #pregnant reader #pregnant!reader #pregnacy #pregnant

[donotpush]

Giving birth while stuck in a window

A/N: not technically stuck in a window, I guess?

Imagine a heavily pregnant window cleaner, his belly hanging low and heavy inside his blue work overall.

As stubborn (and a little bit in denial of his condition) every single time that the topic of his pregnancy is brought into the conversation, always full of comments like don't you think it's time for paternity leave already? he would act as if the fact that he was so knocked up was a casual inconvenience, something that he could get rid of any moment now.

He would act as if his growing belly didn't become a burden as the months went by, he refused to get a new overall when he started to fit tight on it, his gravid belly stretching the fabric to the maximum and threatening to burst the buttons at the smallest wrong movement.

Even his coworkers actively tried to stop him from getting on the bosun's chair. But he was getting his job done, no matter what.

So, the day he woke up and felt his stomach weird, his hips light and his back not aching for the first time in months, he thought that today was the day he finally could get a decent working day, like his pre-pregnancy days.

Yes, the occasional cramps that got more intense and the weird pressure between his legs? Totally to blame for something he ate, that street food was never reliable after all.

So the day went by, cramp after cramp, his breath getting more and more labored as the pressure he felt on his pelvis got more and more intense.

But he ignored the comments on how low he was carrying, the concerned looks of the people that stared at him behind the windows he cleaned, and the insistence of his mates to go home (or probably the hospital).

So when his water broke, staining his work overall, he was more than quick to dismiss it as spilled water, a bucket that fell or something like that.

With no time to change (how many windows he had to clean today?), he continued his job, ignoring the contractions that got closer and closer ripping through his gut and ignoring all those glances directed towards him by other workers that didn't dare to ask the obvious question.

Even the safety harness that hugged uncomfortably his huge belly, acting as some sort of corset with how big he was, was the least of the sensations he was worried about right now.

Ignoring even how low the baby's head felt, even if the sensation made him clutch over himself and instinctively squat (which he quickly tried to avoid, because God he needed to push so bad).

The contractions were soon followed by a few groans and sobs that he tried to suppress as much as he could, biting his lips to avoid moaning out loud and trying to keep his focus on wiping, scrubbing, and washing.

Wiping, scrubbing, washing. Wiping, scrubbing, washing.

He tried to keep it together, to breathe and to ignore the sensation of the head started to crown on his pants as he cleaned the window of the conference room, all the bemused stares from the people inside making him even more conscious of the need to push that baby out.

He tried to keep it together, to hold it in, wiping, scrubbing, washing.

But that baby was coming, the urge to get it out impossible to ignore as he leaned down, gripping the window sill for support as pain rippled through his lower abdomen.

He could feel it, the head threatening to come out right now, and he could do nothing else but bare down and push, unable to fight it.

He didn't have time to even unzip his overalls, his body pushing and forcing the head out that came out with a gush of amniotic fluid, making the unmistakable bulge crowning in the back of his pants the clue to let everyone inside know what was going on.

He couldn't help the scream that left his mouth as he pushed, shaking and gripping at his stomach and wobbling to try to unzip his overalls, the head stuck against the tight fabric, unable to go anywhere else.

The glass of the window, so clean that it felt like nothing was separating him from the meeting going on inside, left the people inside more than satisfied with his job.

#ask #asks #birth kink #labor kink #pregnant man #mpreg #birth denial #labor denial #pregnant fantasy #stories #public birth #clothing birth #a weird one... #but we make it work #labor #pregnancy #pregnancy fantasy

[lixieisgod]

3:33 a.m. ᥫ᭡

⤷ synopsis—ᥫ᭡ it’s late asl n I’m thinkin’ about sitting on Shinichiro’s lap slowly grinding my ass on his clothed cock, n’ makin’ my pretty boy all needy for me while he smokes.

⤷ notes—ᥫ᭡ hola horny bitches hope everyone is doing well, remember to drink water and take care of yourselves. feel free to send in asks and your feedback is always welcomed in the comments as long as you’re respectful.<3

⤷ cw—ᥫ᭡ smut, mommy kink, smoking/substances, weed, praise, mentions of face sitting, riding, fem bodied reader, needy shin, tittie sucking, shin calls himself a pretty slut, begging,vaginal penetration. lmk if I messed anything. <3

———————————ᥫ᭡———————————

the room is dimly illuminated by red led lights that seem to make his pretty red eyes even more intense, you can’t help but notice his dark irises gazing at your glossy lips.

one of his hands is placed on your lower waist helping guid you back and forth. While the other is holding the blunt up to his lips. He takes a puff of the almost finished blunt while leaning his head back showing off his Adam's apple then releases the smoke into the cool air.

“want the last puff darling” he utters out in that silky voice of his that never fails to make your pussy flutter.

You lean in making direct eye contact with him and taking the blunt from between his slender fingers “we should share instead” you inhaled then pulled him in by his silver necklace while still maintaining eye contact. You passionately kissed him, blowing the smoke into your lover's mouth before slowly pulling away.

He exhaled the smoke in your face and grabbed onto your waist slightly lifting you while he sat up readjusting himself. When he sat up you felt his hard cock graze your pussy making you smirk at the whimper your boyfriend tried to hide.

Shin isn’t sure if it’s the weed he’s high on or if it’s you. The only thing he knows for sure right now is how bad he needs you, he needs his pretty girl to make him feel good like she always does.

“mhhmph, you're makin’ me all horny, can’t take it anymore, need you so bad baby” he spoke in a desperate and whiny tone.

You could feel his hard cock poking you.

“pleasee touch me, c-can feel your pussy drooling all over my thigh through those panties, need you so bad right now”

he was right, your pussy has been achingly wet for him this whole time.

“Such a needy boy, aren’t you shin”?

“How can’t I be when you always make me feel so good” you smiled at his response before loosely wrapping your hands around his neck and pulling him into a sloppy lust filled kiss.

His taste was intoxicating, both your tongues danced in each other’s mouths. The kiss was extra messy, Shin was on cloud 9 with the way you made him feel, your candy flavored lip gloss made the kiss even more erotic and messy.

Shin bit your lower lip before pulling away leaving behind a trail of both yours and his saliva mixed with your lipgloss and a delightful sting on your bottom lip. Heavy pants left his throat as you lowered yourself into a kneeling position. Your hands rubbed the clear outline of his dick through his pants, shin hissed at the sensation before low grunts started leaving his parted lips.

He bucked up desperate to feel more of you, he’s always been such a needy boy, your needy boy.

“please, I need more.”

“where’s the fun in just giving you what you want? c’mon I know you know you know better than that,beg for it a little baby” you spoke looking up at him with big doe eyes and a shit eating grin plastered on your face.

“please y/n, n-need you so fucking bad, need to make you feel good, oh fuckk n-need that perfect pussy of yours squeezin’ me, need it all so fuckin’ bad baby”.

God,you lived for when he got like this.

“hmm.. that’s my good boy”.

Shinichiro discuarded of his white t-shirt leaving his top half bare. You kissed from below his belly button down while freeing him of his sweatpants and boxers. Finally his pretty flushed dick was free of its fabric prison.

You grabbed his cock and licked a stripe from the base of his dick to his flushed tip, making a shiver run through shinichiro. You looked up at him and could see his glossy red lust filled eyes. Continuing to hold eye contact with him you started placing sloppy kisses all over his cock making him whine out.

“mhhhmphhh, b-baby fuck me p-please”. That was all you needed to hear before you climbed back up to sit on Shinichiro’s naked lap. Your hands found themselves tangled in Shinichiro’s messy raven colored hair as he rid you of your mini skirt, top, and finally your soaked panties leaving both of you completely naked.

“So fucking beautiful”

His mouth immediately latched on to your right tit and his hand massaged the other. He placed sloppy kisses all over your bare chest making you moan out his name softly along with praises telling him what a good boy he was.

His mouth latched onto your other tit and began lapping his tongue over your hardened nipple, softly biting your sensitive nipple making you yelp. A giggle left his lips as he began kissing up your sensitive neck and kissed jawline before whispering in your ear

“prettiest girl, with the prettiest body, and by far the prettiest titties, n’ you’re all mine”

“That’s right such a smart boy” you tiled his chin up and smiled at him “you know I have the prettiest boy all to myself to ruin”

A heavy blush coated his face as you kissed along his neck and chest marking him with lovebites.

He slipped your panties off and you gently held his dick and started rubbing his tip at your entrance.

“baby I’m gonna put it in now, okay”

“pleasee mommyy need to feel you”

You slowly began to work your way down on Shin's cock feeling him stretch you open with every inch that was inserted into your tight sloppy pussy. when he finally bottomed out you began bouncing yourself on him using him as tho he were a sex toy.

Loud moans and wet sloppy sounds were the only thing audible at the moment, you were sure your neighbors could hear the both of you.

“Mhmmm f-fuch Shin, you’re such a good little slut for me isn’t that right pretty”

“hmm, I-I’m a p-pretty slut for mommy f-fuck makin me feel so fucking goodd ahh”

Shinichiro was on fucking cloud 9 to say the least,everytime he had a taste of your sweet cunt he could swear he was going insane, you just felt so god damn good.

Shin’s hands were gripping onto your hips hard enough that surely there would be a bruise tomorrow but you didn’t care.

With every time you slammed your pussy down on shin he would thrust his hips up hitting your sweet spot making pornorghic sounds escape both your mouths.

“F-fuckkkkk just like thatttt”

“y-y/n if you keep squeezin’ me like that m’ g-gonna cum so fuckin’ deep inside you”.

“S-shin I’m so fucking close”

“M-me too baby”One of shins fingers started rubbing at your swollen clit “ahhh f-fuuck faster shin”

the combination of his slender fingers rubbing your clit and dick hitting your sweet spot perfectly was all you needed to have you clenching tightly on shins cock sending both of you into overdrive.

“c-cum with me pleasee mommy”

“hmmmmm”

perfectly on cue both of you came soaking each other in your juices.

the both of you took some time to calm down from your previous intense orgasms and just stayed in the same position seated in the mess you both made, and shins cock still buried inside you.

with shaky legs and still slightly teary eyes shin tried catching his breath before speaking in his silky voice while stroking your hair, “you did so good, we made quite the mess tho why don’t you sit on my face lemme clean up my pretty girl”.

#lixieisgod🪐 #Lixie’s Astroworld👩🏽‍🎤🪐 #shinichiro drabble #shinichiro sano #shinichiro scenarios #shinichiro x y/n #shinichiro x reader #shinichiro x you #stoner!shinichiro #shinichiro smut #tr smut #tokyo revengers #Tokyo revengers smut #smut #sano shinichiro

[emeto-secret-agent]

Would you be willing to write a fic with a sick Celia?

Hi, hello, I just realized this could be just an ask and not a request, but either way, I wrote a sick Celia for you! So yes, I'm absolutely willing lol

-

Celia yawned as she sat down next to the prince’s bed and blinked a few times as she looked at him. Gosh, she was exhausted. If you’d have asked her when was the last time she had a full night’s sleep, she couldn’t even give you an answer. But not just her, all of the royal family’s maids were running on so low sleep, so Celia couldn’t complain about her own discomfort. Even if all of her body ached and she felt the tiredness’ cold rushing through her body.

Last week Florian’s younger sister just arrived back from a trip to a neighboring country, with the purpose of meeting with her soon-to-be fiancé. The princess was the castle’s little dear flower, every maid and servant loved her just as she was their own family so when she got back, everyone was waiting for her with bated breath. Were the people kind to her there? Did she like that foreign country? And has she found the young prince sweet and gentle enough for herself?

Luckily, everything went great for her and the princess was almost glowing with happiness when she arrived at the castle. Everyone sighed with relief and continued to celebrate the princess's return with a more at ease heart, who was smiling all night and playing with her new necklace. Although nobody was so relieved as her dear brother, the crown prince, Florian almost couldn’t hide the tears when he finally got to see his little sister once again. This earned him a few teasing remarks from his family, but nobody could blame him and that night was spent with celebration and happy laughter.

But soon the princess got sick. At first, they expected that maybe it had something to do with the food, but as everyone in the royal family started falling ill, it became clear that the young princess bought something with her besides the rich gifts. Nobody expected it to be this bad, so every maid was on duty 24/7 next to the sick royal family and the nobles but as time progressed, the bug hadn’t speared anyone and the weaker servant’s started falling out too. Celia now wasn’t just at Florian’s bedside all day and night, but when the prince finally fell asleep she had to hurry and help the others with their patients. She was one of the best nursing maids in the castle, of course, she had to help out where she could.

Celia wasn’t the person to get easily queasy, she couldn’t even be because of her job, but this much sickness in just a matter of a week was starting to get to her. She leaned back in her chair with a sigh as she rested her hand on top of her tummy. Finally, Florian was sleeping again and since nobody ran to her for help, she decided it was the perfect time for a little nap, and god, she did deserve it. All happiness to the princess and everything, but if she brings a stomach bug like this with her back ever again… No, she doesn’t even want to talk about it. She dealt with enough vomit for about a year. It was even taking her appetite away and even though Celia knew she should eat something, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Maybe after a little rest.

Sadly that rest never came, only did a loud gurgling and heavy feeling over her stomach. As much as the maid was on top of everything and always could notice if somebody was ill, somehow this talent of hers disappeared when the suffering person turned out to be herself. She couldn’t get sick that would be an absurd thing to do. Of course, the other girls who hadn’t taken care of anyone in their lives before would catch it, but not her. She still had to take care of Florian. So Celia just closed her eyes and tried to lure herself to sleep.

She even managed to fall into a weird kind of half dream, where she wasn’t actually awake but the tightness of her throat and the ache in her churning belly didn’t let her actually sleep. Red and black shapes danced in front of her eyes and though she didn’t understand why, Celia was about to give them a meaning when a sudden gag and splash of sickness dragged her back into the cold and dark reality. Mostly it was dark because the sun already set, and since nobody lit the candles only a hazy nightfall sat on the room. This was bad. Really bad.

Celia immediately know what was about to happen. How could she not, when her belly was gurgling so loudly that anyone could clearly hear it and her throat spammed full of bitter salvia which could only be forced back with a forceful swallow? The maid slammed a hand in front of her mouth but that didn’t stop the sour and sick smelling burp that irrupted from her. She was about to throw up and she was still in Florian’s room. In that Florian’s room who just woke up to the sounds of his maid gagging next to his bed. The prince was still disoriented from sleep but he sat up with a worrying look, trying to find Celia in the dusk.

‘Celia, what’s wrong?’

The maid shook her head, but this movement only just made her nausea skyrocket as she felt something starting to climb up in her throat. It was no use, she was about to puke.

‘I’m sorry Florian.’ could only blurt out Celia before jumping up and making a run for the toilet. If she has to throw up in the prince’s chamber better do it in his bathroom than on his bed.

The still sleepy Florian was left only in confusion as his maid took off, her hurried steps echoing in the room before the sound of gagging and liquid hitting liquid came from the bathroom. The prince exactly knew what this sound was, as he had to go through the same numerous times in the past week, and the thought that Celia was vomiting in the next room immediately woke him up.

‘Celia?’ called out the prince, but he got no answer other than coughing. It really didn’t sound good, so Florian not minding his own queasy belly got up and hurried to the bathroom after the maid.

Celia was kneeling before the toilet, holding into the wood chamber for her life as her body trembled with a cough. The chunky wave of puke got caught in her throat so she was trying to clear it up before she was bound to another round of vomiting. She didn’t even hear Florian getting into the room, only realizing the prince’s presence when he kneeled beside her with a sad and worried face. Celia’s already sick stomach jumped at the sight of the prince and she immediately felt the next portion of her lunch coming up.

‘I’m sorry…’ looked Celia at the prince before her cheeks puffed up and turned back to the toilet with a huge gush of vomit running past her lips.

‘It’s alright Celia, please don’t worry about it.’

What was the maid apologizing for, Florian couldn’t figure it out. Because she just got sick in front of him? Or because she called him Florian for the first time ever? Whatever was the reason, the prince didn’t want Celia to feel like he was mad at her. If anything, he was only feeling guilty as he looked at his heaving maid. She got sick because she was taking care of him all this time so in a sense, he was responsible for the girl’s poor situation and he was not about to abandon her in a state like this. Even if his own stomach churned looking at Celia spitting into the chamber, still not being well enough to endure it without a few suppressed burps.

‘Just let it out, you’re going to feel better after that.’

Celia almost squawked as she felt the prince’s hand on her back, slowly rubbing circles to comfort her. She looked at the mess in the toilet and burped, the vomit still sitting hot on her mouth and she felt a weird warmness rush over her as she recognized parts of her lunch in the vomit below her. Some of the puke got on the wooden toilet and the sour smell started filling up the bathroom and besides this, there was Florian next to her. Celia knew this strange feeling of pleasure mixed into the terrible feeling of vomiting every time she got sick, but this time it was so much more intense. The gentle touches of Florian on her skin and the worrying looks he gave her made her dizzy and her tummy churn even more. She couldn’t explain this sudden hotness all over herself, but it was a good feeling. It was a good feeling that Florian was with her. Even if it shouldn’t have ever happen…

‘Thank you Your Highness…’ Celia wiped the sweat from her face in her sleeves as she cleared her throat. The prince was a little disappointed that Celia haven’t called him Florian again, but he haven’t noted on it. ‘I’m… I’m sorry you had to see me… I’ll immediately take my leave and call another maid for you.’

Florian’s heart ached.

‘No, no, you can’t leave like this. You’re sick.’

Celia looked back at him with confusion and exhaustion in her eyes.

‘Yes, that’s exactly why I need to leave. You’re still not well enough yourself Your Highness.’

‘But I can’t let you leave like this.’

Celia wanted to argue back but a harsh cramp froze the words on her lips as she hunched over herself with one hand on her belly and the other pressed to her lips. Please, she doesn’t want to throw up again. Not in front of Florian. But as a gag lurched her body forward and the prince immediately grabbed her shoulders to help her stay upright, she was somehow glad her stomach was so cruel to her. As the next gush of vomit pressed into her palm, she had to pull her hand away and hold it in the air as she burped up more sick below. Her stomach was gurgling angrily and there were tears in her eyes, but Florian pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and started cleaning up Celia’s hand as the girl dry heaved a few more times.

‘Please look at me.’

Florian haven’t waited for an answer as he held a few fingers under Celia’s head and gently turned her face in his direction. Neither of them dared to breathe as the prince held the cloth to the maid’s face and wiped her mouth, cleaning up the stings of vomit and salvia dripping from her lips. Florian’s brows furrowed as he set the handkerchief down and then put a hand on Celia’s forehead while he rested the other on his.

‘You’re quite red and warm. I have to say I think you’re running a temperature.’

‘Yeah…’

Of course. That has to be the reason why all of her body felt like it was on fire when Florian was touching her ever so slightly. This is why he felt like dying while the prince rubbed her back as she vomited again and again. Suddenly she wished they could stay like this, even just a little bit longer. Luckily her wish came true as the prince tucked a stray lock of hair behind the maid’s ear.

‘Do you think you’re done?’

‘Not yet…’ shook Celia her head as the dizziness and nausea started to take control over her body. If only Florian wasn’t here, she wouldn’t lose her head like this…

‘Oh, alright. Just let it happen if you feel like you’re going to be sick.’

A small grin appeared in the corner of Celia’s mouth as she gazed into the drying mess.

‘That’s what I used to say to you…’

‘Yes, that’s right.’ chuckled the prince as gathered Celia’s hair in his hand and closed his eyes so he doesn’t need to lock at the vomit sitting in the chamber. It wouldn’t be too good if he started vomiting too. ‘But this time I’m taking care of you.’

Now Celia really felt like vomiting. The moment Florian’s fingers brushed against her neck a bleach left her mouth and she leaned forward. Her whole body rocked as she was waiting for the inevitable and high sounding gags left her mouth until a thin stream of hot puke rushed out of her. It was light brown and mostly liquid but was quickly followed by a much bigger and heavier gush that landed in the toilet with a disgusting splash. Celia harshly coughed and spat into the mess as Florian just patted her back and swallowed back his own sick. He remained strong for Celia but wished it’d be over soon.

They were in the bathroom for about ten more minutes but Celia haven’t thrown up again, only dry heaved and burped so Florian convinced her to leave for the bedroom. The maid was shaking so bad when they stand up that the prince was actually concerned she was going to pass out any moment, so he held Celia close to him and supported her until they reached the bed and helped her sit down.

‘I can’t stay here Your Highness…’

‘But you can’t go away. You’re too sick.’

‘But what if… What if somebody sees me in here…?’ Celia’s eyes were already closed and she was just swaying on the bed as a powerful storm was trying to blow her away, even though only Florian’s strong grip held her in place.

‘Nobody will.’ promised the prince. ‘I ordered that nobody's going to disturb me until tomorrow morning. Nobody’s going to come here, I promise.’

‘N-Nobody…?’

‘No.’

‘Then… Then alright…’

And with that Celia spread out on the blanket. It took Florian a huge amount of self-power to not burst out laughing loud but he managed to control his emotions as he helped the almost unconscious Celia under the covers and pulled it up to her chin as the girl grabbed into it with shaking fingers. After taking the bucket to the girl’s side the prince got in the bed too and smuggled as close to Celia as he dared without disturbing her. But the moving must have woken the girl up, because her eyes fluttered and suddenly she was tightly next to the prince, pushing her feverish head to his shoulder.

‘Florian…?’

His heartbeat skipped one beat.

‘Yes?’

‘Thank…you…’

And Celia was fast asleep again as Florian gently pulled her closer to his chest. Nobody will know about this and once the morning comes, they’re going to act like this never happened. But until then… Until then he’s going to let himself enjoy this a little longer.

‘You’re welcome.’ whispered Florian and burrowed his face into Celia’s hair.

#my oc #prince florian #celia #emeto #emetophilia #stomach flu #my beloved #word count 2501 #lol

[simslegacy5083]

NSB (Straud Legacy) Gen 8 Ep. 35: Theme Park Adventure

The Story of a Family Told in Web Comic Format

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

Peachy’s promotion at work came with an increase in vacation time, and the option got him thinking about a cool theme park August had mentioned.

When his brother’s college went on spring break, the three young men purchased tickets to the “out of this world immersive experience”. Peachy wasn’t super familiar with the fictional universe it was based on, but the other two super fans helped him dress up to fit in for their adventure.

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

They had all break to explore the park, so they started by introducing Peachy to each of the “factions” that guests could assist while they were here.

The first order was the ruling faction, but it seemed their heavy-handed methods of law and order weren’t appreciated by everyone. The resistance was a small group of rebels hiding out in the nearby woods, leading strike missions and hoping to make a change. Finally, the scoundrels at The Cantina didn’t seem to care about law, order, or change, as long as there was a profit to be made.

By the time Peachy had the lay of the land they were all getting hungry and decided to sample some of the local cuisine before joining in the play.

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

They seemed to be seeking nourishment just in time. No sooner had they grabbed their meals and went to find a table than Paul was overcome by a wave of dizziness. He knew now that this was related to his anemia, and it meant his iron was low. Hopefully his Ronto Wrap would fix him right up.

His wrap might have been iron rich, but it seemed dizziness wasn’t his only problem. Chewing the tough but tasty treat revealed that some of his teeth were tender, even though they didn’t seem to be chipped or loose.

Concerned at seeing his cousin gasp in pain and feel around his face, August asked if they should head back to the hotel for a break or to a dentist.

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

A frustrated Paul told him that wouldn’t be necessary. All he wanted was to enjoy a carefree vacation and his body couldn’t seem to cooperate for 5 minutes! He’d be OK once he finished his meal, he’d just have to do it a little more carefully. He was looking forward to going on these missions he’d read about as soon as they figured out who they wanted to go on missions for.

With that settled the trio got down to the business of doing just that. In the end they decided to start with the first order. They might be a heavy hand of justice, but the side of law and order was the one the police officer among them wanted to be on.

Rebels hiding out in the woods sounded like they were up to no good to him!

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

Bellies full and dizziness under control they headed to the first order district to meet up with Lt. Agnon and receive their first mission.

That actor really made their first day at the park feel special. Every time they completed a task for him, he seemed to have a natural follow up quest that needed their special touch to keep from spiraling out of control. They spent a busy day running around the area, working diligently as deputies of The First Order, spreading their vision, collecting supplies, and questioning witnesses about suspicious activity the order attributed to resistance spies.

Peachy really got into the lore of the story, feeling almost as much a galactic agent as a police officer, and he could tell the others were just as keen.

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

At the end of their fun day bringing law and order to the galaxy they paid a few extra simoleons for a commemorative photo with their Lieutenant.

As they headed back to the in-park hotel, Paul thanked August for his kindness at lunch. He could always count on him to be there to help and that meant the world. With a laugh August reminded him that’s what best bros were for.

The pair shared their special bracelet buddy fist bump before following Peachy inside to rest up and prepare for another day of intergalactic fun.

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

Want To See More? View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

#sims 4 #sims4 #sims 4 gameplay #sims #sims 4 legacy #sims 4 screenshots #sims 4 not so berry #sims 4 nsb

[yourtamaki]

founders + breeding

hashirama breeds you the same way he loves you, by flooding you with a devotion so vast and endless it leaves you drowning in its wake. there’s nowhere to run when his undivided attention is levelled at you, you just have to be a good girl for him and take everything he gives you. hashirama won’t let you lift a finger, spending hours worshipping the body that’ll bring his child into the world. no amount of prep is enough. his fingers are pruny and his chin is shiny with your cum by the time he finally sinks inside you, squeezing his eyes shut cause the sight of you gasping at the stretch is enough to make him lose it already. the slow drag of his cock against your walls has you both panting into each other’s mouths, quiet whispers of love floating between you. when he finally cums, it’s with your name on his tongue and the frantic roll of his hips against yours to make sure you don’t spill a drop.

tobirama’s intentions for wanting to get you pregnant are not as pure as his brother’s. yes, he loves you so much he feels like his heart might burst in his chest when you smile at him. yes, he wants to start a family and grow old with you in the village he helped found. but all that fades away when he fucks his fist late at night in the hokage tower when everyone but him has called it a day and he’s left alone with filthy daydreams running through his head, each and every one starring you. his fist is a blur as he imagines you with heavy tits and a heavier belly, tip drooling knowing, at least in this fantasy, he did that to you, marked you in the most primal way possible. no one could look at you and deny that you’re his and the thought makes him twitch in his hand. tobirama pushes himself right to the edge but doesn’t let himself spill into his fist and all over his desk. he refuses to cum unless his cock is kissing your cervix and he’s finally able to turn fantasy into reality. until then he’ll deal with the ache in his balls.

madara always fucks you with the sole intent of knocking you up. it lingers in the back of his mind every time he’s got you on your back, the need only growing when he bullies his thick cock inside you and you try to squirm away like you’ve never taken it before. maybe that’s why he throws your legs over his shoulders and ruts into you so hard you’d be shifting up the bed with each thrust if it wasn’t for his iron grip around your throat. he knows you can take it because your perfect cunt was made to be his cumdump and when you beg for more, it only proves it. madara pushes your knees to your chest when he feels his balls get tight so he can see the translucent, creamy ring you smeared around his cock as he pumps you full of cum. he rides out his high with a low groan and doesn’t slow down his thrusts for a second, gritting his teeth against the sweet pain as your cunt milks his oversensitive cock. he’ll fuck load after load into you until you tap out or his balls are empty and he doubts the latter will happen anytime soon, not until he’s sure he’s got you good and pregnant.

#hashirama smut #tobirama smut #madara smut #naruto smut #naruto x reader #hashirama x reader #tobirama x reader #madara x reader #cw breeding

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

twisted, m | jjk, myg

pairing(s): jungkook x reader x yoongi

summary: Everyone has bad habits. Funnily enough, Min Yoongi and Jeon Jungkook happen to have the same one. It involves silver chains, leather collars, choking each other, and a girl with a single white contact and daddy issues. Fuckin' daddy issues, man.

same au as chained | myg + tainted | jjk

warnings: rated M (18+) for language - if you dislike overabundant swearing, maybe skip this one; too many Marilyn Manson / Slipknot references; D/s threesome smut (fem reader, black leather collars and chain leashes, choking [note: yoonkook choke each other], so much saliva, scratching, visceral making out, spitting kink, m-receiving oral, handjob, voyeurism, cum-eating); non-idol!AU - sub!Jungkook x goth, dom!reader x sub!Yoongi; shifts from third person > reader’s > Yoongi's > JK’s POV

this is absolute depravity, don't say I didn't warn you but it is porn with feelings, you know me

--

now playing – bad habits by ed sheeran ft bring me the horizon

“What’s the most twisted thing you’ve ever done?”

“Choked Jungkook while he choked me as we both got jacked off at the same time.”

Park Jimin’s jaw dropped. An unceremonious amount of ramen plopped out of his fluffy lips and back into the pot below him. Jeon Jungkook choked on his. In fact, he actually flung himself away from the table at warp speed to hack out his windpipe at the sink.

Min Yoongi calmly chewed on his crispy pork belly.

Jimin – sweet, lovely, soft-cheeked Jimin with bedhead hair and swollen pink lips from the spice of his food – blinked very slowly at Yoongi and laughed nervously, jerking his head to Jungkook, whose entire head was in the sink to avoid being looked at, back to Yoongi, who slurped up a large amount of his own noodles and did not elaborate on his previous statement.

The unease was so palpable that one could sink their teeth into it.

Yoongi’s dark brown eyes slowly raised from his meal, staring at Jimin with unsettling focus.

“You’re joking… right, hyung?” he awkwardly chuckled, probably unsure if his ears were broken or if he was in the Twilight Zone. Maybe Jimin was still dreaming. Any of those three would be a sane explanation because surely, surely, he was mistaken. He hadn’t heard correctly, right?

“Right, hyung?” Jungkook sputtered from the sink, finally emerging, red-faced from choking.

Physically or mentally remained to be known.

Yoongi tilted his head and shrugged.

-

You tilted your head.

Licked your teeth slowly and watched him shiver under your gaze.

“You know what I love?”

You collected saliva on the tip of your tongue and stuck it out, letting it drip into his open mouth, listening to him swallow with a greedy moan. You grinned, waiting for those beautiful dark chocolate eyes to open again. Glistening silver bar by his furrowed brow, gleaming silver ring at the edge of those pink shaking lips that were already asking for more, wordless whine and imploring gaze.

You lowered so you were eye to eye, teasingly licking the mole underneath his lower lip.

He whimpered, pleading you with your name.

“Depravity,” you purred, low and rough, drawing out the syllables, chewing on the density of the word, winding back up like a snake, bringing the silver chain with you. Yanked on it, hard, and his head snapped back, the heavy black leather collar slapping into the sides of his neck.

A loud, visceral sound.

Jeon Jungkook moaned again, intoxicated by your power.

He was a real good boy outside of the bedroom. You heard he was quite an upstanding guy. Diligent, hard worker. Went to work on a fairly normal schedule. Always said please and thank you. Never got into much trouble other than innocent, cute mischief that made him well-liked by his peers.

Then Jungkook would come to you.

Nervous, awkward, unsure around your crowd.

But needy.

So very needy that he forgot to be embarrassed or weirded out as he was surrounded by a crowd of people in black – leather, fishnets, vinyl, too much eyeliner and dark lipstick. They always hung around for some reason or another. Work. Smoking. Loitering because the owner didn’t give a fuck. Jungkook would sit and wait and you would come out of work to see him surrounded by your kind, standing around him.

A black cocoon protecting a rather plainly dressed caterpillar.

“I came to see you but you were busy… they said I should stay and wait,” he would mumble, not quite looking at anyone, but there was too much want in his system, too much desire to run away, too much greed.

He looked up and you saw that he enjoyed it.

He liked the eyes on him.

You would smirk, cocking your fingers towards you, and he would come, presenting his neck. You would lick it from collarbone to chin and savor his stifled whimper.

“Come with me.”

The first time was, hm, not quite an accident. It was a lesson, because he was about to do something very, very stupid, the kind of stupidity like trying to do cocaine with zero experience and zero familiar faces around him. A friend of his asked you to step in and teach him a little lesson. A lesson about pain and how to deal with it. Effectiveness remained to be seen.

But satisfaction had been guaranteed.

You leaned down now, placing your hands on his face, framing it with your fingers.

Jungkook gasped at your touch, wanting more.

He had a pretty face. Beautiful eyes, deep and rich and brown. Shapely lips that were made for begging and demanded to be kissed. Cute moles the dotted his light, tan skin, natural dark stars on the galaxy of his body that craved to be explored with teeth and nails. Lots of tattoos up and down his right arm. He usually covered them up with long-sleeved shirts and big sweatshirts. Wore his hair down to cover his eyebrow piercing and changed his lip ring to a small stud when he was pretending to be a good, good boy.

But he was changing.

Metamorphosis.

Slowly but surely, Jungkook started showing up to the music studios you managed with ripped black band t-shirts and leather pants. Tattoos on display, filling in the sleeve so it was obvious and prominent. Silver lip ring clearly visible. Black hair slicked back, sometimes messy with strands brushing against his cheeks. No longer sticking out from your kind, but becoming part of them.

You smiled at him, nice and slow.

“Don’t want to wait anymore, do ya?”

“N-No…” he breathed, lips trembling under your chin. “Want you… Want you to use me…”

What a scene.

“Take off your clothes,” you murmured to his lips, brushing against them, barely-there kisses that he drank up every single second of. “And wait for me on the bed. You can do that, right?” Your fingers travelled up, up, tangling in his hair and pulling back, inhaling sharply as you heard his desperate whine waterfall from his open mouth, begging for kisses.

“I have to go get you-know-who.”

You let go of him roughly, chuckling deep in your chest. Stood up, backing away from him.

“So we can do you-know what.”

Jungkook gasped for air, on hands and knees in your bedroom, raising his head as you walked away, dancing your fingers in the air as you waved a teasing goodbye.

“And maybe I’ll let you stick it you-know-where.”

You opened the door behind you, suddenly frowning mockingly, pretending to think about it.

“Or maybe I won’t.”

You snickered deviously and shut the door.

-

Min Yoongi was aware he had a type.

Great legs, great ass, perky tits, too much black leather, a consistent habit of wearing a single white contact on her left eye, a smirk that was a little psychotic, a little mischievous, a lot sexy, also kind of his unofficial manager that he paid with his dick.

Alright, his type was one specific person.

“I’m so fucking tired of this shit! Fuck, just because they don’t have an agent, the venue thinks they can try to upcharge them and, the second I step in, they think they can go over my head. Fuckin’ misogynistic bastards backtracking so fucking fast when I started pulling out numbers, I’ll fucking gut them! Fuck! People equal shit!”

Ah, right.

She had a mouth on her.

Not just limited to a colorful vocabulary.

“Hah, shit, I’m sorry, Yoongi, I’m too fucking pissed off after sorting out what happened to Hana and the guys,” she had growled earlier, sending an inappropriate or appropriate thrill up his spine. It depended on who was who in the situation. “I don’t wanna make you do some twisted shit because I’m in this fucked-up mood, I’m gonna have to cancel–”

Her satoori got deeper and gruffer when she was angry.

It was very arousing.

“Jungkook’s outside today.”

She had paused.

Looked at him, one normal iris, one fake white one.

“What kind of twisted shit do you want to do with us?” he had asked with a smirk.

It was incredibly dangerous to ask such a question, because right now Yoongi was finding out.

She had a demonic grin, looking from Jungkook’s big, shocked brown eyes to his. He narrowed his gaze, not backing down despite basically sitting knee-to-knee with one of his friends. Both of them with leather collars and chain leashes.

Fully naked.

Yoongi wound his hand around Jungkook’s silver chain and held it tightly.

He was going to do what he was told to do because she needed it. He could feel it, almost as if it was radiating from her skin. The sin that needed to be satisfied. The glee in orchestrating dirty deeds. The pleasure she got from it all. It was tangible with every raspy exhale pushed out of her lungs, rattling with excitement.

Pink tongue on white teeth, laughing low and devilishly.

“Pull.”

Yoongi pulled.

-

“Jungkook, why do you like pain?”

He stared into her eyes. It gave him a heady and insane feeling. Sent his heart ricocheting in his chest. She tilted her head, lips barely parted, the upper one angled upward, giving her a curious expression despite the unnatural quality of the single white contact lens over her left iris.

His chest felt tight and not his neck. That was unusual for him.

“I don’t like pain.”

She cocked an eyebrow.

Jeon Jungkook wished it was his neck though.

“I like you.”

She tiled her head the other way, otherwise not reacting.

“You just happen to like inflicting pain,” he said slowly, digging his nails into his palms, feeling his skin prickling from the chills of this moment, staring into one white iris, one normal iris, but what was normal anyway, because Jungkook was pretty sure that it wasn’t this, this thing he had with her. This was a drug. This was enchantment. This was…

Just one of many bad habits.

Number one was getting too many tattoos.

Number two was getting too many piercings.

Number three was getting on his knees and begging for a collar.

Her gaze sharpened.

“I don’t like inflicting pain.”

His breath caught his in his throat.

“I need to inflict pain.”

And Jungkook felt it, something deep inside, like fire, like a crescendo, lashing out and then the drop, the quick turn of her head and the snap of her jaw, violently throwing her arm out. They were standing in the living room of the big house that looked mostly untouched. Fancy black leather couches, sleek flat screen television, black and white shag rug with the white parts too white, and this was her living room, but it wasn’t in the sense that it seemed like she was never here. Expensively furnished, luxe brands, almost opulent in texture, contrasting the owner – black leather jacket with too many silver studs and chains, ripped-up goat skull t-shirt, short red plaid skirt with black straps hanging from D-rings, torn and tattered sheer black tights. Standing here with him, he who showed up at outside her work and she knew exactly what he wanted.

Pain.

The pain made Jungkook feel alive and she needed to know why.

At least, he sensed that that was the true question.

“Day in and day out,” she snarled, pacing, the sound of rustling leather and clinking metal, not quite looking at him because the words were not for him. They were for the cold, cold universe. “Fuck. Fuck! All the fucking time, fixing everyone’s shit, putting dumbasses back in their place, people coming up to me all the time, can you help with this, fuck, yeah, of course I can, but a bitch gets tired, a bitch gets fed up, a bitch is fucking over it, and, damnnit, fuck you Dad, fuck you for not being here, not that you would ever be any fucking help because the only things you’re good at are gamblin’ and breakin’ hearts, you fucker!”

And she turned and screamed into the house, screamed into the big empty house that was her family home, yet there was no family here, just her and Jungkook standing there, witnessing this outburst that seemed a long time coming, but he let it happen.

Yoongi had told him about it.

Girls with daddy issues. Why do they have to be so good at sex?

His hyung had said it with an open-mouthed smirk. A joke but, of course, all jokes had some truth to them.

She threw her arm to the side, baring her teeth. Vicious rumble deep in her chest, her hair wild and flaring out, not quite looking at him, speaking to him but not directly. He could tell it wasn’t him that she was furious at.

“I’m sick.”

Her satoori came out heavier and gruffer when she was pissed off.

It sent an appropriate shiver up his spine.

She reached up and sank her nails into her neck and raked down, gritting her teeth, scratching so hard she left red marks and Jungkook craved to have those marks on his skin, but he needed to listen, he needed to be patient and he needed to listen.

“I don’t want to be a sweet dream. I want to be a beautiful nightmare. I want to ruin your life and make you cry alone, wishing you were being fucked up by my hands. I want to mess you up so bad no one will ever satisfy you enough because all you can think about is my grip on your chin and my spit in your mouth.”

Her piercing eyes flickered up. One white, one with a dangerous glint.

“I’m gonna fuck you up.”

It sounded like a threat.

“I’m gonna make you do some twisted, fucked-up shit.”

It made his blood sing.

“Doesn’t that sound awful?” she chuckled darkly, ticking her head.

Breathing hard, taking his breath away.

“No.”

His breathing shallow, his heartbeat fast, and Jungkook was trying to find the oxygen to speak.

“That sounds like everything I want.”

Because he was sick too. Sick and tired of being lovey-dovey-sad-and-lonely. Sick and tired of trying to be the perfect boyfriend that he wasn’t anymore because his ex-girlfriend tossed him aside like a piece of trash, sick of the perfect son that he didn’t know how to be, tired of attempting to become the perfect human that the world always talked about but never seemed to exist. Sick and tired of everyone’s expectations of him and how good-looking and smart Jungkook should be a talented artist – fuck them, fuck it all, fuck everything, he was throwing it all away and giving into her, into the collar, into the chains, because right here, standing here with chills all over and hot blood pumping through his veins, here.

Here, he was alive.

“I want to be as important to you as Yoongi-hyung is.”

Here, he was lust and he was greed.

“You are not a liar. You never pretend you’re anything you’re not. You are always yourself, no matter what. You would do it all right out in the open if you could.” Shivering breath and there was envy there, envy because she was honest with herself and it seemed so fucking easy for her, whereas he could only be that way with her. Lowering his chin, lifting his eyes, and he was afraid but he didn’t know how to lie to orbs of white and danger. “I don’t care who sees, I don’t care who knows, I don’t care what anyone says about me anymore, I just want to stare into your eyes and lose myself in you and, if there’s pain in you, I’ll take that too.”

Here, in her grasp, Jungkook was free.

So, now when she said pull, Jungkook pulled and watched the thick black leather snap against Min Yoongi’s pale throat, watched the collar press against the sides of his neck and those dark brown, cat-like eyes flash, causing blood and unexplainable emotion to rise to the surface and here, right here, pull meant let go.

Jungkook let go of all preconceived notions and he let himself feel.

Feel his own blood scream against the constriction, feel his scorching skin erupting all over in prickling anticipation, feel her fingers close in on his thigh. Bony fingers pressing in, sharp nails sinking onto his flesh, white-hot scratches that made his breath hitch and his back arch slightly, choking himself more, and still Yoongi didn’t let go, holding tight and rigid, keeping eye contact with him.

Jungkook couldn’t look away.

There was definitely something wrong about this but, lost in the lust-induced haze, he couldn’t imagine why.

Her face appeared in his periphery. Demonic grin. A little psychotic, a little mischievous, a lot sexy. She pried her hand from his thigh and raised it high, clearly visible. Long fingers, lined palm, capable of an inescapable grip.

She spat on her palm.

First one and then the other.

Jungkook whimpered, his heart pounding in his ribcage, gripping tight on the silver chain, inked knuckles and tense forearm covered in too many tattoos, or at least that’s what everyone said, but who gave a shit what everyone said, fuck them all, too entranced by every movement, watching her hands drop, too expectant for the touch, hot gasp, spreading his knees out more, and then her saliva-slicked hand wrapped around his hard, aching cock, wet and tight and inescapable. Slow. Up, ridges of her fingers contrasting the slippery friction, glossing over the swollen head. Thumb pressed to the underside and rubbing under the slit, sending a jolt up his spine and down his thighs. Down, tightening her grip again, faintest hint of her nails dancing along the length, so light that he almost didn’t feel it which only made the sparks catch and the fire in his core burn into an embarrassing twitch that caused pre-cum to join her saliva the next time her hand ascended.

Holy.

Shit.

His head tilting back, but Jungkook didn’t miss it, didn’t miss the rush of pleasure that suddenly consumed Yoongi’s normally composed face and dark eyes, tipping his head back too. Black lashes lowering, shuddering breath, the other man's lips dark pink and trembling, erotic and picturesque, and this was wrong, wasn’t it, thinning blood flow and satisfaction burning up from his core, but if this was wrong then why did it feel so good?

Why did he want to twist his hand and pull harder and choke his hyung more?

She leaned over and licked Yoongi’s cheek.

Those sharp features scrunched up a bit, slight discomfort, but mostly biting back any possible pathetic sounds. Yoongi was much better at it than he was, but at this point Jungkook didn’t care what he sounded like, didn’t pay attention.

He was too fixated on the obscene scene before him.

Her soft lips pressed into Yoongi’s cheekbone. Tip of her tongue against fair skin, Jungkook could hear it, the sound of her lips and her nimble, wet muscle; feel it, tighter, faster, her hand pumping his cock harder and the pleasure shooting through his veins; see it, the delicate, sensual trail of kisses that dipped down and made Yoongi’s eyes close, and then it was lips to lips, passionate lovemaking of tongues and his hyung’s deep moan trapped in his chest.

Forced to listen to the sound of tongues thrusting into their connected mouths, stolen breath and suppressed sound, saliva exchanged and swallowing.

There was a low, raspy hiss of her name, contented gratification.

Jungkook pulled harder and choked Yoongi more.

She broke the kiss.

When her head retreated, Jungkook came face-to-face with Yoongi’s open-mouthed smirk.

“Jealous?” his hyung chuckled, dark and sinister.

And then Yoongi yanked up on the chain.

-

He was enjoying this.

Should or shouldn’t did not matter to Min Yoongi. He did what he wanted because he could, because it was fun, and because it was a challenge. It was a challenge winding the metal links around his palm once more to shorten it, forcing Jungkook’s head higher, feeling her hand slide up and down his throbbing cock, fuck, he needed it, but not yet, not yet, watching that demonic grin hover above Jungkook’s face, a little psychotic, a little mischievous, a lot sexy.

She dangled her glistening tongue above Jungkook’s open mouth.

From here, Yoongi could spy the quivering mole right at the center of those shapely lips.

“P… Please…”

Yoongi knew they made a good team, him and her.

He wound the chain around his hand, closing the gap between his fingers and Jungkook’s chin.

“Please what?” she teased, gravelly and rough.

Yoongi saw those lashes lower, those big brown eyes closing, hiding from his hyung’s eyes, maybe, but not that much because Jungkook’s legs were open, his hips were raised, his chest was straining, and he was getting his dick jacked off right in front of Yoongi’s face. There wasn’t much to hide as he begged.

“S-Spit in my mouth… please…”

Mouth opening, and Yoongi kept it wide with two fingers on Jungkook’s cheeks, feeling the vibration of his whine through his fingertips, and then she leaned down.

Spat in the younger man’s throat.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He opened his hips more and thrust into her hand, letting out a tense exhale as Jungkook moaned, wanton and wet, his eyelids fluttering and his eyes rolling back, swallowing ravenously, and Yoongi could hear it, see it, feel it under his own palm, realizing Jungkook had loosened his grip in his ecstasy, leaving Yoongi with too much oxygen and not enough restraint.

Yoongi unwound his hand and tugged down, snapping younger man’s head down forcefully.

Those big brown eyes snapped open, shock and confusion, and then widening, witnessing the view before him, and Yoongi had a fleeting moment of, fuck, I don’t look as good as he does, but it came and went, because the second Yoongi pulled his arm back and really choked Jungkook, the grip on his cock tightened and soft lips wrapped around the head, dripping saliva and hot tongue against sensitive skin, sending his world aflame with pleasure.

“Fuck!”

Jungkook got the hint and tugged hard.

And then the world was flashes and gasps, tongue swirling, saliva dripping, hand descending and two fingers hooking around his balls to spread out the wetness as the head of his cock was trapped between her lips. Suffocating tightness, agile tongue all over, hand ascending, sharp hiss tearing from his throat, fuck, so fucking good, pumping him roughly once more, heavenly mouth now removed, but everything was slippery and slick again, breath and blood drained, hazily witnessing the euphoria as Jungkook received the same treatment, and now oxygen and thoughts dissipated, in hell but this was the circle of lust, locking his elbow and choking Jungkook as the younger man choked him. Collar to collar, chain to chain, tan tattooed skin covered in a sheen of sweat, large brown eyes open and drinking in every detail as Yoongi did the same, open thighs, intense pace, rippling chest, and Yoongi ticked his chin, fuck what the world says, I am just as much of man as he is, and there was anger in the thought, defiance, narrowing his eyes and vowing to last longer, not that this was a competition but why not add another layer to the insanity?

Eye contact and Yoongi didn’t say anything, just growled in response, telling Jungkook that he knew he was being seen, that he knew he was being watched, that he knew he could barely breathe and barely think, and above all that he knew he wasn’t going to lose and he wasn’t going to back down.

Jungkook whimpered, his gaze glassy and drunk on depraved desire.

“C… Cum with m-me…”

Out of all the things, that shaky whisper might have delivered the strongest surge of pleasure yet.

That had to be twisted.

Yoongi felt himself smirk.

The only way he knew how to take it was too far.

“Go ahead. Cum all over me.”

He watched white teeth sink into pink lower lip, exposing that tiny mole perfectly under the center, and truly this was fucked, the eerie satisfaction Yoongi got from those furrowed brows and lust-consumed brown orbs framed in black hair and silver piercings, brow and lip and ears, clenched jaw and prominent muscles on neck and torso, and Yoongi cocked his head despite it all, rolling his hips forward, closer, seeing Jungkook move his too, rising the challenge, and this was a little psychotic, a little mischief in Yoongi’s smirk reflected in Jungkook’s watering eyes, a lot sexy as Yoongi succumbed to the pleasure and grinned at the same time Jungkook moaned and threw his head back, cutting off his sound with a gargle, and the world that had been bleeding black hazed to a flash of darkness.

Jungkook came all over his thighs and between his open legs, strings of thick hot cum painting his equally burning skin, and Yoongi sucked in a razor-sharp inhale, peaking at the point of airlessness from holding his own breath, shooting white onto those thick, muscular, tanned thighs, his orgasm clinging to them even as they violently shuddered and bucked, slick cream dripping down the curves.

They let go.

The chains fell, slapping them in the chest and legs, smearing the cum.

The rushing oxygen knocked the wind out of Yoongi, making him cough and shake his head tensely, then a groan tumbled out of him, sudden soothing wet heat, and he cracked his eyes open, seeing her lick off Jungkook’s cum on his thighs, switching between him and the younger man, the depth of their moans mixing. One raspy, one silvery, both hoarse. Wet tongue all over sensitive and overstimulated skin, sharp nails gripping their hips, hint of pain, and that made it perfect.

Yoongi looked up, his palms on the bed behind him, panting.

Jungkook felt the eyes on him and gazed back, slightly unfocused, trapped in the carnage of the aftermath, sweat making his toned chest glisten. Yoongi smirked, open-mouthed and devious, deliberately looking Jungkook up and down.

“Should get a mirror next time so you can see yourself.”

He found perverse pleasure in seeing Jungkook’s cheeks flush red, tucking his chin down to cover his face with his long black hair, unable to keep eye contact any longer.

The only way Yoongi knew how to take it was too far.

-

It was true.

You were sick and tired of being alone.

It wasn’t as if you wanted your dad to be home. What was he gonna do? Become the dad he never was? No. You were too old for that shit anyway. And besides, it wasn’t like you didn’t understand it. Being an adult sucked. He was real good at gambling. So good that you were standing in a big house and you could buy big cars and big rings with your father’s winnings. Everyone liked to say that money couldn’t buy happiness.

But you know what it could buy?

It could buy two matching collars and silver chains.

Only someone born rich could say something like money can’t buy happiness, because everyone else knew that happiness was security, and security was lying between a sleeping Jeon Jungkook and dozing Min Yoongi and having your hands wrapped around each silver chain, running your fingers over the immobile links, soaking in the depraved satisfaction that gave you. Sure, maybe you had daddy issues that gave you bad, bad habits, but everyone had a sin and yours being lust only bothered those whose predominant sin was envy.

You felt Jungkook’s hand on your hip, pulling himself closer. Pressed his body against yours, craving the closeness and the maximum amount of touch. Yoongi’s fingertips were running down the tendon of your wrist, murmuring your name.

“Yeah?”

“Happy?” he mumbled, a one-word question.

You smiled to the dark.

You weren’t wearing your white contact lens. It was time to sleep.

“Yeah.”

You heard Yoongi smirk.

-

con't wicked (good boy gone bad)

--

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook smut #yoongi smut #jungkook x you #yoongi x you #jeon jungkook x reader #min yoongi x reader #jeon jungkook x you #min yoongi x you

[boop-le-snoot]

@buckyownsmylife hey babe! Remember that one time you threw that cool challenge? Here's my entry. Prepare to get absolutely ruined because daddy!Bruce is exactly that sort of man.

main masterlist ☀️ taglist

emotional support nerd

Your best friend's dad, Dr. Bruce Banner, is hotter than you thought he would be. 6k words, NSFW. Kind of Alt!Reader - she refers to herself as 'goth' in one instance. Tony Stark makes an appearance because God forbid I write a fanfic without him in it.

This is filthy pron, ft. age difference (reader is college aged) daddy kink, throat fucking, dirty talk, praise kink, cream pie, possessiveness, belly bulge and ending with a hint at a threesome. I really crammed all I could from Eyre's wheel in here, didn't I. Oh well.

"How much longer, dad?" Lyra's annoyed voice struck a chord within me. I tried to hide my snickering - unsuccessfully might I add - causing my best friend to shoot me a hurt look, equally fed up with me as she was fed up with her forgetful adopted father. "You know what, we'll take the subway."

Lyra's father's voice, both agitated and apologetic, reached my ears in bitten-off phrases as the traffic noises around us grew in volume, NYC rush hour rapidly approaching its peak.

With a sound huff, Lyra removed the phone from her ear, staring me down with the most amount of petulance I've ever seen on her usually reserved, placid face. "It's twenty more minutes. Apparently he's driving Tony's car," she offered in the way of explanation, like it actually did anything to better the cold, wet situation we found ourselves in. "Please, and I can't stress this enough, please don't be weird."

I felt a flood of amusement at Lyra's pleading tone. "Darling, if you wanted a normal friend, you should have looked elsewhere," I gestured to my outfit. I looked like a goth boy's wet dream: chunky platformed boots, fishnets, heavy eyeliner. Of course, all in black.

"You know what I mean," she whined, waving off my pointing hand and fixing me with a hard stare. "The least my dad needs is someone that is terrified of him just because sometimes he turns into a big green monkey. It's not as exciting as internet thinks, anyway," the last part of the sentence was mumbled but I heard it nonetheless as Lyra stared out into the traffic, clever eyes looking for a particular car model.

What Lyra didn't know was that I was not at all considering to be terrified by the man who dosed himself with radiation and developed an advanced version of split personality disorder. I could be intimidated by him, sure, because he was incredibly intelligent, a world class scientist with more PhDs than I had zeroes in my bank account, but even despite his green problem, Dr. Bruce Banner was about as far away from 'scary' as a man could be.

The few scarce pictures of him on the internet showed a short, stocky man with kind eyes and salt-and-pepper curls, always dressed in un-ironed, crumpled button-ups with dorky patterns. Looking at him, I mused that there was a high chance he spoke with a stutter and that fact amused me to no end. Jekyll and Hyde, alright.

Lyra was much the same way. Shy and reclusive, with curly brown hair and doe eyes, she spent a good chunk of her first semester in college being avoided by everybody because of her last name; I, on the other hand, avoided everyone out of habit, I'd never been a social butterfly, but the way people subtly made sure to exclude Lyra from all the activities filled me with quiet, seething rage, and I stepped over my general distaste of people and removed my bag from the seat next to me so Lyra could at least study in relative peace.

Yeah, yeah, you've heard it all, I'm sure. Weird goth chick adopts a socially awkward, shunned nerd and they become best friends forever. I had to admit that under the shy exterior, Lyra was smart, witty and even funny sometimes. She was willing to entertain my crude jokes without moaning, at least, and I was perfectly okay with listening to her rant about science every now and then.

Rain banged on the slanted roof of the café we were hiding in, the autumn wind howled, making both of us shiver at the prospect of having to go outside, even if it was for a short moment to run to Lyra's dad's car. The day had started out warm and sunny, but much like a badly calculated chemical formula, it all went downhill a split second after we had set out to leave campus.

"There he is," the grouch in Lyra's expression had me once again unsuccessfully attempting to conceal my snorting.

Nonetheless, I followed her out into the rain, struggling to keep up with the brisk running in my platformed shoes, unceremoniously crawling into the car behind her without sparing a glance at the driver in my eagerness to get out of the freezing downpour.

"Hi, dad," Lyra's tired voice spoke up at the same time as I angrily shook out my hair.

"I've just about McFuckin' had it with New York," I was afraid the dye in my hair would bleed out into my clothes, or even worse, the nice, cream-colored car seats.

"Hello, ladies," the voice that greeted us was low, gravelly and apologetic to boot.

My eyes shot up, meeting an expression full of surprise and amusement. I stared at the shockingly handsome face of Dr. Bruce Banner like a deer in the headlights.

The fine mimic wrinkles had stretched into a resemblance of a smile, soft, plush lips revealing a set of straight, white teeth. The five o'clock shadow framed his jaw, giving it a sharp, defined edge, his clever brown eyes slid down my form, faltering on the pentagram on my belt and my fishnet-covered legs, settling on my chunky boots before hastily snapping back up to my face.

"Dad, this is..." Lyra's voice was full of suspicious bewilderment as she attempted to dissipate the sudden awkwardness.

"Oh, yeah, I'm Dr. Bruce Banner, but you can call me Doc or Bruce," he cleared his throat, turning himself towards the windshield and starting up the car.

"Nice to meet you," I busied myself with putting away any stray hair just to occupy myself with something during the time I needed to recuperate from being just... Looked at by Lyra's dad.

It sounds ridiculous, I know, but I was so taken aback by his handsomeness and his aura of a gentle but powerful man that the ride to Stark tower, however swift, went on in slightly awkward silence. The streets outside were, thankfully, noisy, and the lack of an attempt to have a conversation could easily be attributed to Bruce's need to focus on the road, but Lyra's increasingly concerned looks did very little to settle the sudden racing of my heart.

"C'mon, I'll give you some sweats so you can let your..." Lyra's vague gesture towards my upper body disappeared behind her side of the door. "Hey, Tony," she suddenly interrupted her sentence, very obviously addressing another person who I managed to miss as Bruce parked in the spacious garage.

"I've been told you're finally bringing your friend, Green Pea," a voice I'd heard a thousand times on the TV poked fun at Lyra.

She bent down to retrieve her bag, shooting big eyes at me and mouthing an exaggerated "Sorry!"

Tony Stark looked about a week in debt on sleep, a contrast to the way he usually appeared in public. The exaggerated eyebrow raise made me shuffle awkwardly in my spot; the Led Zep tee caught my eyes as I lingered on it, aware of my own Mötorhead top on display. He noticed it too, causing his face leave the snide territory.

"Wow, I didn't expect kids these days to have any resemblance of taste in music but you've surprised me, Corpse Bride," he gave me a quiet wolf-whistle, watching me through lidded eyes.

I felt my eyebrow crawl upwards at his attitude but Bruce spoke up before I could say anything: "Tony, no," so firmly, I had to raise both of my eyebrows. I felt a smile tug at my lips, the situation strikingly familiar in it's essence. Like father, like daughter...

"No," Lyra's identical expression, fond and annoyed, topped up with an accusing finger pointed in my direction had everyone snorting a giggle at the situation.

"Lyra," I whined, just so I could coax her grin that she was very obviously trying to conceal. "See, I told you, every crazy genius needs their emotional support nerd," I fixed her with a pointed look.

She promptly grabbed me by the arm, leading all of us to the elevator as the two men behind us shared a hearty laugh at my well-timed joke. It was either that or I would have completely embarrassed myself by gaping and drooling over both THE Tony Stark and Lyra's father.

The rush didn't stop there. I was promptly and generously offered not only a spare pair of pants but also a whole room to stay in after an invitation to dinner I simply could not refuse. Dr. Banner firmly coaxed me into staying overnight with his pleading eyes and a hearty seasoning of guilt tripping, softly crooning how he simply could not let a young woman to wander the cold, rainy night in NYC alone.

Tony added something too, in a tone way too surefire and patronising. I guessed he noticed my eyes lingering on Dr. Banner, being a genius and all.

In a short amount of time, I found myself seated at a dinner table next to a happy, giggling Lyra who'd downed a glass of wine and was well into her second. I found it adorable how much of a lightweight she was; not hesitating in the slightest to point out that fact when she made hands for a pitcher of water.

Tony was the first one to snark back something vague about his college days and all the wild parties he used to throw, booing Bruce upon discovery that he, in fact, actually studied in college in favour of partaking in various illicit activities. That had both me and Tony giggling with Lyra promptly joining in, both of us losing it over the running joke or her being either a test tube baby or the result of immaculate conception.

Bruce's face blushed scarlet. He sputtered, a few stray drops of his lemonade landing on the (ironed!) collar of his purple shirt, cough disappearing in the wake of Tony's truly amused cackling. Dr. Banner was well on his way to either choke on his Lo Mein or turn green; thinking quickly, I decided to defuse a situation by sharing a harmless, funny story that happened to me as a freshman.

"I went on a date with this guy who said that music was the most important thing in his life, and I thought, wow, that's so beautiful!" I began my story over Lyra's incessant snickering. "So we had dinner and went back to his place because I'm a whore," the whole table erupted in laughter at my deadpan remark, Tony reaching over to give me a high five.

"And as we got there, he put on one of his demos which was just a bunch of sampled and remixed Guns'n'Roses songs, and I thought wow, that's gotta be one of the worst things I've ever heard," I pointedly looked away as Lyra's cackling grew in volume, having heard the same story several times by now and the outrage I expressed at the situation first hand.

"But instead of that I said, wow, that's so cool! Then we did the thing and his whole bedroom was covered in Axl Rose posters and I'm sure at some point Mr. Rose stared right up my asshole," there were tears streaming down Lyra's face as Tony flopped his upper body onto the table and Bruce convulsed helplessly in a silent fit of giggles. "And then I thought to myself: wow, I would have to pretend to like his music if I dated this guy and I just couldn't do that..." I breathed out, succumbing to the mirth at the dinner table. "It was good but not November Rain good, y'kno?"

Bruce snorted loudly, sliding down his chair with a hand over his face. The table shook with the force of Tony's cackling; I didn't see his expression but the howling, rasping noises sent me into another fit of laughter, right on par with Lyra.

"Is this..." Tony rapidly inhaled the much-needed oxygen. "Is this why you keep wincing whenever I play the 'Roses in the lab?" Tony wheezed and Lyra nodded.

"I just... I can picture it, and I-" she made a vague, encompassing gesture and a face.

"Please, don't," I urged with a snort. "There are better ways to get disappointed."

Dinner went on by smoothly after that, everybody happily making remarks on my dating fail, the topic of Lyra's birth and Tony's college shenanigans dismissed.

I caught Dr. Banner's pointed look as we finished our dessert - he was studying me, eyes searching for something that he very obviously wished was there. From the damp roots of my hair to the soft, cotton top clinging to my chest, I wasn't left unscrutinzed and unexamined. Like one of the many specimens he studied on a daily basis, Bruce lingered on the many characteristics that made me stand out in the grey crowd.

"Would you like to see the labs?" He asked, appearing behind me without a single sound.

The freshly cleaned dishes clattered in my arms. I'd almost dropped them, startled, but Bruce's hand landed on the top of the stack right before the top plate would have slipped off and shattered into pieces on the cold tile of his kitchen.

Blood rushed to my ears. "I'd love to," my brain had briefly returned to reality, the rush of meeting both Stark and Banner succumbing to logic and reason. My and his fields of study briefly overlapped, the question he posed was more than reasonable. In fact, many people would cheat, lie and steal to be in my position.

Bruce smiled, opening a cabinet and taking half of the dishes I was holding to stack them up in their proper place. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing wide, muscular forearms littered with dark, coarse hair.

I was sure my face was flaming. After waving off Lyra's attempts to put shoes on me and leaving her to watch her TV show, a wide, warm palm rested on the back of my waist, gently steering me towards the elevator.

I tried to keep my eyes off Bruce in the large mirror on the walls of the car as it swiftly moved down, scrutinizing my appearance instead. My throat bobbed, the elevator car suddenly too small and too hot.

His eyes left marks on me - invisible ones, the kind that I knew were there just from the scorching heat sizzling on my skin.

There was a certain je ne sais quoi about him. Perhaps, it was in the way he was acting - a polar opposite of what I'd had expected, Dr. Bruce Banner possessed a quiet confidence and his patience appeared to be endless, heartily doused with an appreciation for his closest ones. The way his eyes lit up in response to people smiling around the dinner table was hard to miss.

When Bruce spoke about his research - whatever wasn't classified, anyway - the spark expanded into a mischievous fire. I could hardly understand the nuances in his work, scratch that- I could not understand a single word he was saying, at all. The individual syllables registered as they should, but my traitorous brain could only focus on the way he licked his lips in between quickly inhaled breaths.

"You're not... Following, are you?" The corner of his mouth lifted upwards, clever brown eyes fixed on my face.

God, I hoped I wasn't drooling. But to deny the obvious would have been a stretch. "No, not really," I swallowed, willing my eyes to lift from the large veins on the hand that was pointing at a set of equations. Reasonably good at math any day, they looked like the scribbles of a madman to me at the time.

Dr. Banner sighed, letting silence creep among the whirring machinery in the lab for a brief moment. "I don't scare you?" He removed his glasses, cleaning them with the corner of his shirt.

The question reeked of self-doubt and, perhaps, insecurity. "No," I answered simply, not giving him the slightest chance to find doubt in my words. I was barely holding my voice from shaking, afraid he'd misunderstand my reaction to the sudden change in atmosphere.

He was closer to me than I recalled. My hip was almost brushing his, the bulk of his shoulder millimeters from touching against my bare skin, the smell of something herbal, like tea, and sharp chemicals clouding my senses. It was such a contrasting experience.

Bruce turned to me, an expression between hunger and regret forcing me to shiver and look him straight in the eye. A hand landed on my waist, holding me in place with gentle firmness. "I'm a monster, I could hurt you," he whispered, leaning into me like a touch starved kitten. The man screamed contradiction. "We shouldn't."

Vivid images of the Hulk and the rampages years prior flashed through my mind; the rubble, the collateral damage in the form of many lives. I barely remembered it, having been too little to really understand what was going on. One thing, though, I knew for sure: ever since the world became aware of Lyra's existence, there had been no incidents. Sure, the Hulk still appeared when there was a threat, but there were no documented incidents of the green creature running amok, accidentally.

"You won't hurt me," I spoke with conviction. Perhaps, I was bluffing just slightly but I wouldn't lie like that to myself. The variable, the... Twelve or so percent chance of things going... Awry, it made a small, malicious worm inside of me rejoice and fill my limbs with familiar adrenalised yearning. "You're not a monster. Far from it, actually," I used the hand that was not supporting me against the desk to gently cradle the side of his face, letting my fingertips brush over the rough five o'clock shadow on his cheek.

Bruce emitted a sound somewhere between an agitated grown and a pleading whine, sagging with the sound exhale, pressing himself flush with my chest. His face slipped from my palm, the warm tip of his nose running a steady line up my neck, sending goosebumps running wildly down my back as his hot breath tickled the arch of my throat.

"Baby," the nickname punched a stuttered gasp out of me with the intensity contained in just that one word. "I've been hearing all these amazing things about you," his voice dropped, low baritone rumbling straight into my ear. "I won't be able to hold back. I'll want you all to myself," his bicep flexed under my hand.

My knees would have bucked if I wasn't grasping onto Bruce for dear life after those words. I had some sense of personal pride in me, so while my body was an easy, traitorous thing, my mind was more than eager to participate in this game, to ping pong a little bit before... "Yeah? What things?" I breathed.

Teeth briefly closed around my tender skin, nipping for just a second. "You're kind, beautiful," his hand took a steadfast hold on the back of my neck, exposing my throat to his mouth. More skin to mark, more time to whisper. "Intelligent, bright and clever," the more he spoke, the fiercer he became. Bruce's grasp tightened until I was pliant in it, willingly following his silent commands. "A bit of a pain in the ass," a healthy dose of humour was added into the mix as my ass was roughly grabbed, our fronts pressed together at his insistence.

"That sounds about right," I didn't resist the sudden urge to snark, thoughts lazily floating in my head, like clouds on a bright sunny day, fleeting and sparse. None of them caught on. I was focused on feeling the need, on my need to feel.

A sharp smack landed on the plump of my ass, the sound resonating in the eerily quiet lab. The sounds of machinery had dulled at some point, leaving just the two of us panting our lust into each other's space. "I know you can be a good girl. Will you, princess?" His fingertips dug into my flesh, surpassing the soft sweatpants as if they weren't even there.

I could only nod, dumbly, overcome by the sudden rush of blood to my body. The life coarsing through me sang, demanding a release of the pent-up tension.

"What's that?" Bruce removed himself from my neck, catching my unfocused eyes with a crooked smirk on his lips.

"Yes," I swallowed, breathing through my mouth.

"Mmm," he hummed, running both hands over my sides, over the frayed edges of my Mötorhead top. He admired it, briefly, setting his eyes on the band logo that was right over my breasts. Having decided something to himself, Bruce promptly removed it, lifting it over my head with ease and leaving it right on the science lab table.

Taking hold of my hand, he walked over to a hidden set of sliding doors that revealed a rather large, frequently used bed, shutting them just as I walked in, wearing only my bra and borrowed sweats. My back was pressed to the door in mere seconds, hot palms chasing away the chill of the lab as Bruce slotted his lips over mine.

He tasted like something I've never had before. His lips - so plush and supple, took hold of the kiss with practiced gusto, sucking me in without a chance or the desire to escape. I drank from him, sucked on the bottom lip as his tongue explored my mouth, danced with mine.

The room was spinning, the ringing in my ears growing in volume. I was only partly aware of the sensation of sliding down the wall; our knees thudded on the carpeted floor simultaneously, heavy breathing the only noise I could distinguish.

"Breathe, baby, that's it," Bruce coaxed, gently stroking my nape. The soft cotton of his shirt crumpled under my fingers where I held onto him, desperately searching something to ground myself with.

The buckle of his belt clattered and then clinked again as he wrapped the worn leather around my wrists, bringing them together in front of my chest. I exhaled sharply at the intimate gesture, a whine bubbling up from my chest when Bruce used a single fingertip to raise my chin.

My eyes met his; a brown iris tinged with the faintest of green around the outer edge. "This okay, princess?" He sought my face for confirmation, for agreement, for anything.

I nodded, stuttering mid-gesture, remembering our previous interaction. My mouth did not want to cooperate but I forced it to, even if it came out as little more than a pitiful mewl. "Yes, daddy," the word, sweet and sticky like fruit syrup, poured from my lips.

My eyes slid shut as my conscience - or was it common sense? - took hold of the situation. I was on my knees in front of my best friends dad, a virtual stranger, and I'd just-

Bruce's soft chuckle stopped the negative spiral of my thoughts. "That's my girl," he sounded a tad more breathless now, a hairliner in his perfect façade of self-control. As if he'd sensed my indecisiveness, he tugged on the makeshift restraints, pulling me closer, closer and into his lap.

A warm, solid chest with a healthy amount of fluff greeted me. Bruce let my lax, pliant body fall into his arms, catching me effortlessly and bringing my face to his lips. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, you're my good girl," he peppered soft kisses all over my flaming cheeks, my twitching nose, my fluttering lashes.

"Please," I begged, shame giving way to the flood of arousal that seemingly hit me all at once. I was aware of the dampness collecting in my panties, the stiffness of my limbs from holding back the ravenous desire to paw at Bruce like a wild animal. "Please, daddy..."

"I know, I know, baby girl," he soothed, not stopping his tender assault on my face. "Daddy will make it all better. I know just what you need," Bruce finally pulled away. I heard the sound of him undoing his zipper and then the awkward shuffle of him shucking off his pants.

Somewhere in between of all that, he'd ended up sitting down on the bed, wearing only his boxers, his shirt hanging open. The red crawled down his chest, partially masked by the coarse salt and pepper hair; his lips were cherry red and his hair was sticking out in odd directions. Bruce looked sinful.

My eyes inadvertently landed on the impressive bulge in his boxers; in response to my widened eyes, he reached out for it, stroking the outline of his thick cock through his boxers. "Like what you see, baby?"

"Yeah," My mouth watered.

"Baby wants a fat cock?" He teased, sounding like he knew exactly what he was doing, testing my self-control like that. With a flick of his wrist, it sprang free, slapping against his tummy, coating the fine hairs with drops of clear, musky fluid.

I swallowed, feeling the taste of him from afar and yearning for more where I was parked between his spread legs.

In a gesture almost loving, he tugged on the belt still wrapped around my wrists, bringing my face to his leaking shaft and my hands to the base of it, letting me feel the weight of his balls in them. The cock throbbed, neglected, weighed down by the heaviness of his full balls.

"Go ahead, baby, suck my cock," the encouragement came with a gentle push to my head.

I obediently followed, wrapping my lips around the pink, moist crown of it, a hum beginning in the back of my throat. My God, Bruce tasted heavenly... I whirled and slipped my tongue a around his head, I dipped into the slit to drink the nectar right from the tap, idly coming to awareness of the broken, choked moans coming from the man above me.

Raising my head got me a view of his chin; head thrown back, the lax O of his mouth glistened in the meager light. My eyes slid lower, to the flex of his abs. Bruce fought hard to stay still. The desire consumed me, a sudden rush of power at having Dr. Bruce Banner's cock in my mouth and the man at my mercy; I inhaled, sliding my mouth further and further down his throbbing length.

"Fuck," I heard him mutter before his hands gripped the sides of my face. "Hungry, baby, are you?" His eyes glowed a faint green; I shuddered at the power he held within himself. Held back for me. "Tap my thigh twice," he spoke and I had no choice but to obey. "Okay. Do that if it gets too much, alright?" I nodded. He gave me a wide, beaming smile. "Good girl," he praised, experimentally bucking his hips into my mouth a few times.

In and out. I focused on my breathing, sharp, little inhales: his girth took up all the free space in my mouth, the tip of it barely fit into my throat. The burn, the stretch; I felt every tenth of an inch, every bulging attempt of my body to accommodate Bruce's huge cock. It was delicious, I couldn't help but crave the same stretch in my neglected, sopping wet pussy.

"Fuck, you're taking it so well," Bruce moaned wetly. "Your mouth... S'like heaven... Could fuck it all day, that's my good girl," the rambling increased in it's intensity as the pace of his hips hastened. Drool and tears flowed like a river; my chin was dropping with it, spit connected my face to his pelvis. "Oh," there was a brief pause to his movements; suddenly, he pulled out, fisting the base of his cock, staring me down with a ferocious gleem in his eye.

I must've looked a straight mess; my face like a crime scene, my clothes disheveled, covered in fluids and most of all - I was desperately grinding against my own feet, too focused on the glorious cock in front of me to notice the weakness of my own flesh. "Daddy?" I questioned, wincing at the grating of my own voice.

Without a word, the belt was tugged once more; in a set of movements just slightly north of acrobatic, I found myself laying on my back in the middle of the bed, my sweatpants suffering a haste demise in the corner of the room.

Bruce crawled atop me, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses on every inch of my skin he could reach, mouthing something inaudible into every pore of my body. As he drew closer, I discerned bitten-off phrases, stringing my desire into sticky, tangy mess at the apex of my thighs.

"My perfect baby girl," the words reached me; all tongue, he kissed me once more, arching into me as much as I arched into his hot grasp. A brief inspection of my face - he was satisfied with what he saw - and Bruce crawled back, settling in between my spread legs, breathing hot air on the lips of my sex still covered by a sopping wet piece of fabric.

"Oh fuck," I yelped, feeling him smooch it soundly, the hot wetness of his tongue penetrating the meagre lace barrier with ease.

He moved it aside anyway, with a single finger, giving my pussy a broad lick, moaning into my cunt like a man gone mad. It took a few more licks for him to feel sated enough to surface, all the while holding my hips down. I was so sensitive, I felt even the tiniest flicks to my clit, I was sure if I didn't cum then and there, I would explode.

"Such a pretty pussy, princess," his heavy breathing paused briefly. He nipped my thigh. "So wet, is that all for me?"

"Yes, yes, daddy," I rasped, pushing my cunt into his face, losing all shame and trepidation.

"So tasty," he continued the torture, outlining my lower lips before taking another nosedive right into it, swirling his tongue around every fold, sucking onto my clit.

Bruce ate my pussy until my thighs shook, until my core quivered and I could no longer hold back the choked, ragged screams starting somewhere in the low of my belly and coming out as unholy, all-consuming yowls filled with unadulterated lust.

"Louder for me, baby," he inhaled rapidly, and then, he sucked on my clit.

The world stopped, halted on it's axis, every muscle going rigid in my body and every nerve ending simultaneously coming alive. Faintly, I heard a chant, repeating two syllables over and over, it sounded like my voice - but I had no control over myself. All I could do was weakly grind my hips against Bruce's mouth, faltering when the crashing waves of my orgasm began to recede.

The infuriating overstimulation stopped; blinking hazily, I saw Bruce's eyes glimmer brown and green in front of my face. His nose and his chin was glistening with a thin coat of sticky fluid; disheveled and red, he looked a man on the verge of a revelation.

Something hot and blunt nosed at my cunt, bringing back the moment to me - I realized, with a great deal of impatience - how empty I felt. The decision was minute. "Daddy, fuck me, please, I want your cock," the words came easily.

"That's my girl," his eyes fluttered shut as the first inches squeezed through the snug of my cunt. I was sopping wet and as relaxed as I'd be, but even then, it was a stretch. "Good girl, good baby," the mumbled praise made me whine and my pussy clamp on his cock. "Relax, let daddy fill you up." Breathing through it, I consciously unwound myself around him, letting my palms rest freely on his shoulders. "Let daddy take care of you."

Like melted sugar, his husked words stuck to me inside and out. Short, sharp thrusts; Bruce was patiently burrowing himself inside of me, making his way to reach the deepest parts of me I didn't even know existed. His cock head pressed against something hard and spongy inside of me; stars burst behind my eyes I'd clamped shut on reflex.

I moaned weakly, tugging on his arm, pressing myself closer. It felt so, so good. Like a raw nerve had been exposed and he was stroking it, pushing that little switch with every stroke of his hips.

"I'm not gonna last," he muttered as once again, my cunt squeezed him snugly in place, just as greedy as I was to feel that tiny explosion spark up within me again.

"I want..." I panted. Bruce set in a punishing pace after that, a palm under my ass, squeezing it so hard there would definitely be bruising. I craved it, I needed to see the evidence this was not some elaborate fever dream. "I want... Daddy to fill me up," words came out garbled; it sounded like gibberish to my ears but Bruce - they spurred him on.

"Oh yeah?" That breathless, boyish cockiness was back in his voice again; despite how fucked out he sounded, I prepared myself for something truly out of this world. I just knew.

He sat back on his shins, dragging me by the hips with him, making me shiver and moan and twitch and clamp onto him again as his throbbing cock hit that special spot again. And again. And again.

"Look at me, baby," a hand on my belly and his eyes burning right through me. As they slid down, towards the apex of my thighs where he was still moving within me almost lazily, I saw it.

"Oh fuck," I couldn't utter much more than a two-syllabled profanity. There was a bulge in my belly, just above my pelvis, moving in rhythm with Bruce's hips. And then he pressed on it and I-

Something, someone, somewhere was screaming. The noise was loud and pitched, but even then, I could barely hear it though the neverending waves of bliss that enveloped my whole being. Gold and silver at the edges of my rapidly darkening vision; I was drowning in something that smelled and felt like Bruce. The safety of his arms, the warmth of his heated body, the rapid snapping of his hips-

Oh.

"I'm gonna, fuck," the last word was but a ghost of a human speech. Growling low and filthy, Bruce leaned into my ear, his breath hot and moist. "Mine," his hips stuttered, his cock nestled deep, the sensation bordering on painful, forcefully extracted pleasure. It throbbed with every spurt of his seed; each one felt like a solid punch in the gut to my abused pussy.

"Daddy," I mewled, my body jerking away from him but my mind and my soul yearning for more. His rapidly softening flesh made the idea of being separated unbearable.

"S'good, s'my good girl, m'so proud," he mumbled, looking slightly disoriented as he removed himself from me, immediately pressing me to his side and interwining any free, flailing limbs.

We laid in silence, each of us slowly coming back to Earth after the completely unreal experience we just had. I didn't know what to think, didn't know what to do as the realization set in, the post-orgasmic haze giving way to a sudden rush of clarity.

"I can hear you overthinking," Bruce's voice was fond.

Before I could muster up the courage to snark back, the divided doors opened, one very concerned Tony Stark standing there, armed with a tranquilizer gun in one hand and a pack of cookies in the other. His mouth, previously open to (probably) yell at us, remained as open when his eyes had registered the scene in front of him.

I stared at Bruce. Bruce stared at Tony.

"The noise," he offered in the way of explanation, dangling the pack of cookies, looking, for once - speechless. He recovered quickly, however, even if the remark was a thin ghost of his usual sass: "You pick the nerd over me? I'm hurt," he scoffed in mock irritation, although I was pretty sure I saw some satisfaction in there, too.

Bruce looked at me. I looked at Bruce.

A mischievous grin slowly crept up his face, an identical one beginning to appear on my own face seconds after.

"Hey, two nerds is better than one, right?" My response is what did it; or, rather, it was the evidence of my previous throat-fucking clearly audible in my voice... Tony dropped the cookies and then, the tranq gun.

Bruce Banner taglist: @pilloclock @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @persephonehemingway @mostly-marvel-musings @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @sapphicnoodle69 @couldntbedamned @xoxabs88xox @marvelsbanner @tripleyeeet @tatestripedsweater @stuckybarton

#bruce banner x reader #bruce banner smut #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x y/n #Bruce Banner #bun writes #I haven't written shit in a month and boom #6k words in three hours #i don't like the ending #I'm bad at them #okay #okay .

[veryholland]

prompt #20 from the list! “bandaging/stitching up an injury” maybe with frat!tom getting into a fight or punching a guy from getting too close to the reader at a party? 🤍

sorry i’m spamming ur inbox lol ;p

PEACHY

pairing: frat!tom x reader | word count: 992 | warnings: mild injuries | touch prompts

a/n: liv! thank you so much for requesting this. i planned on writing requests in the order they were submitted but i really couldn't put off yours any longer. more or less by coincidence, this includes @spidey-sophie's request (17: holding the other's chin up) as well, so i hope you don't mind that i combined those! enjoy reading! x

“What the hell, Tom? Do you want everyone to know?”

With a heavy thud, the door of the upstairs bathroom slams shut behind you. The bass of the music can still be heard through the wooden surface but it might as well be the sound of your heart thumping against your ribcage. Inside, the air smells clean. Gone is the unpleasant smell of sweaty bodies grinding against each other and spilt beer. Drawing in a calming breath through your parted lips, you turn around, finally facing him.

You never intended to get involved with a frat boy. In fact, just a year ago you would’ve laughed straight into anyone’s face who even suggested diving into a relationship with a member of the frat – that was until Tom happened.

Whatever it was that the both of you shared, it was hidden away from plain sight. Concealed behind closed doors and treasured beneath sheets.

In the beginning, it was all fun and games. The exhilarating buzz of hiding your infatuation with each other – sneaking into the frat house after curfew to spend just a few treasured hours together, exchanging texts during class when none of your friends were looking and holding back when all you wanted to do was smile at him across the hallway.

All fun and games – until it wasn’t anymore. Looking at his battered and bruised face, you now realise it only led to trouble.

A frown is holding tight over his features, his muscular chest rising and falling with rapid breaths and his grey shirt is rumpled. A few curls are sticking out from beneath his cap, the frat logo woven into its dark blue fabric now almost taunting you. But what draws in your gaze the most, is the nasty cut on his cheek and another one tearing right through his rosy and plump bottom lip.

“Sit down, I can’t look at this,” you say, not even trying to downplay the sharp timbre of your voice. After gathering your hair up into a messy but nowhere near decent bun, you turn to the cabinet, rummaging through drawers in search of a first aid kit.

“No need to fuss, I told you, I’m fucking fine.”

Frustration is clearly layering his words but they are closely followed by a defeated sigh as he slumps down onto the bathtub’s edge.

Pushing around a few toiletries, you finally spot a small bottle of disinfectant and take it out with a short but triumphant hum, before putting it next to the gauze pads you found just a couple of drawers below. After gathering it all in your hold, you close the drawer with a kick of your foot and turn back around just to be met with a sight that pulls heavy at your chest.

His head hung low, Tom is cradling the already peachy and bruised knuckles of his right hand in his left palm, shoulders slumped, gaze fixed onto the ground.

“You would be fine if you hadn’t punched him.” Your voice was now remarkably softer compared to how all of this started out, but you still couldn’t drop the bitter connotation.

Charged silence wraps itself around you as you step closer. For a moment you put the bottle of disinfectant onto the bathtub’s edge, using your free hand to remove his baseball cap, allowing you to get a proper look at his cuts. Your gentle touch is a prominent contrast to your clear irritation as your fingers find his chin, tilting it up slightly.

Once your eyes meet his honeycomb ones – the dark brown colour laced with something unrecognisable – his legs subconsciously part, allowing you to step closer in order to fittingly tend to his wounds.

“This is gonna hurt,” you warn softly, waiting for his nod of confirmation before continuing. Your hand is still cradling his chin as you use the other to dab the gauze pad over the peachy skin around the bruise that now finally stopped bleeding. His eyes flutter shut and a hiss flies past his lips, but he doesn’t flinch away from your touch.

You feel his eyes on you as you work around his face in silence and although you’re still mad, you can’t help but calmly smooth the pad of your thumb over his skin whenever the stinging sensation makes him draw in a sharp breath.

The tip of your tongue pushes past your parted lips in concentration as you dab along the curve of his lip with the last bit of sterile gauze. You turn around to pick up a new pad but his fingers curl around your wrist, effectively stilling your movements.

“I do,” he says, filling the silence, his voice soft and unsure, barely audible. Eyebrows drawn together in confusion, you look down at him.

“I do,” he repeats, voice now layered with more tenacity. “I want everyone to know.”

He stands up, completely ignoring your protests, but you fall silent when his uninjured hand comes up to twist a strand of your hair around his finger and his eyes connect with yours once more, fueling the churning attraction in your belly.

“I want everyone to know that this is about more than just a stupid brawl between frat bros.” He takes a step forward.

“I want everyone to know that when you return to the dorms past curfew, it’s because we couldn’t stop watching love island episodes on my laptop.” Another step.

“I want everyone to know that the hickeys you get asked about by your friends are the marks I put onto your skin.”

„I want everyone to know about you and me.“

He’s been slowly backing you up against the door, hands now braced on either side of your head as your heart picks up speed with every single one of his passing words. Tom pauses, drawing in a deep breath before speaking up again, the timbre of his voice now remarkably soft and airy.

“I want everyone to know that I am in love with you, y/n.”

okay so, here’s that :D getting back into writing really is an unmatchable feeling and i had so much fun writing this. i’m slowly finding my way back into the flow but yeah, let me know if you liked it! tips are always welcome! sending lots of hugs x

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland blurb #frat!tom #i had more than this but you know what #from time to time i really vibe with open endings :D #once again didn’t check for typos so you’re welcome to just ignore them haha #also look at my completely unrelated title just because my brain couldn’t come up with one ahhshs

[bangchanswolfpelt]

cw: sex work, webcam sex, masturbation

Thinking about camboy!Chan getting all bashful just like he does on vlive, hiding his face from the camera, even as he jerks himself off for hundreds of strangers. He streams all snuggled up in an oversized hoodie and when the praise from chat gets to be too much for him, he tugs the hood over his face to hide. Every once in a while, he’ll peek an eye out playfully from under the hood to check the chat, then promptly tug it back down like a wanton little game of peek-a-boo. It’s telling that even with his cock right out, heavy and hard and leaking cum, the whole chat is still begging for just a glimpse of his face.

He likes to take it slow at first, teasing himself and his audience with painfully slow strokes, pausing once in a while to cup and squeeze his balls. He makes sweet, silly small-talk as he touches himself, asking how everyone’s week has been and talking about new songs he’s heard between soft sighs and deep shuddering breaths. It doesn’t matter how many times he’s done this, it always takes a while for his self-consciousness to melt way, all nervous giggles and lip bites to hold back his groans of pleasure.

As he gets more into it, you can see Chan getting more relaxed—slumping in his chair as he kicks out his legs, plush lips parting to let loose the prettiest, sluttiest moans. His hips arch up and his strokes get faster, sloppier as he loses himself in the sensation. When he tips his head back, his hood slides down and you can see that his ears are the same rosy shade of pink as the head of his cock, the flush creeping down his neck, down under the hoodie you’re dying for him to just take off already.

If you’re looking for patterns, it’s not hard to notice that the movement of his hand quickens and slows in time with the sound of chat notifications; it’s not hard to use this knowledge to edge him from the other side of the camera.

You can tell he’s close to cumming when he tugs his hoodie up to clamp the hem between his teeth, exposing the smooth, pale skin of his belly, the muscles of his abdomen tensing and relaxing with every jerky stroke. Even through a mouth stuffed full of cotton, his muffled whines are music to your ears. When he finally cums, he’s like a bow being drawn tight—low groans cut off sharply, his whole body stiffening, the grip around his cock tightening as his heavy balls draw up close—the tension finally breaking as the first spurt of milky white cum spatters against his belly, followed by more as he roughly milks his cock, his whole body shuddering with each new spray painting his skin.

By the time he’s finally milked himself dry, he’s wrung out and limp in his chair, eyes fluttering and mouth slack as his softening cock twitches weakly against his belly. There’s a warm satisfaction that comes with this afterglow, that almost feels like its own peak. Chan covered in his own cum, expression dazed, is such a painfully, sweetly intimate sight; the sight of his body so bonelessly relaxed, his breathing deep and even, is soothing enough to make you forget any tension you might have been harboring yourself.

Once he catches his breath, though, he’s right back to being bashful—scrambling for tissues and shyly cleaning himself up; sometimes he even apologizes for the mess, laughing nervously and hiding his face as he talks about how embarrassing it is that he cums so much. His streams always end with him curled up too close to his laptop, soft and sleepy, chatting comfortably about whatever comes to mind as he plays you some of his current favorite songs.

It’s enough to make you want to throw all of your money at him, spoil him with toys and cute underwear and expensive equipment off wishlists he never even expected to be looked at. Maybe you shouldn’t be spending quite so much, maybe it’s not exactly responsible, but it’s worth it just to see Chan’s face light up—which you have an even better view of now that he has a higher quality camera and stable wifi. He can even stream more often now that he doesn’t have to open the door to make sure the wifi works.

#'i wanna throw all my money at him' i say as if i'm not already paying REAL MONEY for this man to NOT text me #this was just going to be a rambling thirst post but then my brain kept going and then we hit five hundred words #bang chan smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #i'm posting this literally as he's live just take me the fuck out please #i couldn't not write about streaming and nOT shade jyp's wifi sorry #feedback is appreciated~~ #skz🔪 #ficlets📓

[pleasantanathema]

Pretty Please | Porco Galliard

Paring: Porco Gallaird x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: Overstimulation, begging, face sitting, ~sixty-nine~

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Thank you @present-mel​ and @whats-her-quirk​ for these yummy requests. 🥵 I just want to be so filthy with our sexy, whiny boy. My requests are closed, but I’m still working on ones still sitting in my inbox  💕

           You could always get whatever you wanted from Porco Galliard. All it took was honey-sweet praise and perhaps a well-placed hand on his chest, in his hair, just little things to fluff him up, to have his ego simmering under his skin. And the most satisfying thing was taking that pride of his and turning it into little, desperate, panting whines.

           He was already losing control, pink blush dusting across his cheeks and the bridge of his cute, up-turned nose.

           “You like that, Pock?”

           His fingers curled in your hair, the strands tightening around his knuckles.

           “Don’t,” he groaned, thick neck tilting back against the pillow, “I told you not to call me that.”

           But when did you ever listen to him anyways?

           You smirked, flattening your tongue as you swept quick, tempting kitten licks along the pretty, swollen head of his cock. God, he was already so hard, twitching up towards his stomach as your mouth gathered what was already leaking from him. Your hand was pumping slowly around his thick shaft, a heavy vein throbbing beneath your thumb.

           “Fuck, you’re always s-such a tease.”

           It was true, you always reveled in being able to make him fall apart, to build him up throughout the day to only keep the tension rising once you got him alone.

           He was your dirty little secret to do with as you please, though you were sure you had him convinced he was the one in control. Porco was tugging you closer, urging your hot tongue to glide farther down his cock. You indulged him, even using your cum and spit stained lips to slip along silken skin, sucking ever so gently as you leisurely played with him.

           His hips bucked when you placed a soft suck at the base of his cock, so close to taking one of his plump balls into your mouth, but still not close enough.

           Another guttural moan spilled from his throat, pitch turning a little higher when you finally slid the head of his cock with your mouth, cheeks hollowing for only a moment before you released him with a wet pop from your lips.

           “D-don’t,” it sounded like he was out of breath, “don’t stop.”

           Your grin was tugging at your cheeks, even as your tongue swirled teasing circles around his flushed tip.

           “Don’t stop or what?”

           “Or I’ll make it to where you can’t walk tomorrow.”

           It always impressed you how long he could hang on to his pride, even when his cock was begging, weeping for your mouth.

           “Sounds more like a promise than a threat,” you mumbled before sinking a few inches of him into your wet mouth.

           You moaned when you heard him whimper, cock so sensitive that your tight sucking had him so, so close to that edge of euphoria that he wanted to experience. You knew it was cruel, to toy with him for so long, but nothing was more delightful than hearing Porco let out unruly whines. You couldn’t even remember how long you’d been between his legs now, long enough to make your knees ache against the mattress and your lips to be a little numb.

           He pushed your head down farther, hips thrusting upward so his cock could brush the back of your throat. You sunk your fingernails into the corded muscle of his thigh, attempting to settle him back down so you could keep edging him farther.

           “Mhm, you feel so good baby, take my cock so fucking well.”

           Your ears burned from the praise, head bobbing up and down, fat cock pressed snugly into your cheeks. But you were still slow, deliberate, dragging your tongue and your lips at just the right pace to keep him on just the brink of orgasm.

           Saliva was spilling from your lips, coating his length and making it easier and easier to slip your mouth around him, to go down just a little farther each time.

           His sounds were incessant, a mixture of heavy pants and trembling, high-pitched sobs. The sweet noises resonated directly between your legs; you felt slick drooling from your pussy, felt the muscles in your lower stomach clench.

           He fisted your hair angrily when you slipped his cock back out of your mouth.

           “No, no, no I’m so clo—”

           “The walls are thin, Pock, you need to be quiet.”

           His brows were furrowed over golden eyes as he watched you shift below him, back of your hand wiping away the mess from your mouth. He unwound his fingers from your hair as you climbed over his outstretched legs to stand next to his bed.

           You gripped his chin, pressing your lips against his in a quick, greedy kiss that had him groaning at the taste of his cock lingering in your mouth. Fuck, his lips felt so good, plump and hot and so comfortably melding into the movements of your kiss, slanting and sucking and whimpering.

           But you quickly replaced your lips with a thigh, letting his lips ghost along your skin as you settled your hips above his face. He locked his brawny arms around your legs, eager to bring your wet cunt to his mouth.

           “Can’t have you waking up everyone in the barracks with your fucking whining,” but it was you who let out a soft mewl when his tongue lapped at your clit. Fuck, his face felt too good against the flesh of your thighs, lips and tongue hungry within your folds. Strong hands were bruising against your skin, pulling your weight farther down onto his face.

           If only you could tell Marley that the true power of the jaw titan was that he could eat pussy until a girl went blind with pleasure.

           You smoothed your hands over his broad chest, fingers sinking into the dips of hard muscle. Your head hung low as jolts of white-hot heat spread from where his mouth was working at you, playing with you, tongue painting long, broad strokes up and down your pussy. You always knew his smart mouth would be talented.

           Your vision was blurring from all the bliss, but you still couldn’t take your eyes off his dripping cock, red and angry and still begging for release against the blonde, downy hair of his stomach. Sticky pre-cum was still leaking from his flushed head, pooling into his skin as his cock bobbed and twitched at the sounds of your moans. You were so tempted to touch him, to pull and tug and tease, but you knew it would drive him wild if you left him aching.

           Your hips jerked and rolled from his ministrations, bursts of pleasure spreading over your nerves like hot, rippling webs beneath your skin. Then his tongue was pressing against your tight hole, gathering all your slick onto his tongue and drinking like a man parched.

           “Oh, oh fuck,” you pressed your lips together, legs starting to tremble as his tongue thrusted up inside of you, “fuck, fuck, fuck that’s so good,” it was all a messy whisper, just hot air into the dimly lit room.

           But then his tongue was back to soothing over your wet hole, lapping slowly and pulling you away from the churning coil within your belly.

           “Please,” his voice was muffled by your cunt, lips moving against your folds, “p-please, suck my cock.”

           His cock was twitching with every plea.

          You doubled over in pleasure just from his words, the shock of him actually begging into your pussy making your mouth fall open with a satisfied moan.

          Your fingers skimmed over his still spit-slick cock, body leaning forward so you could trace your tongue across the throbbing veins. He was still whining, whimpering from between your thighs, so fucking ready for the release you’d been denying him. And you were getting closer with every curl of his tongue, the tip of it fast and hurried as he licked against your clit. You felt like you were on fire and drowning all at the same time, lungs struggling to take in enough air before you plunged your mouth around his cock.

          You didn’t hold back this time, cheeks hollowing as you sucked him in hard and fast, head bobbing and your palm wrapping around his base. You always loved how he tasted against your tongue, salty and sweet, even though his thickness led to a sore mouth in the morning.

          The noises he was making were suppressed, being soaked up by your cunt. The vibrations from his mouth only added to your building delight, made your hips become more desperate. Continuous moans of your own spilled over his cock that was now stuffed deep into your throat.

          Tears were pricking at your lashes, ready to dribble down the apples of your cheeks. Your hands were grasping onto his thighs for leverage and stability, trying to keep your mind focused on pleasing him even though his mouth was driving you mad.Your nose was buried in the blonde, wiry curls at the base of his cock, bumping against his skin, filling your senses with him, with Porco. A tumble of curses were soaked into your pussy, the hands on your thighs gripping meaner as you pulled back and repeatedly sucked him deep into your throat.

          You were sure that all the slurping, wet sounds were even louder than his earlier whining.

          You knew he was cumming by the weak cry against your pussy, his mouth pausing for a moment as euphoria washed over his body in curt waves.

          “Ah-ah, fucking...finally...”

          You let his cum slide down your throat, struggling to gulp the stringy substance down in its entirety to avoid a mess. Your mouth was full of the bittersweet taste of him, his cock pulsing and throbbing against your cheeks.

          The moment his spent cock fell from your mouth, strands of drool still dripping from your lips, Porco was pulling you back, pulling your weight fully onto his face as he resumed devouring you.

          Fuck, you felt like you were sinking, each purposeful lick against your pussy sending you deeper and deeper into a pleasant abyss. His tongue was far too skilled; he knew exactly how to lap and kiss at you to keep your body shaking and wanting, all his attention centered around the tight bundle of nerves that had your belly tightening.

          “Porco, Porco, fuck I-I’m gonna—”

          You felt your orgasm spill onto his cheeks as you found your own release, ecstasy blooming from where his mouth was still relentlessly licking between your folds. Your walls were clenching and unclenching, looking for the fat cock that should be filling your needy cunt. You felt your sanity momentarily slip away, mind and body overwhelmed with the feeling of him, the taste of him still present in your mouth. Then, you were falling, you chest pressing into his stomach and your nails scraping against his thighs.

          A few moments passed as you caught your breath, sore thighs still trembling on either side of his face. Finally, you rolled next to him on the bed, one hand pressed between your breasts like you were trying to catch your racing heart.

          “And here I thought we were supposed to be quiet,” he chuckled, grinning as he licked your slick from his lips.

          “Oh shut up.”

          He leaned forward, shoulders rolling as he maneuvered himself on top of you, mouth pressing against yours with a sloppy kiss.

          “Didn’t hear you complaining when my tongue was in your cunt.”

          “But I did hear you begging, Pock.”

          Because you always got whatever you wanted from him, and the memory of Porco whining into your pussy was something that was sure to keep you awake a little longer at night.

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