#cw: switching

[angstinyourpants]

a ghost fucking you in public but no one can see them, so youre just getting railed in front of everyone and have to keep a straight face. a ghost using their ghost powers to come into your room without opening the door while youre touching yourself so they can watch without you knowing. a ghost possessing your computer and seeing all the porn you watch, read or even listen to and using that to humiliate you. a ghost-

[nerdraging4point0]

@tearfallpixie @beaker1636 @circle-with-me @synthetic-wasp-570 @itsjustemily @thesazzb @vinyardmauro @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @dominuslunae @mountains-to-move @sundamariis @caitcoreeeee @crimson-calligraphyx @letmeadoreyoux @starsomens @artificialbreezy @lma1986 @iknownothingpeople @lilrubles @shilohrosechicken @missduffsblog @jessicafg03 @thatchickwiththecamera @chels3a-smile @sinkingteethinwhitenoise @deathblacksmoke @roley-poley-foley @ravieisunhinged @dethronetheveil @to-be-written @somewhere-diamond @somebodyels3 @sacredthefran @th0ughts-pr4yers @bloody-delusion-expert

@sammyjoeee @deathofpeaceofmiiind @hayleylatour

@nerdraging4point0 and I bring you ::

DOMINATE THE GAME : EXHIBITION

Pairing: Coach Davis!Noah Sebastian x Female Readerx Coach Cerulli!Chris Motionless

By expanding the post, you consent to being over the age of 18.

CW: .This is an alternate universe story with only names and likenesses used in creation of a character. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction. Please review the content warning before proceeding. 18+ MNDI, any minors interacting with my work will be blocked, this is for your safety as well as my own.

Coach/athlete au, coach athlete sexual relationship, [all parties regardless of being fiction are of legal age of consent]

The National Women’s Soccer League Anti-Harassment Policy: This policy prohibits the use of coercion, force, intimidation, or Power Imbalance to pursue sexual contact or an intimate relationship of any sort.

The story includes: POV switching, oral (male and female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v sex, cum eating, panty sniffing, swearing, alcohol consumption, a little subby Chris, it's filthy and smutty threesome

If I missed anything please let me know💜

This is real person fiction; Fiction based on real people in fictitious situations.

word count: 6k PART ONE

A/N: Huge shout out to @nerdraging4point0 for collaborating with me on this. EVERYONE GO FOLLOWER HER AND READ HER WORK THANK YOU! also thank you to @tearfallpixie and @beaker1636 for cheerleading and all of your support!

I had no idea a part two would come from this, but here we are.

With love,

Lady Raging🗡️

With an iron grip, Kate yanks you by the wrist, plowing through the swarming mass of bodies that is quickly consuming the bar. Only minutes before, you had been nestled in bed reading until she disrupted your peace.

 "You fucking graduated college, and all you do to celebrate is read?! Bitch, let's go." And here you are, knowing damn well that in 2.5 seconds, she's going to be up some guy's business trying to get dicked down one last time before she moves, and you will be left alone once again at the bar. 

She raps her knuckles sharply on the lacquered wood, flagging down the harried bartender. Not wasting a second, she barks an order for a round of shots, her foot tapping impatiently to the pounding music. You scan the cramped space, anxiety rising as you take in the crush of people, loud and suffocating. "Let's drink to your 4.0!" Her grin is wide, and she means well. But the dark romance novel still calls your name back home. There was a biker gang…tall, muscular tattooed men….

"Fine," you huff, sending a death stare her way as you plop down on the stool. "Just one."

Thankfully, Kate had ordered something sweet to make the experience a little more tolerable; you still wince when the saccharine liquid coats the back of your throat. You shake yourself as the burn subsides, the alcohol numbing your nerves almost instantly. 

"Wanna play a round of pool with me?" Kate asks, giving you her sweet puppy eyes, adding a pout for extra flare. Because Kate can't do anything less than over the top. 

"Please!" She sips the first of many fruity concoctions of the night, waiting for your response. 

You look at the pool table and back to her. So far, no one is playing, but there are a lot of people nearby drinking and laughing, minding their own business. That's a lot of people who will definitely be judging you for how you play. Especially next to the Pool Goddess herself. Kate doesn't let you win; she makes you work for it. Even tonight, on this special day. And you know why she asked you; you are her bait to get dicked down by some helpless guy that walks into her trap. 

Kate is smart, beautiful, and cunning. 

Your mind drifts back to the ruthless MC, four best friends covered from head to toe in tattoos..what I wouldn't do to get between all of them…do whatever they ask…

Kate clears her throat, effectively yanking you from your lusty daydream about fictional characters from a book. 

"Ok, fine, go get the round set up, I'll be over, but I need to pee, or I'm going to burst." You scramble to the bathroom before she can question your sanity. 

Your trip to the bathroom is quick but might as well have been hours with the sudden change in atmosphere. The bar is packed now, bodies pressed together, the buzz of drunken chatter filling your ears. You emerge from the bathroom into the pulsing crowd, your eyes scanning the sea of strangers for Kate. 

There - in the corner by the pool table. Some tall, faceless man has her pinned against the felt, hands on her hips, breath hot against her neck as he pretends to show her how to hold the cue. She's lapping up the attention, giggling coyly like she's never played a game in her life.

The sweaty bodies press in on all sides as you slide through the crowded bar, eager to escape the suffocating heat. You need air. Now. Claustrophobia claws at your gut, urging you to flee this den of iniquity. But just as you reach for your wallet to pay the tab, a gruff voice rumbles behind you.

"Congratulations, captain."

You whirl around, ready to unleash your frustration on the presumptuous stranger. But the words died on your lips - tall, muscular, with a chiseled jawline barely visible under the shadow of his black baseball cap. Aviator sunglasses obscuring his eyes, even in the bar's dim light.

Who wears sunglasses inside? What a fucking ego.

But then you see the crooked grin spreading across his face. No. It couldn't be.

"C-coach Davis?" you stammer, taking a desperate gulp of whiskey to steady your nerves. The alcohol burns your throat but does nothing to dampen the fire now raging inside you.

Damn him. Just his presence made you weak. Made you want. Made you remember all those secret, stolen moments in the equipment room after practice. The way he'd pin you against the lockers, claiming you with rough, urgent kisses.

Your shudder consumes you, equal parts irritated and aroused. You needed to get out of here before you did something stupid. But with him blocking your path, escape would not come easy.

The noisy bar closes in around you as he leans over. His shirt grazes your skin, the scent of his cologne enveloping you, as familiar as the day he left. The stubble on his jaw and down his neck makes you want to reach out and touch him. With a crook of his finger, he catches the bartender's eye, commanding a shot without a word. 

He says nothing, silent, as he tilts his head back and lets the liquid slide down his throat. His tongue darts out to catch the last sweet drop, reluctant to let even a taste escape. Setting the empty glass down with a quiet clink, his lips curve into a heated smile—your heart races as you meet his gaze, cheeks burning under the intensity of his stare.

"How about one more extra…practice to celebrate all of your victories?"

His words are like smoke, low and tempting, beckoning you into his flames. Nodding, breathless, eager to let him take the lead.

I watch him strut over to her at the bar, his determination palpable despite the sunglasses under his cap. His movements like a prowling beast zeroing in on its next victim. I'd warned him to back off; he'd sworn to me he would. After I toss back another shot, adding the glass to the graveyard already cluttering my table. As I rake a hand through my hair, there’s a whiff of fresh hair dye—a drastic change for me, but one I'd desperately needed. Feeling my unease amplify as I observe their encounter unfold, equal parts fascinated and unsettled. Though I itch to intervene, some twisted part of me craved to see how it would all play out.

 Temptation has a way of slinking into your life when you least expect it, like a tiger on the prowl. I knew that danger all too well. I'd walked that path before, thinking I was in control, only to get mauled for my troubles. The scars still ache on cold nights.

So when I saw Noah falling under that spell, I felt a familiar unease. Could this alluring creature be his undoing, too? I watch them leave the bar hand in hand, her fingers intertwined with his. The sight triggers memories I thought I'd left behind. I throw some money on the bar and follow, unnerved but unable to look away. Some lessons you just have to learn the hard way. But maybe, just maybe, I could keep Noah from the same fate. This time, I had to try.

My throat tightens as I raise my hand to knock, my pulse quickening. I don't want to jeopardize my friendship with Noah, but if he's in there with her...this could ruin him. I take a deep breath and rap my knuckles against the door. When it swings open, my eyes widen at the sight - Noah and her, tangled together, eyes blown wide and lips bitten red. Noah recovers smoothly, clearing his throat as he untangles himself from her embrace. He's straightening his shirt with shaking hands, his hat and shades gone, and I feel my eyes roll. 

"What's up, Cerulli?" he asks lightly, but I can hear the strain in his voice. I quickly shove my raised hand into my pocket, glancing at the floor as my thoughts begin to spiral. I shouldn't have come, but now that I'm here…

Your mouth falls open as you stare at the man just outside your door. It's Coach Chris, but he barely resembles the mentor you knew just months ago. His once-neat blonde hair is now shaved on the sides, the remaining purple locks wild on top. You swallow hard, knowing there's no rule against being with Coach Davis now that you've graduated. But the shame still burns hot on your cheeks as you meet his eyes.

"C-Coach, I…” you stammer, unable to find the words to explain yourself under his dark gaze. You've let him down and the weight of it crushes your chest, leaving you anxious and tongue-tied before the man you once admired.

He crosses the room toward you, and an unfamiliar expression clouds his rugged features. It's a look you've never seen on his face, a heady mix of desire and urgency that makes your pulse quicken. With feline grace, he brushes past Coach Davis, those muscular arms reaching and grasping until his large hands cradle your face in their warmth. His lips crush against yours, claiming you in a searing kiss that steals your breath away. You melt into him, kissing him back feverishly, your body igniting at his touch.

The soft click of the door barely registers through the haze of lust. You open your eyes to see Coach Davis leaning against the wall, his heated gaze devouring you both. Spurred on by his attention, you press yourself harder against Coach Chris’ firm body, moaning into his mouth. Noah hisses in response, his eyes dark with longing from across the room.

Chris pulls away from you abruptly, leaving you stumbling backward, breathless, as your back slams against the wall.

"I-I'm s-s-so sorry, I shouldn't have-" His breath catches, words faltering as his tattooed fingers brush over his lips, still burning from your kiss. 

“No more apologizing. Just kiss me.” You push off the wall and charge at Chris pressing his body against the edge of the counter. Enough with the stalling. You just want to be devoured by these two tattooed giants. 

Pulling yourself up on your tiptoes at the same time you wrap your arms around his neck, you pull him in close. His lips are still and hesitant and when you glance up at him, you find a storm raging behind his big brown eyes. 

“I just graduated Summa cum laude,” your confidence falters.  “Now fuck me... Please,” Your harsh demand fades into a whisper when his eyes darken. 

A shiver of excitement ripples through you as Noah takes his place behind you, pressing you firmly into Chris, trapping you between their hard bodies. Chris's resolve breaks, and he leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. At the same time, Noah's hips grind against your ass, his hard cock pressing against you as he grips your hips and pulls you closer. Your hands wander under Chris's shirt, fingers grazing over the hard planes of his chest.

"Ah fuck!" you cry out as Noah's teeth graze the sensitive skin of your neck, nibbling and sucking.

"Don't focus on him. Look at me," Chris commands, grasping your chin with slender, tattooed fingers. "Feel what I'm doing to you." He punctuates each word with feather-light kisses along your cheeks and mouth, teasing, tempting. You lean into him desperately, craving more of his touch and taste. Dizzy with desire, you're caught between them, Chris's lips igniting your nerves while Noah marks your neck with rough, claiming bites.

"More," you breathe, drunk on the ecstasy of their passion.

Your body is alight with need, every caress and kiss pushing you closer to the edge. Noah answers your plea by gripping your waist and turning you around to face him. Once he has you where he wants you, his hands come to the sides of your face, tilting your head up slightly to meet his lips, rough and relentless as he pushes you back against Chris, his tongue spearing your lips apart. His parted lips muffle your moans as another pair of large hands snake down your front to work your buttons and zipper loose of your denim shorts.

“I bet you're dripping for us, hmm?” Chris’ husky voice mixes in with the wet sounds of bitten lips and battling tongues. Sliding your panties aside, he parts your silken folds with two thick fingers. “Fuuuuck,” he groans as he thrusts his fingers inside you, his harsh movement pulls you against his chest, detaching your mouth from Noah’s. Noah doesn’t miss a beat as he moves to nibble at your neck. Your mind is overwhelmed by their touch, both soft and demanding.

“Coach, want a taste?” 

The sudden rumble against your back makes your eyes pop open wide. Your stomach tightens as insecurity washes over you as his words penetrate the hormonal haze in your brain. What if he doesn’t like the way I taste? What if-

Time slows around you as you watch Chris present Noah with his glistening fingers. Noah’s hands don’t leave your hips as he leans down and starts to lick at the other coach’s inked digits. He moans approvingly as the fingers slide further down his throat. The sounds the two men make as you stand sandwiched between them has your pussy throbbing.

Noah’s cheeks hollow as Chris’s digits fall slowly off his parted lips. With a lustful sigh, he pulls you close to his body, lips crashing to yours as his tongue pushes forcefully past your lips. The taste of you is still on his tongue as your mouths dance. You melt against him, caught up in the heat of the moment, as he claims your mouth hungrily. Chris pulls your hair aside kissing the small exposed spaces of your neck and shoulders. 

Your heart sinks when Noah pulls from you, but when his hot breath brushes against your ear, your thighs clench together. 

“I need more,” he growls before nipping at your earlobe.

“Answer him, champ- do you want to give him more?” Suddenly the men step away from you giving you space to breathe, to think. You look between your two coaches.

Your usual confidence, the one you use to lead your team, returns to your voice, “Yes, Coach, yes I do.” 

Your lips curve into a seductive grin as you watch the pair devour you with their eyes. Even in the short time the coaches have worked together they have found their rhythm and you can't wait to see what they have planned for you. 

Chris spins you around pressing your bodies together his hands sliding down your body. With commanding hands, he grips your thighs and growls, "Up." You eagerly jump into his arms, craving his touch. Your legs wrap tightly around his muscular waist as the three of you move together in perfect sync.

Noah removes your shirt, his fingers working swiftly. The bra straps slip down your shoulders. Chris’ forehead presses against yours, his eyes gazing deeply into your own. 

"Bedroom?" he whispers.

You nod eagerly, tongue darting out to wet your lips. With a push off the kitchen counter, he’s crossing the living room with you in his arms. Your mouth seeks his tattooed skin, kissing, tasting. From behind, Coach Davis' eyes dark with lust. Eyes locked with his, you melt into Chris’s embrace, anticipation rising. The bedroom door closes, sealing the three of you in ecstasy.

Chris tosses you to the bed flopping on the mattress with such force you bounce off the soft blankets, the two coaches standing at the edge of your bed staring intensely down at you. You watch as Chris’ tattooed hands grip the hem of his shirt. 

“Stop, allow me.” His hands freeze in their place, eyes tracking your sudden movement. The world slows around you as you rise from the bed, the air thick with tension. Your hands push him away as you take hold of the fabric. You look up at the man who’s coached you throughout college, who’s been leading you since day one. His devilish smile softens as you lift the hem of his shirt. He sighs when he pulls the rest of the shirt off, his breath quickens as your hands explore his tattooed skin.

“Oh fuck,” your mouth pops open as you take in the coach you've known for years. 

You had no idea he was covered in tattoos. You've seen the exposed skin of his arms and neck when he wears his short-sleeved cotton shirts, but nothing could have prepared you for this.

Instinctually, you reach for the button of his pants, but he gasps your wrists in his large hands. “Easy tiger, not yet...” You huff, disappointed looking down at your bound wrists, suddenly aware of how large he is compared to you. 

“We have all night,” he smirks. 

The scales are tipping back and forth in my mind as I weigh the pros and cons of my current situation. How did things go from me trying to talk Noah out of this to him convincing me it's a good idea?

She's been one of my top players since her freshman year. I've worked closely with her for eight months now, when she became captain, strategizing plays and positions. I told myself she was just another student-athlete. I had a responsibility, an obligation. She trusted me. But I didn't trust myself.

I've been down this road before. When I was coaching softball, there was a student I fell for. I didn't think I would sleep with her, but I did. I quit soon after - I was filled with shame and regret. Worse still, I couldn't bear seeing her every day and not wanting her each time she passed me in the hall. This time, when those late-night practice feelings arose, all I had to do was text her. I'd take care of my needs at home and that would be the end of it. But my tiger called things off last spring; something about getting engaged and not wanting to hurt the guy like that. As if she hadn't been sexting me behind his back the whole year they dated. Women can be complicated.

Everything has changed. The old rules and limits that held me back are gone. For the first time, I can pursue my desires without guilt or shame weighing me down. There's a thrill in getting what I want with no consequences, but I know that freedom comes with a price. But at this moment, nothing is complicated.

Her pants slide down her hips as my fingers find the elastic waistband, tugging them off in fevered jerks. Our kiss doesn't break for a second as she shimmies to help me undress her. My hands are greedy for the feel of her bare skin. We're both breathing hard, lost in this heated moment.

The warmth of her body beckons as she sinks onto the bed's edge. I kneel before her like a man at worship, guiding her legs onto my shoulders with a reverent touch. Her fingers run through my hair but hold me back as I push her panties aside.

"No, no, don’t fight me," I whisper, leaning closer, inhaling her scent.

She whimpers at the first touch of my tongue, tightening her grip on my hair. I feel her thighs tremble, threatening to close, but I lick deeper anyway. She tastes of honey and spice and everything nice.

Sensing her resistance, I grasp those luscious thighs, knowing my force will leave marks on her come morning - marks she'll press her fingers to and remember this night. A throaty moan escapes her lips as I claim her. 

“Lay back, it’s Coach Davis’ turn.” Chris coos as he wipes your release from his chin. 

Hungry for more, you flash Noah a wicked grin before sliding off your lace panties. Something mischievous sparks in you and you ball up your panties and toss them at him. With his tall frame, he barely moves a muscle, effortless when he brings them up to his face and sniffs. 

Of-fucking-course. 

You shake your head giggling to yourself as you lay back on the bed. A small yelp tumbles from your parted lips when soft lips brush against your thigh. Looking down, you find Noah right at home between your thighs.

All of a sudden, Chris' slender fingers grip your chin pulling your attention from the brown-haired coach kissing and nibbling at the tender flesh of your thighs. His lips wander closer and closer to where you want him most. 

Your vision fills with dark brown eyes like walking in the thick forest after it rains, it’s eerie yet calming at the same time. Slowly, your gaze shifts to the mirror behind him, sucking in a breath at the erotic sight your mouth drops to the floor - Noah buried between your thighs, his tongue working its magic while Chris’ tattooed hands and painted nails settle around your throat.

"Doesn't he look pretty like that?" Chris purrs, his voice dripping with lust. His grip tightens ever so slightly as you start to writhe with pleasure.

"Fuuuuck.” The vibration of Noah’s voice against your slick flesh makes you shudder.

Chris moves to sit beside you, one hand still wrapped around your throat while the other roams greedily over your body. You cry out as he pinches a hardened nipple, the sting blending deliciously with the pleasure mounting inside you.

"Relax," he breathes, trailing kisses up your jaw that leave you melting into the pillows. You obey, giving yourself over completely to the ecstasy they're creating.

"That's it," Chris praises, his smile wicked and hungry. 

You're lost in a haze of passion, every nerve singing as they play your body like an instrument. Chris leans in, ghosting his parted lips over your cheek before nipping at your earlobe. “Can I kiss you again?” he whispers in your ear. A shiver spider crawls up your spine as he ghosts feather light kisses to your ear then trailing down your jaw, waiting for your answer. 

“Answer him, darling,” Noah grunts as he thrusts a finger inside your slick walls.

“I-uh-” your brain short circuits, overwhelmed by the pressure building in your core and the proximity of Chris’ lips to yours. His breath is hot against your skin; the intoxicating concoction of his spicy cologne and his body heat makes your eyelids flutter. 

You jolt up suddenly, as another slender finger is thrust inside you. “Answer… Him.” Noah punctuates each word with a thrust of his fingers. 

"Yes," you moan, the word spilling desperately from your lips. You lick them, trying to wet your parched mouth. "Please," you beg, voice stronger with need.

Chris smiles, his mouth hovering just out of reach. "Ask nicely," he purrs.

Noah thrusts deep inside you and you arch up with a cry, lips seeking Chris's but denied at the last moment.

"Yes, please," you plead, drunk on desire, "I need you, please."

Noah's lips and tongue hungrily ravage your aching clit as a primal growl erupts from his chest. Chris grabs your face and crushes his mouth to yours in a searing kiss, forcing his tongue between your parted lips. His thumb caresses your cheek with dominant possession, his hand still gripping your throat. Waves of pleasure course through you and you swear you could come right at that moment. Noah clamps down on your trembling thighs with his elbows prying your legs apart wider. You clench around Noah’s fingers. 

“I’m so close!” you whine into Chris’ parted lips. 

“That’s it champ, you can do it.”  He leans over you to pin your hands against the headboard, leaving you at the mercy of Noah’s fingers and tongue. “Stop holding on and let go.” His command is soft yet firm enough to break you. Your eyes roll back as your climax wrecks through your body; Noah licking and sucking your sensitive bud as he finger fucks you through the aftershocks. 

Noah sucks at your throbbing clit once more while his fingers continue to thrust in and out of you. He lifts his head to meet your gaze, his pupils blown wide with primal desire. “Come on captain, give me all you got.” Out of nowhere, another orgasm plows through you. Noah is quick to swap his fingers with his tongue, licking and sucking every last drop you give him. When he’s satisfied, he rises from between your legs wiping your sticky release from his chin. 

“I’m going to grab us some water, ok?” Noah turns and trots out the door before you can respond in your blissed-out state.

You roll over to your side with a satisfied sigh, your gaze tracking Chris’ hands at the waistband of his jeans. Adjusting to sit upright on the edge of the bed, your breath hitches as you reach out to him once again, you hesitate- heart pounding and when you look up you find a small smile on the coach’s face and he nods. Licking your lips, your fingers work quickly to set his cock free. Chris moans softly when you push his pants and boxers down around his hips. Your eyes roam over the expanse of his tattooed body as he steps out of his clothes. 

A subtle flush colors his cheeks when he catches you staring at him; his a little larger than Noah but not by much- his tip red and angry ready for teasing. Chris’ eyebrows furrow slightly when you rise from the bed, his chest heaves with anticipation as you close the distance. He doesn’t say a word when your hands find purchase on his hips, or when you press your tummy against his erect cock, now chest to chest. Pulling yourself up on your tiptoes you tilt your head back and part your lips slightly. He answers your silent plea, lips pressing onto yours, tongues dancing wildly. You could drown in the taste of him, the feel of him pressed hard against you, but you decide it’s your turn to take charge. 

You push Chris onto the bed, and at first, his eyes widen, but when you point to the center of the bed- he obeys. The air around you is electric as you crawl over him, settling your thighs on either side of his hips. He hisses when your still slick pussy rubs against his throbbing cock. You know you don’t have much time alone with him and you don’t know how long he will let you take the lead. Forever grateful for the hair tie always around your wrist, you quickly toss your hair into a messy bun before leaning down to kiss him. Your lips graze against his, you pull back when he tries to kiss you back. A small whine tumbles from his parted lips and it ignites a fire in you. You lick and nibble at the script ink on his jaw, teasing your lips closer and closer to his mouth. And then you hear it.

“Please.” It’s hushed and a little strained. 

“Please what?” You whisper in the singer’s ear causing his neck and shoulders to quiver. 

“K-kiss me, touch me, fuck me.. Please,” he rushes out, his words a jumbling mess as you rut against him. You know you can only give him one thing as you hear footsteps pad through the hallway. You pull his face to yours, smashing his lips, tongues fighting for dominance, lungs begging for air. You rock your hips faster, clit aching for friction, heart racing as the footsteps get louder- you don’t stop as Chris writhes underneath you until-

You freeze, lips still locked when the door creaks open.

“Having fun without me?” Noah huffs a laugh, but you still hear a trace of envy. You part from Chris and watch as his gaze shifts beyond you. You try to turn your head but a pair of hands cover your eyes and grip the side of your face keeping you in place. 

“What the hell!?” 

“Shhh, relax,” Chris purrs into your ear, and his dominance returns in an instant.  Suddenly, something frigid and moist is pressed against your inner thigh. “The fuck?!” you shriek as your body tenses and shivers. “Please I-” and as soon as you start, the cold is gone only to be replaced by warm hands caressing the tender flesh of your thighs. “Fuck you,” you curse when fingernails dig into your skin. 

“She’s a mouthy one, coach,” Chris chuckles darkly in front of you. All of once the hands leave your eyes and thighs. Before you, Chris holds a bottle of water, and the bed creeks as Noah shifts behind you. 

“Drink up champ.” You begin to grasp at the bottle but he pulls away. “Uh uh, open up.” Your brows furrow in confusion until he opens his mouth and sticks out his long tongue. 

Oh!

Tilting your head back, you shut your eyes tight, and pop open your mouth wide. Cool water trickles down the back of your throat, soothing you instantly. Once you’ve had your fill, you push away his hands to signal you’re finished. 

“Good girl,” he beams, then takes a swig from his bottle. 

“How am I doing coach?”

“You’re a real MVP.” He winks at you before turning to set his and your water down. 

The calloused fingertips dancing across your still moist lower lip, send shivers down your spine. Chris' husky voice tingles your ears as he purrs, "What else can this filthy mouth do?"

Before you can respond, Noah's strong hand encircles your throat, firm yet gentle as he lifts you from your slouched position in Chris' lap. You rise to your knees, back arched, eyes locked with Chris’ penetrating gaze. Noah gathers your hair from your messy bun in his tattooed fingers, gripping tightly as his other hand grasps your jaw.

"Open up, baby girl," he growls. You comply eagerly, slackening your jaw.

"Wider," Chris demands, his voice thick with lust. You obey, mouth agape, pulse racing.

"Just like that," Noah praises in your ear. "Good girl."

Ecstatic groans fill the room as Noah guides you down to Chris’ throbbing cock, eager fingers tangling in your hair. Chris’s length pulses against your lips, velvet heat enveloping him as you take him deep. Your tongue caresses every ridge, relishing his taste, his scent, losing yourself in this act of pure pleasure. Noah’s breath is hot and urgent in your ear, his words kindling the fire within. 

“That’s it, good girl.” 

Chris’s fingers tighten in your hair as Noah releases his grip, hips bucking, chasing that sweet oblivion. You ache to give it to him, to drive him over the edge with your mouth alone. Every muffled cry fans the flames of your own desire. Noah’s hand trails down your back following the curve of your ass to drop between your legs. Sliding two fingers into you, your walls stretch around his thick fingers until he’s down to the knuckle, making you surge forward thrusting Chris deeper in your mouth, it’s all so much to take in. Noah moves his fingers skillfully as you continue to bob your head back and forth.  Nothing exists beyond this room, this bed, beyond Chris swelling heavy on your tongue and Noah’s lips tracing the shell of your ear. 

“Come for us,” Noah whispers, and you shudder with need, ready to obey.

Noah's hard thrust of his fingers sends you surging forward, lips wrapped tight around Chris's thick length. "Mmffuck," Chris groans, fisting your hair to keep you still, slowing his urgent pace. Noah's lips graze your back in a tender kiss before his palm cracks sharply against your ass.

"Open up," he commands gruffly. You obey, spreading your legs wide, aching for him. With one powerful stroke, he's buried to the hilt, hips slamming into your ass. You cry out around Chris, drowning in bliss, loving their dominance. Hands gripping, cocks filling, they own you completely.

Your body trembles as Chris fills your mouth, his swollen cock sliding over your tongue. You moan around him, taking him deeper with each bob of your head. Behind you, Noah's thrusts quicken, pushing you further onto Chris with every slick slide.

"That's it, champ," Chris hisses, fisting your hair. "Relax for me."

You try to obey, loosening your throat as Noah's pace pushes you down Chris's length. Tears prick your eyes but you breathe through your nose, focused only on pleasuring them both.

"So beautiful like this," Noah groans, his nails digging into your hips. You clench around him, so close to the edge.

Chris hits the back of your throat and you swallow instinctively. "Fuck. Gonna come down this tight little throat."

You moan eagerly at his words, your own climax rushing up to meet you. You want them to use you, to take their pleasure, and mark you as theirs. You suck Chris harder, ready to swallow every drop as Noah pounds you from behind, driving you right over the edge into dizzying ecstasy.

You feel your orgasm building as you moan and scream around Chris's cock, still hard inside your mouth. Noah is pounding into you from behind, his thick length filling you up. "Fuck," Noah groans. "You're gonna come for us, huh baby girl?" You nod desperately, unable to speak with Chris's grip on your hair.

Your body tenses, muscles clenching as you hover on the edge. You hear Noah cursing as he gets close. Opening your eyes, you look up at Chris. His eyes are closed in ecstasy. You tap his thigh, wanting him to watch you come undone. When his eyes meet yours, it pushes him over the edge. "Jesus Christ," he moans, spilling down your throat. You swallow every drop, milking him as he trembles.

"Shit," Noah growls as he finds his release, pumping you full of his seed. Chris pulls out of your mouth and you gasp for air, jaw aching. Noah slides free and you collapse back onto your heels, thoroughly used and satisfied.

“Come on, champ we gotta clean you up.” Together, the coaches pull you up from the bed, looping their arms around your shoulders, they work in tandem to walk you to the bathroom. 

Chris turns on the shower while Noah distracts you with his teeth and tongue. Your body is set ablaze once again, despite already being thoroughly used. Suddenly, you’re being torn away from Noah and another pair of lips claim yours. The sound of slapped skin echoes through the small room as Chris is pressed against you with force. He moans into your mouth and a small giggle erupts as you imagine what Noah saw when he smacked Chris’ ass. Fingers grip around your wrist and you feel your body being pulled toward the shower. You don't mind being passed around like a soccer ball passed from one coach to the other.

“Let’s clean you up, captain,” Coach Davis’ tone of authority returns but softens with a wink and a peck to your lips. He guides you into the shower, the warm water envelops you as you close your eyes and let it soothe you. You melt into the touch at your hips, moaning into a pair of lips on yours. You don’t care who it is, you know they will take care of you, even if it’s for only tonight. Your thoughts sour at the idea of them leaving, each of them supporting you and pushing you to be the best player out on the field. You know they can help you be the best version of yourself. You are pulled from your melancholy when two hands grip your hips and twirl you around. Stumbling, over your feet from the slick floor you crash into another solid chest; sandwiched between two coaches again.

“Easy there tiger,” Chris growls in your ear. 

You barely have time to process what is happening when another pair of lips capture yours. Pressed up against a firm chest, your head rolls back when you gasp for breath. The air around you is hot and thick from the steam and the large bodies closing you in. Melting into Noah behind you, you close your eyes just for a second focusing on filling your lungs with air. You shiver slightly when his arms brush against your sides, pressing Chris’ firm body and hard-on against your tummy. His dick twitches making you giggle, but suddenly your suck in a breath when you hear wet noises above you. When you peer through your lashes you find the two coaches kissing. It’s rushed and sloppy with bitten lips and dancing tongues.

“Fuck.” Your pussy flutters at the erotic sight, which is only heightened by the water dripping down Chris’ hair turning it dark violet. You raise your hand to brush his hair away from his eyes, but yelp when it's gripped by another and yanked backward at the same time Chris’ hands clasp at your face pulling you into a searing kiss. 

“I need to wash these, princess,” Noah coos in your ear as he brushes his fingertips up and down your arms. Your only response is a loud moan when Chris nips at your lower lips as Noah begins to wash your body. You let the men take turns kissing and cleaning you. By the time the water runs cold, the three of you are thoroughly clean and satisfied once again.

tysm for reading💜 dividers by cafekitsune

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[bluerosefox]

Another DPxDC idea.

I love the ideas of Chef Danny and the AU's but what if Danny opens a small dinner/restaurant and sometimes people stop by for a quick bite but the thing is there is little to no real menu. Danny just comes out when he hears his doors open, greets them warmly, takes them to their table and asks for drinks gets them, before heading into the kitchen.

At first everyone is confused until a few minutes later Danny shows back up with food, food that is amazing and freshly made and HOW DOES IT TASTE LIKE MY -Insert childhood fav meal or preferred fav meal here- ?!?!?!

Danny's small place is at first very unknown but eventually blows up as a urban myth and when people try to find it, its very hard to find. Some people swear its outside of 'this' town, others say they found the place in 'this' city, others find it on long car rides in the middle of nowhere.

It changes location.

The only common real clues is you find it on foggy nights and the neon sign shining 'OPEN' is seen through the fog.

[sleep-0-deprived]

What would it be like if nerdy reader liked erotic books and liked to replicate scenes with yandere Bully?

Yandere bully x nerdy male reader reading erotic books~ ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა

Just imagining your sitting on a chair in the empty school library reading your books during study hall with your face indulged into the book occasionally peeking back over your shoulders making sure no one is behind you when you’re reading, “what’cha readin?” The voice makes your back go all stiff turning around and lo and behold your favorite obsessed bully right behind you with his grin obviously knowing what you were reading.

Just imagining you getting pulled out of the library dropping whatever piece of erotica was in your hands while he whispers something like “if ya don’t want me to tell the school what you like to read then you’ll suck me off just like that girl was doin in that pervy little book of yours?” He’d mumble pushing you on your knees making you suck at his cock through the fabric of his jeans just watching you all hard on the bathroom floor rutting your bulge into his shoes.

Just imagining you working up the courage after school to beg the Yandere to let you fuck him, you keep blurtin out how you’d “make him feel good” basically pouting like a puppy when the two of you are alone until he just gives a nod not thinking you’d fuck him any good, this man laying getting his back blown out was such a humbling experience to have such a nerdy guy on top of him holding his legs to his chest while you ramble on bout “gonna stuff you up s’much”

Just imagining you reading your erotic book getting in the middle of a smut scene sitting in his bedroom all hard practically jumping his pillows squirming when you read the book, until he walks back in that is “damn, didn’t know you were such a slut…” he’d lean against the doorframe mocking you until it happens, him ending up on top of you with you bent over in his bed while he makes you read page after page of smut, if you stop reading he stops thrusting leaving you on edge with a gruelingly slow pace.

Just imagining you laying on your back in a janitors closet after school hours while he eats your ass out messily drooling sucking on your s/c bud gripping the gloves of your asscheeks occasionally muttering out, “was that how they did it in your slutty little books” while his tongue delved deeper and deeper into your hole licking at your inner walls until they puff up with sensitivity just making you bite your bottom lip to keep quiet not wanting to be caught.

Just imagining you making it to a part of your book learning about a new act during sex, and ofcourse who’s better to try it on than your obsessed/very degrading man. You get a “huh??” Face out of him when you ask about fucking the gap between his muscular thighs but you don’t get denied?….here you were behind him groaning and heaving with your cock leaking precum all down his thighs, one hand on his hip the other on his cock while you lay your chin on the back of his shoulder “just a little longer please~” you’d beg him trying to cum while he just degrades the hell out of you not admitting his enjoyment.

[causticflower]

can someone check on this man

[nouverx]

The royal couple is at it again! 😈💫

(I like to imagine that his tail is very sensitive eheh)

[pxgsy]

doodle dump raahhhh …

[vectorisheree]

Woah gaycare attendants

[pricetagged]

fool's gold (pyrite)

Got inspired by gougie's executioner asks and cloth's egging hehe 💖 have some pirate au simon breeding kink~

Content: 18+; breeding kink; dubious consent*; mean Simon; pirates; captured-by-the-crown reader; barest implication of potential soap/reader and future ghoap/reader; POV shift

*in a 'get out of jail' way, so take that how you will.

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

It fluttered in your stomach. A nebulous, squirming little thing.

Not the baby, no. The lie.

You felt it, restless and hot. Kicking your ribs from the inside. It made you flushed, it made you sick-

It bought you at least another few weeks to slip the noose, to slide away in borrowed shoes meant to dance a gallows' jig. Maybe it would buy you more, if the stress held back your monthly the way it often did on the ship. Great, long stretches of time with too much work and not enough food.

You wore the lie like you wore your borrowed clothes, a too-tight bodice and heavy skirts. Impractical, sweet. Modest. A poor little dear caught up and brought low. Fallen woman, sunken to the depths before the law fished her out. 

Your thighs stuck together, warm and bare under the skirts. It was sweltering, damp. Clammy in the cell with its stagnant air and earthy, unfinished floors. The wood of your bench –and bedcot–was warped with age, woodlouse burrowed deep into the pulpy grooves. It was enough to make you shudder, sweat dripping down your spine until it soaked into the cotton of your shift.

It did little to cool you.

Nine months aboard The Watcher had spoiled you, coarse rope and sharp, sea air warping you into something new. Something wilder. It was hardtack and hard work, yes. But it was freedom. To toil under a flag of your choosing, to trust the waves and the Captain to take you to new ports and newer treasures–

You'd left your papa's place with little more than ill-fitting breeches and a pocketed purse. You'd passed the scars on your hands and the patches on your shirt as evidence of experience – hardy little stowaway, aren't ye–. The morals didn't bother you the way stolen scraps didn't bother a dog. Street rat or ship rat; at least this way you could put miles between you and your father. Nautical miles, bobbing away with the wood of the ship's log. You watched it often, knots of rope and grains of sand. Hourglass and paper in hand while you stood on the stern.

It was you who first spotted the English Man O'War, sluicing through waves with colours hoisted high. Three gun-decks, at least, and coming into port.

"–plead the belly–it'll spare ye the choppin' block. Might even get lucky and be sent t' the reformatory– ah heard they do that f'r expectant mothers–" you couldn't quite hear him over the ringing of the cannons and the ringing in your ears.  "–plead the belly, and I'll try tae come back for y–"

They echoed now in your sweltering cell, suspended in the humidity. The boatswain's last words before he was violently wrestled away.

You remembered him as you counted the bars of your cage. Iron-wrought and cruel. As cruel as the chain tethering you to the wall, cold metal biting into your bare ankle.

'–I've got the keys, girlie, if you want freein' from it. Don' have to sit against that wall, all shy. C'mere an' I'll make you a deal–'

You stayed silent, stone-faced. Weathered the taunts and jeers of your gaolers like a battered old rock. The guards took it as arrogance, the other prisoners took it as invite.

The priest took it as shame.

You let them all believe it, lips pressed tight lest you let loose sobs–giggles–something– as days passed and your sentencing drew closer.

You'd heard about him before you saw him. The Ghost. The last face you'd see before facing the faceless. The pitch-black eyes that would watch as you jigged to the jeers of the crowd.

It was the last face you'd see and it was only a mask. More macabre than the usual executioner's hood– a skull motif, bleach-white bones and empty sockets. A nasty minikin mockery of the reaper. It was gristly; it was sick.

But so was he.

A butcher, some said. Fingers caked in blood no matter to which job he attended. A pirate, according to others. One pressed into service, earning his freedom by sending others to the pits. 

And now you heard him for real.

The low, resonant whistle. The heavy tread of his boots.

It had you curling your fingers into your palms, nautical superstitions and fishwives' tales nipping at you like fleas.

–quit yer whistlin', you'll anger the winds and summon a storm–

                                                 –it's good luck, don't worry. It'll make the winds blow strong and steady, you'll see–

–I wouldn't do that if I were you. Cap'n'll think it's code between mutineers–

                                                                                                                                    –taboo–

The whistling stopped, a cheery solitary note wavering in the air before silence. Even the gaoler's dog had scarpered off, keys jingling around its neck until you couldn't even hear the echo.

A gravel-rough voice cut through the swirling tempest of your mind.

"Was told 'got a pregnant little birdie caught in the cage."

That pulled you from your reverie, neck-stiff as you turned towards the voice. It was more of a twitch than a conscious motion, a sudden flaring of deadened synapses as his voice rasped over them. Still, you didn't speak. Didn't even look at him fully, the hulking thing in your peripheral.

It was silent, now. Eerily so, like all the air had been sucked from the prison. Sitting in the eye of the storm, too calm and too quiet. You could hear the drag of his boots as he shifted closer. The rolling clank of iron scraping against itself, your cage creaking open.

The shadow in your peripheral became mass, then man as he stepped closer.

You risked a glance up.

He'd still be large, sturdy, even without you curled up on your dank, spongy bedcot. Tall enough to duck as he sauntered into the cell. Broad enough to block out the flickering oil lamps by the warden's desk. In the lambent glow of dusk it was already dim, hazy with sea-spray and the oppressive heat of wet season. But with him in front of you it was pitch-dark. A pall cast by his sheer size, all light swallowed up until you could just about make out his blurry edges.

The ghostly white of the bones bleached onto his mask moved and his voice rumbled out.

"Well, g'nna show me?"

You stretched out weakened muscles, unfurling as slow as a wind-battered sail. Joints creaked alongside the iron of your shackle, tight from where you'd clenched hard. Dug your blunt little fingernails into the pulpy, malleable fibers of the aged ironwood below you.

Standing was like finding yourself unmoored, sliding off the buoyant driftwood keeping you afloat. Your legs got tangled up in your borrowed clothes, damp petticoats and overskirts clinging as your feet finally touched the straw-strewn earth of the cell floor. It was cumbersome, made more difficult by the sliding of the heavy chain against the bench. You felt the weight around your ankle, anchoring you down.

Though you could barely see it, you felt as he studied you from top-to-toe. Flat, dead eyes followed every curve and dip of your body as you stood before him, your traitorous chest rising and falling in a way that made you grit your teeth. You used that force to steel your jaw, to look straight ahead and keep your arms lax and loose by your side.

Let him look his fill. Let him– your judge, jury and executioner.

He hummed. Circled you like a shark in a balmy waters. It was funny– you'd never felt more exposed than now in all your layers. Not even under the punishing sun in your loose, men's clothes. No, his eyes stripped you bare. More than cotton and linens, he peeled the flesh from bone. Flayed you open, eyes slicing through your skittish guise. Through your rabbity gaze hopping around the walls, the way you tried to arch your back and poke out more of your soft belly.

"You a liar, then?" You could hear the low, mocking note in his voice. "Or got a case of wishful thinkin'?"

That had you looking up, meeting him dead in the eye. Your hands hovered above the slight swell of your stomach, fingers twitching in an abortive gesture–

–you wanted to cradle it, the fluttering in your empty belly. Push down the sick, swirling terror and face the ghost you'd summoned, because you had summoned it–

He grabbed by your wrist, meaty paw pulling you close enough to brush against his expansive chest.

–Hadn't you? Bad luck. Malefic omen, having you on the ship. No prophets, no redheads–

There, in the cradle of his arms, you were frozen. Your wrist felt fragile, bird-like under the firm grip of his thick-knuckled fingers. You weren't weak, you'd rigged topsails in tempest winds with those wrists. But that was then. That was weeks ago, when you were part of a crew on the open seas. Here, it was just you and the beast that had sent stronger than you to their graves. The warnings from persnickety old seadogs tolled death knolls in your mind–

–no women. And now the sea had swallowed you up. Sent you down to the belly of the beast. A Jonah, locked behind something stronger than whalebone. Trapped. Unless–

Wishful thinking.

He chucked at your chin, calloused fingertips arching your head further back until your neck strained. Your heartbeat rushed past your ears, sending your head spinning. Dizzy, docile. An artificial calm; buoyant lifeline in the raging currents. He turned you slightly, left then right. Like he was measuring you up, the line of your throat. The fluttering of your pulse. That treacherous throbbing, sending oxygen to your brain that you were too erethic to feel.

He spoke again, rough and coruscating. You noticed that he didn't blink, just stared down at you. Dead-eyed as a fish, blond lashes spiked around dark irises. He kept you arched, unable to escape as every syllable struck you like a storm. You balanced on bare tip-toes, butterfly-soft fingers spread across his hairy forearm.

"The Beak's happy to let ya swing if it means 'e can catch the rest of y'r crewmates. And, 'round here, the only good pirate is a dead pirate," he must have felt how your fingers tightened, a futile brace against his butal strength and harsh words. "So, I tell him y'r a liar, get paid to do my job, and keep the governor happy."

He shrugged, bulky shoulders popping as he rolled them back. He shrugged like it meant nothing to him, just a matter of fact. The fisherman, fingers deep in guts and gristle. The butcher, hands stained copper and hardened on cannon bone. The executioner, calloused from rope neckties and the deadweight of the condemned–

But you catch the way his eyes follow your flinch. The way his lips move under his mask too as your mouth opens and closes. Hesitant. Dry.

You could only look up at him with wide, naïve eyes, dilating in the dark. The jejune jailbird. Doe-eyed. Caught.

The jig was up.

"Please," the words stuck in your throat, cracking and broken. "Please don't–"

He lets you go. Not a gentle action, no. No careful caress; he lowers you abruptly, chuckles as you scramble to face him. Stunned, you rub at your throat. Still there, still unadorned with the necklace of rope you swear he wants to place there. Coarse twine and hessian brown, constricting tighter until– no. You can't think on it, anathema to the lie you've worked hard to maintain. If he doesn't believe the plea of the belly, you'll– you'll–

You'll make it so.

As he settles his massive frame on the thin, wooden slat against the wall you wonder. Why did he come here in cover of night. Why did he need to see for himself what the priest confirmed as a priori truth? The seal of confession melts away, your moribund admittance flakes and crumbles under his heavy hand. He knows.

Solid legs spread wide, he makes himself comfortable. You follow the bulge of his thighs, easily as thick as your skull–more–, as the bench groans and creaks worse than the brig in a storm.

You worry that it can't handle the weight.

Even sitting, he dwarfs you. Stepping up between his thighs is like willingly stepping off the stern into still waters. It's terrifying, thrilling– your belly swoops and head feels light. You know there must be something lurking in the depths, some undulating hydra ready to slide its malignant limbs around your ankle and wrench you down–

He clamps a filthy boot down over the length of chain across the floor. Keeps you tethered to him, unable to pull back even if you wanted to.

"Clever enough t'come up with the scheme, clever enough t'get out of it." It's an offering, albeit a twisted one. Alms tainted by the greedy slap of his palms against his thighs. Rough, scarred hands frame the growing bulge between his legs.

Even in the dark, you see it. Heavy, perverse, Fattening enough to strain against the seam of his trousers. You can't look away, can't escape the muggy heat in the air and the scorching burn of his eyes on you. Incendiary, it sends heat pooling to your own belly. The damp, stickiness between your thighs seems cool now, sweat superseded by the slick gathering in your core. It's filthy, it's wrong–

It's blazing hot, shame seared away by a want that is not entirely born of desperation.

At first you think it's a tit-for-tat, your mouth stuffed full in exchange for his staying closed. Kneeling before him, you're suddenly grateful for your skirts. Matchsticks of dried straw and dusty smithereens dig into your knees, legs bent awkwardly as he keeps his boot on your chain. He's content to let you paw at him, to tug at the drawstrings and fumble with his waistband as he offers no help.

Eventually, he must grow bored.

"Don' need me to tell ya that's not how it works."

"What–?" He has you frozen, tableau vivant of a wanton grisette. Pupils-blown and lips-parted, you tremble up at him. Try to read the desire that he hides beneath harsh words and heavy breaths.

"Tryin' t'make me a liar, too?" He grunts, brushing aside your confused, hurried protestations. "Gonna make me a liar when I go out'nd tell them there really is a pregnant little birdie caught in the cage?"

He pats at his lap, palming at himself and hissing through his teeth. Sound is muffled by that grotesque mask, but you catch it all the same. Every flash of the man beneath– of the desire wrought by your artless, ingenue fumblings– sends you reeling. You are not a creature of flesh and blood, not when both are fever-hot and itching. You can't breathe in your body under sweltering layers and sultry air. And he can sense it, too. The beast you let into your cage, bars bending as easily as your will to his.

And, through messily-tugged drawstrings, you see it. Tugged through the opening you'd hastily torn open. The thick, ruddy head of his cock is already leaking.

And as you slide into his lap, it all slides into place.

You think of– no, not now. You can't think of him now. When he comes back for you, if it takes, you could pass the baby off as his. He was sweet on you, you know it. A breezy, comfortable kind of affection. Small, just barely burgeoning but still there. He's a good man– You'll claim that you were telling the truth at your capture– that you and he already– He's a decent man– maybe you wouldn't even have to lie. He'd take you in, little stray and the seed that kept her off the scaffold–

Thoughts slip away, sea spray in the wind, as you work yourself open in his lap. You're drenched beneath your skirts, slick running down your thighs and into his. You're spread so wide across him that it burns, pinned open by his bulk. You can feel the power of his frame, coiled muscle holding you up from the worn wooden bench. The soft pudge of his belly presses into yours as you lean forward, shakily lining up with the swollen head of his cock.

It's already weeping, thick globs of his slick mingle with yours as he slides between your folds. Like he can't wait to be inside you, leaking his spend at the barest touch of your cunt. Like he can't wait to put it inside you, to make good on his word and yours and put a baby there.

You shiver, biting back a gasp as he nudges the aching pearl at the apex of your thighs. His chuckle rumbles through his hulking chest into yours. It jostles you, hitching you just right over his length until it notches against you. You press down, hole clenching against the initial pain, until you feel the throb of his slit inside. It's deep, sending your back arching as you grip his shoulders with white knuckles. And there's still more–

"Tha's it, tha's it, birdie," his voice is impossibly thicker, desire dragging it down until he growls at you. "Gonna have t'take more, gotta make it all fit if you want this baby–"

"Yes, yes, please," you babble at him. Voice high, whines catching on every breath you work yourself lower. You can feel him in your stomach, every inch sending sparks dancing along your spine until they're all you can see when you close your eyes. The sparks, and the spectral imprint of his ghostly mask.

He grunts below you, swallowing back groans behind a jaw that you know is clenched tight. Avaricious brute, he needs you closer. Hands that were meant to measure you for the drop dig into your hips, working you lower and lower. He forces you down to the root, bare thighs on hessian cloth, until you cry out. Shaking at the spread– the stretch– you pant in his ear. Hot little breaths, heady against the crook of his neck.

You can hear it, the obscene squelch of your greedy cunt. The creaking of the bench beneath you as you ride him with shaking legs, chasing pleasure that's already beginning to pool in your belly. You feel heavy with it, moaning behind your clenched fist. Through bleary eyes you catch his, cimmerian and heavy-lidded. His head is thrown back against the wall, guttural filth spilling as he waits for you to come undone.

"Want it, don't ya? Want my baby so fuckin' bad, just look at ya," he growls it, frothing with a hunger so biting it reads as rage. "I'll put one in ya, keep you stuffed full. Keep this chain around y'r ankle, too, keep you shackled to me–"

Eyes-watering as you lose yourself in it. In the sounds that that send blood rushing to your head, the deep ache in your core, the desperation– make him come, make him come, want to come, need to come–

---------

At first, he was happy to watch you. To sit back and watch you work yourself up, to perform for him until he sees you drop the mask. You wear the mantle of captive soubrette so well, sweat-damp petticoats clinging to curves that he wants to trace with his tongue. With his teeth. He saw the craft in your sweet, open face. You're a flighty thing, aren't you? Trying to slip the noose and slip past him. Luckily his grasp is strong.

He saw the scheme slip away as he got you speared open on his length. He can see it in your eyes, feels the way you suck him in–. You're dripping down into his breeches, sloppy and squeezing him so tight. Desperate, wanton little naiad. Riding hard like your life depends on it. He huffs out a laugh as he squeezes you tight, rough fingers digging into peach-soft flesh.

He doesn't tell you that you're already free, that the Royal Navy is already in hot pursuit of The Watcher and the pregnant, little skivvy is of as much importance to them as the ship's rats. No, you're a nuisance they're willing to hand off to him. Too big, too blunt, too bloody to find a respectable wife.

(There was a time, once, when he had no need of such comforts. Lieutenant aboard The Larimar's Revenge, he'd docked in many-a-port. But he'd always come back to those blue eyes. The haircut that had even the natives of Port Royal looking twice– Cheeky, cocksure pirate.

He'd thought about him, sometimes. On that godforsaken island with just a pistol and one shot for company. 'Mutineer', he was branded. Traitor to King and Crown. Lower than scum, not worth even a keelhaul. But not even grapeshot can kill a ghost–) 

He feels you reaching your end, thighs trembling from more than just exertion. His mask is damp, sultry air mixing with your musk into something that scatters his desultory thoughts. His belly tightens as he feels you clamping down, whining behind the knuckles you’ve got stuffed between your teeth.

When you're home, together in his bed, he'll bite down on those knuckles. Show you what real toothprints look like. Or maybe he'll let you slip his hand into your mouth instead. Let you whet your blunt little teeth on something with more gristle. His appetite for you cannot be satiated on mere flesh. He's got to pierce you, taste you, feel you from the inside and leave a part of himself there–

For now, he holds you down. Forces you to ride out the wave of pleasure-pain as he sets his own pace. Your thighs tremble, whole body seizing around him. He can feel the fluttering in your cunt, the way you shudder and drip until his cock is soaked and his coarse hair turns sticky with your release.

He ignores your whisper of another man's name– John, or Johnny, it's hard to catch with the way you swallow your whimper–it doesn’t matter. Not when he's the one pumping you full of his spend. His belly clenches hard, balls tight and heavy with the come he's going to give you. Going to force it in, plant his baby in you and still leave thick, white, globs leaking out of your poor, abused hole.

He's filled you up, is going to fill you up again. He'll take you back to his house and do it as many times as he wants. Make you grateful for it, for saving your life and giving you the baby you’ve been begging for. Keep you stuffed so full of him that the only name he'll hear from you is 'Simon'.

(And if you help lure Johnny back, well. It's been a long time, but good dogs come home when called.)

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

Well, there is it. Shoutout to my beloved stelle and woolie for listening to me whine about pirate ship names 💖💖💖

[marlborocrow]

“you’re just so tight, kiddo, you cry every time I put more than the head in, I don’t think it’ll fit” dad 🤝 “please please please dad please give me more, it’ll fit, i pinky promise i won’t cry this time, please make it fit” son who gasps and moans through their broken cries and keeps begging through their tears

[k-nkypills]

‘My daughter is fine!’

Your son has a raging praise, size, breeding & free use kink, loves getting called good boy or pup and gets emotional when shown human decency and care idk what to tell you bestie <3

[vii-doodles]

Vox Switch Week Top Day 3: Biting/marking

While drawing this I had to think of Lykromancer's beautifully fucked up fic serie "mistakes were made". Highly recommend it.

[sleep-0-deprived]

Bottom Yandere slasher x final boy male reader head cannons~! ૮ ོ≧ ⩊ ≦ ོ𑁬

blowjobs, knife play, degrading, large bottom, small top ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

You were out and about camping on a little trip with your friends when he first had seen you, staring and blinking over at you like a frog. Something inside his cold body came back to life like a zombie breathing air once again. He had to have you and he would have you no matter what he had to do or who he had to clear. Taking you in the middle of the night after dealing with your friends, he’d have you dragged back to his cabin and just stare at your sleeping form for hours.

He’d blink over at you blushing under his mask obsessing over your every muscle and your short frame, you woke up screaming shouting any sort of insult just trying to escape only to fail each time with him frowning and locking you back up in his bedroom. “I’m not your fucking pet you big idiot! You can’t keep me!” You’d shout at him angrily but he’d only tilt his head as though he didn’t understand what you were speaking to him but he did understand you were upset by the tone you were using.

The slasher would keep you for months, he’d feed you and cling to you leaving you never alone because he was by your side each and every hour of the day. His arms held you in a bone crushingly tight spooning position in bed leaving you conflicted on how you could fall for a man like him? Maybe you were in live or maybe it was all the stressful hormones combined with the built up Stockholm syndrome that had you all over him by the end of the second month.

The first time you had sex with him was during your most recent escape, you found his knife, you tried to attack him from behind but with his tall stature you failed only having him on top of you pinning you to the ground. not before you shoved the knife against him threatening him going feral in anger. The hard feeling beneath you is what brought your mind to a clearer thinking. He was hard, how could he possibly be hard in a situation like this? You just tried to kill him and make your escape “are you seriously fucking hard right now? You’re a horny gain arent’cha!” You’d mock him feeling a smile creeping on your face.

Not even thirty minutes later you’re completely stripped holding him up on top of you with your hand shakily holding the knife to his thigh only grunting when he lifts himself up and down on your cock “o-oh shit, wasn’t expecting this” the slasher is even more infatuated with you at this point, the size of your cock had him intimidated at first when he seen a proud seven and a half— eight inches when hard cock looking at him for the first time since this was his first sexual encounter, shockingly sex wasn’t common for a crazed serial killer.

After that moment on the kitchen floor of his cabin this man’s silent and cold demeanor shifts into more, you fucked him into being domestic, wanting to make you happy trying to get you to want to willingly stay with him even if it means he had to please you. His face in your balls with his knife thrown to the ground while he attempts to give you a blow job “c’mon you can take a little more right, you’re a big man so shove it a little down that throat” you couldn’t help but be cruel to him with your hand gripping the rubber backing of his mask and forcing his face down on your crotch reminding him that while he kidnapped you, he lacked all his control when you were in the mix.

When you finally come around to the slasher, you’re grueling with him in sex, your arms would wrap around his body jerking your hips harshly between his thighs fucking him like a manic and pulling his mask back making him groan feeling more exposed and vulnerable before you, “are all serial killers preening sluts?” You couldn’t help but just egg him, not when you felt his walls gripping you back every time you spoke them making you a mess burying your face into his chest heaving and moaning on top of him fucking him like you need it.

[bubbytheliverstealingskeleton]

The silliess

Finally finished this yesterday after leaving it to sit mostly finished for like. A month

[bloody-dogbone]

got to do somno for the first time last night and oh my god. the power of having him limp and sleeping underneath me. hearing his soft moans and wondering what his dreams might be doing at that moment.

knowing that if he woke up to his arms pinned above his head and my fingers deep inside his cunt, he’d be too tired and weak to even try to push me off. not that he would want to, hes too much of a whore to refuse that.

i’ll be jerking off to the mental image of his naked, lifeless body for a while

[last-flight-of-fancy]

Now that the full animation has been posted, i suppose i can put up my bit of it! Thanks again to fisherprince for hosting and to all the other artists who made it possible!