#messy writing

[deunmiu-dessie-sideblog]

was just thinking of price punishing his younger gf, by having her naked body pressed to the floor, and her ass perched in the air, just a few feet in front of his desk. he nudges her knees apart, so he can get a better view of her pussy. and he just goes about doing whatever the fuck he does, and he has her there for hours-- her knees aching and back sore from the sharp arch that he's put her in.

john looks up from a piece of paperwork, and he can see the way her pussy flutters; see the way her stomach heaves softly, the soft pushing movement making her pussy leak; juices pooling from her hole, down her swollen folds, and then to her inner thighs. she's creamy and slick; literally dripping onto the carpet, and john is suddenly salivating. and she's been a good girl, no complaints and minimal whines and pleas-- that he can't help but push back from his chair, knocking it over in his haste to get to her.

she's too out of it to really comprehend what's happening before she's mewling out, thighs quivering almost violently as his tongue is suddenly thick and hot against her pussy. john swallows down her slick like a man starved, each curl and pull of his tongue full of her cream, and he rumbles deep in his chest like some kind of beast. his large, meaty hands grip the fat of her hips almost bruisingly as he devours her quivering cunt, her taste has him feral. she babbles mindlessly, her eyes rolled back; clit fat and stiff in his mouth.

and it takes him an hour or so to finally pull away from her pussy; she's a pile of overstimulated flesh, her plush little mouth parted and saliva dribbling down her chin, she looks like she's going to pass out but the only thing john does is push his thick, long cock into her pussy and fuck her into the carpet, her knees sliding and burning. this was a punishment after all.

[sageivyreads]

cat nip detox

Ghoap x street kitty!hybrid fem!reader

introduction: hello! this is part 4 of Kitty! i’m honestly not sure if there will be any more parts as i don’t have any more ideas as of yet :/ sorry if future me leaves u on a cliffhanger forever. there is another puppy reader part in the works though! no timeframe on that yet so let’s just get into what’s here today ;) basically gross simon and icky johnny who plays into it.. so yeah. can u tell i like choke holds. abuse of commas 😓😓 partially proofread. 4.3k words. previous part and masterlist

contains/warnings: nonconsensual groping & touching, yucky descriptions of spit, dubcon oral sex (reader does want the sex to an extent but there’s something else she doesn’t consent to), 2 spanks, coercion & manipulation, kidnapping, drugging, barely there threesome, ‘Kitty’ used as nickname for reader, negative self talk.

A heaviness is lifted from your shoulders when Simon leaves. You may have interacted more with him, but not many were positive. He was unpredictable, rude, and trapped you inside his house, all while seeming to hate you.

You appreciate Johnny a bit more. He’s nice to you. He’s a bit of light streaming from a window into Simon’s cold apartment of a heart. You don’t know why he’s keeping you here.

Johnny seems to like you. Maybe it’s just a relationship thing, but Simon will deal with you until Johnny gets bored. And you know the deal, then you’ll be tossed to the streets again. It’s not new.

At least they seem to be somewhere around middle class. They have enough to spare. You’ll stay a few more days, stock up on some essentials, and you’ll be on your way. They can’t kick you out if you’ve already left.

So, you let him tug you to the bathroom, willingly go along with him using that horrid disinfectant on your arm, and bandage you back up with some clean gauze. You let Johnny pull you into his side once Simon’s left, turn on the television, and tuck your head against his shoulder.

You struggle to stay awake, the only fuel you have being fear and rage at this whole situation. At yourself. How could you have ended up here?

You know better.

You know you’ll get out of this. You chose to be reckless, and now you’ll choose to be smart about it.

He smells nice. Like pine tar. Warmth.

A bonfire, only you’re just a little bit too close.

Your nose easily falls into place into the indent behind his jaw. Your breaths wash over his collarbone. You can hear the dulled roars of a crowd, and every once in a while, his muscles tense as they cheer.

You only get more tired. You sit up a little more, side propped against Johnny's, hand coming up to cover your mouth as you yawn.

You see him smile in the corner of your eye, and he still is when you turn to him.

“Need t’be put down fer a nap?”

You shake your head, ignoring the urge to roll your eyes. His head turns back to the screen briefly, noting the beginning of half-time, before taking your hand in one of his hardened ones and beginning to stand.

“Well, how about we go wash up?”

Just the motion of standing makes you nauseous, stomach turning lin waves as you resist the urge to gag. You quickly brace your free hand on the couch to help prop yourself up, blinking rapidly to help with the dizziness.

“We?” you ask, confused.

His smile turns more impish, and he tugs you closer as he starts pulling you towards the bedroom.

“Yes, we. Not shy, are ya? Jus’ to conserve water, of course. Bills are expensive these days, y’know?”

No, you don’t know. You don’t remember the last time you’ve even seen a bill in your name. You don’t know the prices considering you don’t- can’t pay them, but you’ve sure heard a lot of people with a home complain about bills.

You wish you had that issue.

You also don’t know how he hasn’t realized you’re not quite the outgoing type. No, he knows.

No response is given.

Once he’s brought you to the bathroom attached to their shared bedroom, he reaches for you. You can’t help the instinctive step you take back, and you almost feel bad when you see the wounded look on his face.

“Ye okay, Kitty?” he questions, brows furrowing slightly. Like he hasn’t trapped you in his home. Like he hasn’t started treating you like his girlfriend. Like it wouldn’t make total sense for you to be unsettled.

“Yeah, I’m just, uh…”

He sighs through his nose, pulling back the curtains of the tub.

“Listen, how about you get in first, and I’ll keep my eyes closed the whole time. Deal?” he adds, pushing his hand out towards you.

Whatever it takes.

You take his hand and let him pull you closer as he turns the faucet on. He switches the water to be directed through the shower before he lets the two of you switch places, stepping back to be behind you. You don’t know if he’s turned around or closed his eyes, but you don’t think you want to.

Trying to be quick with the removal of your clothes isn’t easy when your hands are trembling. You shudder violently when you step under the warm water, squeezing your eyes shut as you stay facing the wall.

“I-I’m in,” you breathe shakily, hugging your arms.

“Alrigh’. Gonna step in behind ya. Don’t rip ma head off.”

You hear the rustle of clothes, ears twitching. Your tail wraps around your thigh as you listen to him step into the shower behind you, flinching slightly as you feel him place a hand on your back.

“There ya are,” he murmurs, tucking his chin over your shoulder and grasping your side with his hand. You’re familiar with this feeling now. He’s not quite pressed up against you, but you can feel the warmth of his chest. You ignore the way your head naturally tilts to one side to make space for him.

“What’s got you so skittish today?” he asks, as if this is new behavior from you. As if he isn’t the one who trapped you in his home.

“Just… not used to this, is all. Want to go back outside.”

“Soon,” is all he tells you, and you don’t know if you believe him anymore. You want to.

He holds you carefully, tilting your head back to keep your hair out of the water as he reaches around you to grab men’s body wash. Compared to the 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner next to it, it looks almost ornate.

His rough hands are surprisingly gentle with you. Even as they scrape against your skin, he’s slow and leisurely with the way he washes you. Around the slopes of your shoulders, down your sides, up your chest. You ignore the way his hands unnecessarily cup around your breasts. Over the curve of your stomach and dipping between your thighs.

You choke on saliva as he does, hand jerking to grip his wrist.

“Easy, Kitty,”

His hand stays strong.

He isn’t looking to give you pleasure. Instead, his fingers swerve around your clit and down your slit to ‘clean’ you. You wish you could enjoy it. Wish you could lean into his touch and-

No.

“Jus’ washin’ you.”

“I can wash myself,” your voice tremors, chest rising up and down a little harsher.

“Ah’ know you can.” he huffs, leaning his cheek against your jaw from behind. His hand leaves you, briefly, squeezing more soap into his hands before he begins on your legs.

You’re not brave enough to fight him. Not today. You don’t want bad blood, you just want peace. You can only have peace if you leave.

He washes the entirety of your body before moving onto himself. Avoiding your hair. It makes sense to you, considering they’d just done it the other day. While you were unconscious. While you have no recollection.

What else could they have done?

The thought makes you shiver.

You quickly shift your thoughts to something more digestible. He cleanses his hair as though he’s a dog, scrubbing aggressively and shaking his head to send excessive water flying all over the bathroom as he turns the faucet off. You both step out.

He wraps up in a towel and turns to clean himself, seemingly unconcerned with the fact you can fully see his ass. When the rustling of him putting on clothes gets loud enough to cover the sound of their sink cabinet creaking open, you manage to snag a few pads from ripping open a brand new box.

You’d seen them earlier when Johnny was giving you a new bandage for your arm. You tried not to ruminate on questioning why these grown men had period product, women’s clothes, women’s underwear-

Maybe they had an open relationship? No, you would’ve seen someone in the time you’d watched them. A roommate? Nope, same thing. Maybe they were swingers.

Yeah, that makes sense. You’ll go with that.

You crouch down to slip them into the pocket of the pants you wore previously to the shower, and you toss them in the laundry bin casually when he faces you once more. He doesn’t seem suspicious. Just annoyed with the fact that his hair keeps dripping, cursing under his breath. He wraps a towel around his waist and grips your wrist to tug you along with him.

Your wet feet slip along the floor as he drags you, much more focused on getting to the bedroom. He releases you once you’re inside, letting you wander to the bed on your own as he fishes through the dresser.

You sit with the towel wrapped around your armpits, holding the fabric tightly to your body. He stumbles around a little as he pulls some new clothes on. Blue boxers, a red wool-looking sweater, and some casual black pants. He’s not very balanced.

He rifles through the other drawers and brings you out a new outfit, but places them aside instead of clothing you like you expected. You watch as he huffs and puffs until he finds a pale green bottle of lotion, giving you another one of those smiles that make your breath tremble while he kneels in front of you.

“What’re you doing?” you sniffle, holding the towel closer to your body.

“Relax,” he coaxes, squeezing a pump of lotion into his hands. “Yr’skin is so dry, jus’ giving ya a little moisture.”

He rubs his hands together, reaching for your left ankle and starting a soft massage up your leg. You notice the tip of his tongue popping out, running along his lower lip. It makes you anxious.

Excited.

“You don’t need to. Really.” you breathe, but you don’t pull away.

“Let me do this for ya, Kitty.” he says, looking up at you with those blue eyes. They don’t scream danger. No, it’s something else. Something wild and fierce. Not scary or scared, just… off.

It unsettles you. Turns you on.

You nod absently, staring down at him as he reaches higher up your leg. His fingers work near flawlessly. Purposeful. So, when he gets to the top of your leg and his fingers slip along the cleft between your thigh and cunt, you know it’s intended.

He switches to your right, using his warm hands to encompass you all the same. When he’s made your upper leg, he rests one of his hands on your right inner thigh, the other palm slipping under you to slather your left cheek. His thumb is resting on the curve above your slit. Rubbing up and down, back and forth, not quite touching your more sensitive parts. It feels like a warning.

The rest of his movements are made with his left hand only. You feel him reach towards your towel, pulling it to slowly fall on the bed behind you. You exhale shakily. He keeps his right hand just above the little bundle of nerves, pumping some more lotion into his other. He begins to rub it onto your hip, up around your lower stomach and sternum.

His thumb lowers. Resting right over your pulsing clit. Presses.

“Johnny-“ You jolt, voice wavering.

“Shhh. Yer fine.”

You glance at his face, insides clenching, “I don’t- You-“ your voice breaks off on a choked whine, head falling back between your shoulders. It shouldn’t feel like this. You don’t like feeling out of control, but now you feel that your entire being, bare throat and all, has been plucked by them.

Your lips part to pant as he starts to rub half-circles atop your clit. You can’t tell whether it’s from stress or pleasure. Your lids fluttered closed.

Stop, no, more, now-

He abandons rubbing the lotion part your collarbones, both thumbs parting your lower lips. One thumb just above it, raising the skin of your clitoral hood to expose the little bead beneath. “Fuck, look how pretty she is…” he mumbles softly, his voice startling you all the same.

“Please-“ you choke out, head lifting forward and righting itself. You feel too vulnerable. Too exposed. He rubs his thumb in light circles around your bare clit, your fingers curling against the bedsheets.

His hands slip around your thighs, gripping the curve of your ass to pull you to stand, feet dragging against the floor. Your hands snap to press against his shoulders for support, your vision fixed on the way his pretty blue eyes look up at you. Fuck.

“I gotcha, baby.” he exhales, and you frown. He cranes his neck to press kisses along the part of your slit, gaze focused on you, then flitting to somewhere behind you, before opening his mouth to carefully suck your clit into his mouth. Your mouth drops open, cheeks feeling warm as the muscles in your neck knot together, head falling back just to shove you back into reality as your head hits a firm pillow of flesh.

You flinch in surprise, head snapping to the side to see the side of someone’s jaw, then raise your gaze higher to meet Simon’s. Your muscles are stiffened in preparation to flee, eyebrows pinched together in a guilty expression, corners of your lips tugged down into a frown.

He’s staring at you. You return it. What’s there to say? ‘Hey, you’re back. By the way, your boyfriend is eating me out. Sorry?’

Until Johnny’s lips part to make way for his tongue, your spine curving inward and eyes rolling to the back of your eyelids as your head meets Simon’s shoulder. Your hands drop from your chest to lace into his hair and tightly grip the strands.

“Fuck,” you sputter, eyelashes drifting shut. You feel a pleasant ache in your lower stomach, muscles twinging in a good sort of pain.

There’s movement behind you, a rustling of Simon’s pant pockets against the back of your bare leg. You feel his hands raise- and there’s pressure on your neck now, a clasping noise right next to your ear.

It’s hard to make your eyes force themselves open when Johnny's mouth feels so good, but the strange noise has you curious.

One of your hands comes up to your neck, feeling around to feel a leather strip banded around your neck. Johnny tightens his grip on the backs of your thighs and pulls you closer. Renews his efforts. Your pleasured noise is cut off by how startled you are, hand frantically pulling at the collar on your neck.

“What-“ you squeak, only a finger or two fitting between the collar and your skin before Simon is redirecting you. He grips your forearms, maneuvering you until he can clasp both your wrists in one of his bear-like hands, pinning them against your sternum. His other arm hooks around your collarbones and pulls you flush back against him. “What’re you doing- Stop-“

“Settle down,” he scolded, feeling your muscles tense as you squirmed. A grunt- halfway between pleasure and panic is then the next thing that slips from your lips as you struggle. Johnny is acting none the wiser, flattening his tongue against your opening and dragging up until your fingers twitch.

You moan, displeased, as Johnny draws his hand up to press his thumb to your clit. Firm pressure at first, almost a bit too much for your liking, until he starts rolling the nerves underneath his thumb.

It’s when you get to the point of baring your teeth that Simon decides you truly need an attitude adjustment. His forearm tightens around your collarbones until it is flush with your neck. Holding the fragile dip of your throat in the stiff tendons underneath the roughened flesh of his arm.

A justified rumble of disapproval bubbles up your throat only to be caught in its tracks by his grip tightening. Your breath gets weaker, vision a little hazier, muscles losing some of their fight, while your head gets lighter.

“There y’go…. That’s it.” His words are molten against the back of your neck. He steals your last breath, holding you for a few more seconds until he loosens his grip. You gasp, the air whooshing down into your lungs harshly. It leaves your head delightfully fuzzy from the rush, eyes watering until a tear streaks down your cheek.

You let your head fall back willingly this time. You go a little looser in his arms, hands going limp in his grip while you lean back against him. Johnny takes the newly relaxed muscles as his sign to slip his tongue inside of you, your thighs instinctively squeezing around his head.

You let out some sort of indignant squeak as your voice comes back, hips leaning away from his motions and causing you to bump into Simon behind you. It doesn’t give you much, besides a guess on Simon’s opinion of the situation considering the imprint of his cock against his thigh.

Johnny just digs his fingers into the meat of your thighs while he hums against you. Simon doesn’t seem as pleased. “Give it up, love. Fighting just makes him want you more.”

You moan, displeased as Johnny’s tongue makes its way back inside you. It somehow feels more visceral, more raw than your fingers do. It aches in a beautiful way. Johnny’s hand slips up your side, palming the swell of your breast when he reaches it.

His tongue slips out of you, drawing the muscle up to replace his fingers against your clit. Your toes curl in your socks as he sucks it into his mouth, thumb coming down to rub circles around your opening instead.

They work together like a perfect melody. Johnny’s finger pressing just barely inside, his lips making way for his tongue, Simon’s forearm tightening just at the right time. It feels like amber burning between your legs, the fire spreading up your abdomen and down your thighs.

You nearly screech your way through the climax of it, your throat grating painfully. Simon’s arm around your throat makes you feel ten times lighter. You should feel scared.

You don’t.

Your eyes flutter back open without the knowledge of ever closing them, flicking down to Johnny between your legs. He slowly pulls his mouth off of you, his smile surprisingly sweet for the filthy things he just did to you. It nearly enrages you.

“I hate you.” You pant, bare chest heaving. He just fucking smirks at you.

Simon releases your arms, and your shoulders release their tension. Your hands stay where they are, glued to your sternum, fingers curling and flexing to test the renewed sensation. His freed hand dips down between your legs, your brain too fried to defend yourself. Your nose scrunches in disgust as he collects your saliva on his fingers before subsequently smearing the liquid on your cheek with his index and middle fingers.

“Yeah, m’ sure y’do.”

Your hands come up to push at his forearm, sending yourself further back into his chest. “Ew, that’s- fucking gross!” you blurt, ignoring his snicker.

Johnny stands in front of you and grabs your face in his hand, smushing your cheeks between his thumb and other fingers. He takes his time licking the stripe of slick off your cheek, moaning like it’s the most delectable thing he’s ever tasted.

He pulls away with a laugh, deep in his chest, licking his lips and releasing your face.

“Fuckin’ delicious.”

You scowl at him, the space between your eyebrows crinkling with the amount of distaste in your expression, ears turning to the side. You wish you could like them. You wish you could relax for once.

Fuck them. Fuck their apartment. Fuck their money. Fuck their perfect faces and gentle hands. You want out.

You cringe internally at nearly every other interaction with them throughout the day. They’ve touched you. Felt what it’s like when you come. Tasted the tacky substance between your legs.

It grosses you out to have someone know you so intimately, without even knowing your name. ‘Kitty’ isn’t *so* insufferable anymore, but you still don’t love to hear it.

It’s later in the day, Simon doing whatever he does in the bathroom that makes him take so goddamn long, when you decide it’s time. Johnny is curled up in their bed, under the covers, waiting for you to return with water. You won’t.

You’d said you were thirsty when you saw a moment that your biggest threats were at their weakest. It’s not nice. You don’t enjoy it. It's necessary.

You open the cabinets a few times, pretending to look for the glasses. (You wouldn’t need to, you’ve already been here a dozen times.) You turn on the faucet, too, hoping it covers some of the noise while you're grabbing the things you’d stashed below the sink. A few pads, some protein bars, and a bottle of water. A pair of socks, ibuprofen, and some toothpaste. Things they won’t miss. Things they don’t need.

You’re currently kneeling in front of the cabinet under the sink, shoving as much as you can fit into the front pocket of the hoodie snatched just a few minutes ago. You curse quietly to yourself as the toothpaste clatters to the ground to your left, and you go to reach for it, startling when the tube is beside a pair of legs.

“‘the fuck are y’doing?”

A jolt of surprise runs through your body at the sound, lips parting and closing like a fish out of water when your startled gaze lands on him. You wince as you bang your head on the counter on your way up. You frown, ears tilting to the side at the sound of his voice.

Your shoulders are up by your ears, and your arms are held close to your chest while you stare at him. Your voice comes out unnaturally high-pitched and quick-paced. “I- You just- You don’t even *like* me. It doesn’t have to be a big deal, I’ve already thanked you for everything, you can just let me leave-“

He grabs you by the face, thick fingers digging into the flesh of your cheeks. You can only imagine the way you look, lips smushed together by his grip, despite your attempt to glower. “Y’think I’d let you stay in my fuckin’ apartment, eatin my fuckin’ food, if I didn’t like you?”

And when you don’t respond, you can’t with the way your lips are pressed together, he shakes your head like an unruly dog might. You can almost feel your brain rattle around in your skull. “Hm? Think I’d let you make out with my boyfriend?”

“Mmph!-“ you aren’t allowed to begin speaking with how quickly he smashes his lip against yours, your teeth catching on his upper lip, but he doesn’t mind. Your hands raise to his abdomen, ready to push away.

His other hand comes around to press a heavy hand on your ass, pushing you to stumble forward until your chest collides with his.

All the while, he’s pried your mouth open, ignoring when you try to shove him out, moaning unnecessarily loud as he sucks on your tongue. You can feel the copious amounts of spit swapping back and forth between mouths as he ravages you, a foamy glob sliding down your chin and onto his thumb, where it drips down his hand.

It’s only when you’re struggling to gasp for breaths that he decides to pull away. When you open your eyes again, your head immediately turns to the side with the way he’s staring at you, heavy breaths coming from his nose.

Your eyes are watery and glossed over, lips raw from his teeth, a bit of perspiration at the back of your neck. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“That help you?”

You nod, lips parted to pant, eyes reopening. You’re not sure it did.

“Good.” He huffs, tugging on the D-ring of your collar before freeing you and shifting aside to let you pass. “Go join Johnny. I’ll get your water.”

You’re frozen for a moment, mind buffering before it catches up just to hear the sound of Simon reengaging the lock on the window. You feel a clap on your ass just as you start to walk away, shoulders jumping while a yelp leaves your lips.

You hurry your pace, nearly stumbling in your urgency to get away from him as you hear a chuckle from behind you. You frown, tail agitatedly swishing between your legs as you walk through the hallway. Soap is sleepily smiling on the bed when you come across the open bedroom doorway, lifting one of his arms for you.

“There ya are. Where’s your water?”

“Um…”

“I’ve got it.” Simon interrupts from behind you, causing you to jolt once more. You look at him over your shoulder, and he just raises a brow, signaling for you to continue.

“I couldn’t find the cups. Simon helped.” You breathe, exhaling through your nose. His name tastes foreign in your mouth. Tingles on your tongue. You swallow through thick saliva, walking around the bed to sit on the opposite side of the bed.

Johnny does seem to mind the space, opening his mouth, just to be interrupted by Simon coming to sit next to you. He squishes you up against Johnny and forces you to settle between them. Johnny hooks an arm around your neck, pulling you down to be reclined with him.

Simon hands you your water wordlessly. You take it, hands clasped around the glass, eyes distracted by the small, white flurries swirling around at the bottom of the cup. You make eye contact as you pause. He holds strong with that same, dead look in his eyes, and watches as you take your first sip.

You know better.

You shove the thought down, as well as the small satisfaction at Simon looking pleased. You settle in closer to Johnny, fixing your blurry vision on the television.

You’ll try again tomorrow. Maybe.

notes: not my best work 😞 i might edit some in the next few days. just wanna get it out or ill never post it. this is also like my third time writing smut soooo… did i match your freak. be honest

taglist: @eyes-ofhell @insideboburnham @mellohimmku94 @uglygirltrying @ghostsoapwhore @callsignao3 @risk606 @theyoungeagle @honestlymassivetrash @lazystorycollector @kxnnxy @skullcrawler @sweetnightowl @angelic-thingys @pagesfalling

[soothedoll]

⸻ the pussy doctor 𝜉 cody rhodes (mdni)

gynecologist cody! who should’ve requested a female assistant in the exam room when your name pops up in his appointment log. knowing damn well that he couldn’t control himself around the younger patient that exposed the perversion in him.

the last appointment when your brown skin smelled faintly of strawberries. the heavy weight of your D cup breast in his hands and perky nipples that harden at his fingertips for examination. throughly kneading the flesh and enthralled with the soft whimpers from your pretty throat. healthy he concluded.

gynecologist cody! who isn’t surprised that you forgot to wear panties again under your denim skirt. your feet in the stirrups as you slid down the crinkled plastic cover. the smell of your arousal and pretty pink pussy exposed made him strain against his navy scrubs.

the black frames perched against his noise, leaning in to see the wetness that formed at your entrance. you craved attention, begged for it under the guise of wanting a checkup ,but it had to be much more.

gynecologist cody! with gloved fingers inside of your walls. promising a gentle examination and wanting to feel your muscles contract. “so fucking tight.” he mutters to himself precum forming at his tip and threatening to cum in his pants like some virgin.

his two fingers curl inside of you, brushing against your walls as the latex glove becomes soaked. soft moans spilling from your agape mouth as the overhead surgical led light clouds your vision.

you gasp when his tongue circles your clit promising to himself that it’s just a taste, a routine procedure that you’re intact. his mouth drags from your entrance to your clit sucking noisily on the bud as you shamelessly hump his face. sweet indeed.

gynecologist cody! who makes you cum twice, one with his fingers, second with his mouth and now with his dick bringing you to the third. gloved hands holding your thick thighs open as he pounds you relentlessly. his mushroom tip abusing your cervix “didn’t know pussy could be this wet.”

he was embarrassed at his unprofessionalism, face red, and panting as he dragged his girth back and forth the squelching walls. pussy milking like a vice grip and greedy at the feeling of skin slapping together.

his thumb strums your clit, your eyes now noticing a wedding band you couldn’t give a fuck about. the feeling euphoric as a pathetic moan circles the small space. you reach for him wrapping arms around his neck as he whispers lewdly in your ear.

“think it’s funny making me all flustered, making me obsessed over this little pussy.” his dick swelled inside of you, strokes fast at a dizzying pace that makes your stomach recoil squirting all over your doctor.

his groans are guttural cumming rope after rope into your pussy spilling out onto the exam table. “good fucking girl.” he slides out of you with a pop a satisfied grin etched onto his handsome face.

gynecologist cody! who cancels all of his appointments for the rest of the day, rendering you sore and fucked out to the point you’ll never think about seeing another doctor.

[tofuuily]

Osamu Miya, Mr.Strong and Handsome

If there were something Osamu loved more than you, it would be carrying you.

Over the shoulder, fire man carry, bridal style.

You name it, he’d do it.

He was entranced by the idea of carrying you everywhere.

He’d get your weight and then add some, no way was he going to be the man who couldn’t carry his partner.

( This is a bit messier than my normal small writes my apologies )

[starrykie]

imagine the hero going to a random pub without his mask, just trying to relax, finding the villain dancing and flirting around with other visitors..

the hero was shocked but remained silent, hmm.. for some reason, he couldn't look away from the villain! his eyes locked to the villain's body, the way it sways to the way he laughs..

the hero finally snapped out of it when the villain locked eyes with him and approached him..?? he unconsciously looked away until the shorter male wrapped his arms around the hero's neck!

"enjoying the show, handsome?" seems like the villain didn't know the hero's true identity! and uh oh, the villain chose the hero to be his tonight.. and who is the hero to reject a sexy and hot babe??!

mmm how many rounds have they gone through?? wet and dirty sheets, two sweaty males, and loads of skin clapping.. the overstimulated villain and the really horny hero..

seems like the hero came up with a plan.. for the sake of world peace.. so he fucked the villain so hard and rough that he can now only think about the hero's big cock! oh no, the villain is now hooked up with it :((

all this is definitely for the sake of world peace! hmm.. why is the hero smirking like that? seems like he has something else in mind..

p.s hero def chocked villain and villain loves it.. also leaving love bites all over the poor villain's body.. i hope it's readable and i fucking love male hero x male villain.

[thecinnamongirlll]

[darkenamour]

Yandere-ish!Clark Kent/Superman x Coworker!Reader

This was messily written. I wrote as it came to me.

Warnings: Forced Amnesia, Pregnancy, Unintentional Cheating, Kidnapping, Yandere Behavior, Forced Relationships.

Summary: You were reborn in the DC world and started working at the Daily Planet. You didn't plan to start a relationship with the Superman, it just happened. Though you probably will regret it.

You were just a below average person, nobody really, in your first life. When you suddenly passed, you didn't know what to expect. But, you certainly didn't expect to be reborn.

Growing up in a suburb with loving parents was absolutely pleasant. They encouraged you to do your best and try everything at least once. It sets your new life on a positive path with a lifelong career.

Everything seemed normal, it looked almost like you were given a second chance at life. Until you noticed familiar names. At first you brushed them off as coincident, until you read what happened in a small town named Smallville.

Your dream was to be an editorial writer, nothing too flashy but, it was a passion you never pursued. Though with how things were going, it might be. After all, you grew up in Metropolis.

Years later you started to work at the Daily Planet. Lois Lane was a headache and a half. She was an amazing journalist, she submitted stories before the deadline, her articles bring the most profit, but for some reason she would drop the newbies on you when she smelled a story.

It wasn't too bad, you got the newbies settled in and made new friends. Perry White, your boss, gives you all the credit when things run smoothly and lessens your workload when he sees it happen. When Clark Kent shows up, Perry warns Lois to not drop him on you. You counted yourself lucky when Clark followed Lois around, even when she tried leaving him. 

Jimmy Olsen, the last newbie officially assigned to you, would invite you and the others to coffee. It was a regular thing that a few of you joined in. At some point Clark was roped in. You still kept your distance as much as you could. But, his boy scout attitude caught up and he managed to wedge himself into your life.

One morning at work, Lois decided to dump her workload on you because she had to be the first to catch a scoop. Clark was nice enough to help, until he tilted his head and excused himself. Lois came back with a headliner and Clark scowled her for dumping her work on someone else. Perry gave her an earful.

Strangely Lois kept dumping her work on others, in favor of looking for a bigger story. She usually did come back with one, so Perry would only reprimand her on work ethics. Then Clark started to bring in more coherent stories that were on par with Lois’. Least to say she started to get jealous.

After a year with Clark working at the organization, you, and Jimmy, became closer to Clark. You could tell that Jimmy knew about Clark being Superman. Though you feigned ignorance for your own protection. But, life had other plans.

Someone, probably a villain, sent Clark a box of kryptonite at the building. You shoved the box into an old filing cabinet made of lead before it could affect him. No one knew about Superman's weakness yet. 

After work, Jimmy took the kryptonite and Clark asked to speak with you. You told him how you were reborn and knew things from your past life. You never told what exactly you knew, but assured him you wouldn't do anything to hurt someone with your information. Clark accepts what you told him, most likely from listening to your heartbeat.

From there you somehow get roped into small adventures with Clark and Jimmy. It didn't affect your work, but you wished life would go back to normal. The three of you got closer and you ended up meeting the Kent family. Martha and John were lovely people to be around. Even though they kept assuming you were either with Clark, or Jimmy, romantically. It seemed like they were proven right a year later.

You don't know how it happened, but you and Clark started to develop a deeper connection. Jimmy would whine about being the third wheel whenever he could. When things started to get serious, something unbelievable happened.

Someone with the ability to change the present, made it so that Superman, Clark, would forget you and start a relationship with Lois Lane. To balance the world and make everything right. What they failed to do was to wipe everyone else's memory of you.

Jimmy, the only person that knew about your relationship, was absolutely mad that Clark started to ignore you. Then became downright furious when he suddenly went after Lois. You had to calm him down and explain everything. He wasn't happy, but understood there was nothing he could do. When you found out you were pregnant, Jimmy did something without telling you.

Your pregnancy was hard, not only because of the pain and mood swings but from carrying a super fetus. Jimmy was with you every step of the way, Clark awkwardly assumed Jimmy was the father. It hurt knowing Clark was there, not having a single memory of you two together. Then Martha and John came to your baby shower. It turned out Jimmy told them what happened and they wanted to help.

Raising your son was difficult, but with the help of Jimmy, the Kents, and your parents the load was lessened. By the time your son turned five, Batman entered the picture.

You were shaken to your core. The Batman was standing in your kitchen after you settled your boy to bed. You told him everything, or at least everything that involved you, Superman, and your son. He left after telling you he would be in touch.

When it was closing in on your son's seventh birthday, Clark visited you. He looked haggard and devastated. When you both sat down, he told you how he regained his memory and how sorry he was that he wasn't there for you. You assured him it wasn't his fault and asked if he wanted to be a part of your son's life. He introduced himself as your coworker, not ready to tell the boy the truth.

His relationship with Lois ended. It caused a hostile environment at work. She would try to dump her work on you, but Clark would either finish it or hand it back. Perry would reel her in and ground her with desk work. After a while it seemed to calm down until the most devastating news came.

Lex Luthor kidnapped your son.

Lois let slip that Superman had a son and heavily implied that you were the mother. Your son didn't have any abilities except slight strength. He was just an ordinary boy. Superman was furious and went after Luthor without mercy. 

On screen, for the world to see, was Luthor standing over Superman with kryptonite in his hand. Your son was crying and begging for Superman to get up. Luthor was trying to “prove” kryptonians were dangerous by showing the destruction caused.

Luthor walked up to your son, who was shaking, with the kryptonite. Your breath was stuck in your chest. Then your son swung his fist at Luthor. He helplessly kept punching the man's legs. Luthor laughed and held the meteorite close to your son's face. Without hesitating, your son grabbed the thing and threw it as far away as he could. Luthor was shocked. So were you.

Superman regained some of his strength and punched the man unconscious. He clarified that your son wasn't Superman's son and that Luthor was a madman. You were happy for your son's safe return and that Luthor was thrown in prison.

Clark didn't let you, or your son, out of his sight. He brought you both to the Fortress of Solitude and checked your son's genetic makeup. He did not have the same genetic condition that causes kryptonians to react to kryptonite. It would still have a mild effect, but essentially he was immune. He also didn't seem likely to be able to fully obtain kryptonian abilities. His slight strength was a marker on what to expect in the future.

When you asked to be sent home, Superman refused. It was much safer for you both to be here. Where he wouldn't lose either of you and never be able to forget.

[aengell]

Suddenly you’re 25

At a friends wedding

You’d always say, that they‘d be the first of your friend group to marry

You’re eating lemon merengue and cherry cakepops with white chocolate

You’re wearing a long white summer dress

The bride wanted an all white wedding

It’s the beginning of May, and the April snow feels like a thing of the past already

It’s like the warm embrace of spring, and its abundant green and yellow fields had cast a spell on everyone

April amnesia

They’re playing that one song by The Cranberries

You remember being 21 and sitting on the train back to your shared Berlin flat

Not wearing any makeup, your hair a faded shade of pink

Planning what your next Sunday bake project is gonna be,

What you’re gonna do next week on your free days,

Wondering when they stopped putting shoe sizes on the sole of the shoes,

What your next tattoo is gonna be

And what flowers you‘ll have at your wedding

You’re dreaming of a brick house with lemon trees in the backyard

Of a husband who’s tall enough to reach and pick the fruits by hand

Of making lemonade with just enough honey and maybe some elderflower sirup

Dreaming of raising a child, returning to your hometown, letting go, an endless spring, listening to The Cranberries with your mother and feeling at ease with April snow and imperfect banana bread

[sybersepticeye]

sometimes Darks to sleepy or chronic pains kick their ass so they cant do their makeup. so they sit on the bathroom counter and Wilford does it for them , he tries trick them into wearing colourful eyeliner but it never works

[roadmapplus]

[cosmicwhoresimpingismyliving]

The farmer wasn’t someone to make such a fuss or a ruckus about their birthday. They didn’t do anything too fancy. They were content with a small, meaningful celebration. They used to celebrate with their family, they’d go over to their mum’s house to share in the celebration with their Mumma & siblings. It was always a nice time when they got to see their family. Throughout the past few years, they had been working hard to rekindle their relationship with their Mumma & siblings. It wasn’t easy to rebuild, but they are glad to have rekindled their relationship with their family.

They stood over their green ceramic pumpkin casserole dish, making their own twist on their Mumma's chicken noodle soup. They added loads of chilli flakes in, if they didn’t feel up to attempting to cut up fresh chilli's. The farmer's home smelled heavenly, a warm, inviting home smell. They had a cinnamon candle burning as they were adding the finishing touches to their homemade spicy chicken noodle soup. Truthfully, they had been feeling rather sickly lately. They were craving this for ages, but they only made it when they were sick. Before they would leave it to cook for the next few minutes to allow the noodles to soften, they scooped up a spoonful of the broth to taste when they heard a knock at their door. They quickly took a sip of the broth, not really thinking it through before quietly screaming, as they burnt their tongue & inside of their mouth as they didn’t think to blow on it before answering the door. They quickly put their spoon down, walking out of their open kitchen to their front door.

They slowly opened it to see Shane standing at the door. They were a little puzzled, they weren’t expecting visitor’s although it was rather pleasant to see Shane. The farmer & Shane were at the stage of a budding potential relationship, the stage of will they, they won’t they? The whole town was placing bets on the outcome, and as of right now, it was going at somewhat of a snail's pace. Both were guilty of overthinking the whole relationship. Both thought the other deserved better, they didn’t need to deal with their own problems & baggage. ❛I know we...❜ Shane started to speak, holding a bouquet of sunflowers. ❛I know we aren’t exactly official or anything...❜ Shane was getting distracted from the warm, welcoming smells of a home-cooked dinner wafting throughout the farmer's home. Shane took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of the farmer's comfort dish, the spicy chicken noodle soup.

❛Sorry, I’m losing track of what I was going to say, whatever you are making smells great by the way...I know it's your birthday too, so I wanted to give you these sunflowers...❜ Shane held out the bouquet of sunflowers to the farmer with a faint, shy smile lingering on his lips. The farmer took notice of his faint, timid smile, and it caused them to faintly smile too. They rarely saw Shane smile, but it was nice. ❛Oh, thanks, it's just some spicy chicken noodle soup. I make it all the time...My take on my mother's chicken noodle soup. I make it when I'm sick...I didn't think anyone would remember I've grown to love sunflowers...I was always a red rose type of person....❜ The farmer brushed off the compliment on their cooking. They weren't great at taking compliments, and they were also touched by the fact that Shane had remembered that tiny titbit of information.

❛You want to come in for some? I've made a big pot of it, happy to share, hopefully I don't pass my sickness onto you.❜ The farmer suggested stepping aside, inviting him in. ❛How could I refuse? I wouldn't worry too much, I'm always around Jas, taking care of her when she gets sick. If I get sick, I get sick. ❜ Shane gave them a genuine smile, not caring if he got sick or not from the farmer. He was just happy to spend time with them. The farmer, in return, gave him a warm smile back, and they were both happy to see each other smile. They both knew they struggled immensely with their depression. They were just being cautious due to them having an extremely weak immune system.

Shane walked in, placing the bouquet of sunflowers on the wooden table. The farmer grabbed a vase, quickly filling it up with cold water, and placing it on the table. Both the farmer & Shane slowly placed the sunflowers delicately into the vase, their hands lightly brushing against each others. Both making no comments on it, just merely glancing and shyly smiling. The farmer was glad Shane paid them a visit today. Especially since it was their birthday. They thought they were going to spend it slowly becoming sick & alone.

The farmer put on their oven gloves after turning off their stove & lifting the green ceramic pumpkin casserole dish, placing it down on the table on top of a wooden serving board. The farmer handed Shane a bowl & spoon, before placing their own bowl & spoon at the table. The farmer sat down at the table, handing Shane a Nessie ladle. ❛You have the first ladle of soup.❜ Shane looked puzzled at first at the sight of the ladle, but slowly smiled again. The farmer had their quirks, he loved seeing their quirks & personality slowly coming to theforefront.

[deunmiu-dessie-sideblog]

john price is a loving man. john price is also a man who loves holding you in his arms, fight me if i'm wrong. since he's usually away from home for weeks, even months at a time, whenever he comes home; he drops to his knees and buries his face in ur tummy to hug u, all while ur hands run through the soft tufts of his hair.

john price, even after fucking u like an animal in heat, thick cock bruising ur cervix, and having his skilled tongue pull orgasm after orgasm from u, is a touchy man. he pulls u into his chest and asks softly about the things that have happened since he's been gone, thick fingers brushing through ur hair. he's particularly fond of ur newfound dislike for the next-door neighbor.

[connected to this post!]

[olis-inkwell-symposium]

Unapologetically Messy: The Process Behind a Creative Mind

Some words of encourage I had to write out during my lunch break at work today; for my fellow writers 🫶🏾

Let’s not pretend that writing is some serene, candle-lit experience where the words just flow effortlessly. It’s not. Writing is messy.

Frustrating at the very best times. To continue with more: chaotic, it’s unpredictable, and if we’re being honest, mine is mostly fueled by insomnia and last-minute panic.

Forget the cheesy Instagram-worthy images of perfect notebooks and tranquil mornings with a laptop by the window—that’s the fantasy.

The reality is far more complex and unapologetically messy.

Creativity Doesn’t Follow Rules

We like to think there’s a formula for creativity. Sit down at a certain time, write for a certain number of hours, and voilà, you’ve got yourself a novel. But creativity doesn’t follow rules, and it definitely doesn’t give a damn about your carefully planned schedule.

One of the most freeing realizations for any creative is understanding that the process isn’t supposed to be linear. It’s not a straight path from point A to point B. It’s more like a series of tangled threads, with detours, dead ends, and plenty of wrong turns. And that’s okay. In fact, that’s where the real magic happens.

The best ideas often come when you least expect them—during a 3 a.m. insomnia-fueled brainstorming session, or while you’re out doing something completely unrelated to writing.

You can’t force creativity into a neat little box. It’s messy by nature, and the more you lean into that, the more you’ll realize that the chaos is part of what makes it all work.

The Ugly Side of Writing

Let’s talk about the ugly parts of writing that no one likes to admit. The moments when you reread your draft and wonder who the hell wrote it because it sure doesn’t sound like the brilliant idea you had in your head.

Or the days when you spend hours editing a single paragraph, only to decide it’s still not good enough. Writing is hard—and sometimes it feels downright impossible…

But those ugly moments? They’re part of the process. No writer escapes them.

We all have drafts that make us cringe, scenes that feel flat, or characters who refuse to behave the way we envisioned them. The key is to keep going, even when it feels like everything is falling apart.

You don’t get to the good stuff without wading through the muck first. The messy, imperfect draft is the foundation on which you’ll build something better.

So, embrace it. Embrace the chaos, the frustration, and the uncertainty, because that’s what writing is really about—working through the mess to find the magic on the other side.

The Pressure of Perfectionism

Perfectionism is my unique creativity killer. It’s that voice in your head that says, “This isn’t good enough,” or “You’ll never get this right.” My personal favorite that I repeat to myself all the time, “Who’s gonna even care enough to read all of this?”

It’s the reason so many writers stare at the blank page for hours, paralyzed by the fear of writing something that isn’t perfect. One of the things that sabotages me to this day, I’d rather write these words of encouragement vs. tackling my wips… But here’s the truth: your first draft doesn’t have to be perfect. It will never be perfect! I had to learn to just let my ideas pour out of me in whatever fashion necessary.

Taking a break and coming back to read it over again it’s easier for me to refine and organize my ideas into one cohesive plot.

The whole point of a first draft is to get the ideas down, to lay the groundwork. It’s going to be messy. It’s going to have plot holes, awkward sentences, and scenes that don’t quite work. That’s normal. That’s what a first draft is supposed to be.

The real work happens in the revision process, when you can take that messy draft and start shaping it into something better. But you can’t revise a blank page. You have to be willing to let yourself write badly, to make mistakes, and to trust that the process will lead you to where you need to go.

Finding Your Flow in the Chaos

For a lot of writers, for me personally anyway, there’s this constant push and pull between wanting structure and needing freedom.

We want the discipline to sit down and write every day, but we also crave the space to let our ideas flow naturally. Finding a balance between the two is tricky, and honestly, it’s different for everyone.

Some days, structure is what saves you. You sit down at the same time, with the same routine, and it works.

Other days, you need to follow the chaos, write when the mood strikes, and let the process be as unpredictable as it wants to be. Neither way is wrong—it’s about finding what works for you in the moment.

The key is to let go of the pressure to have it all figured out. Your process doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s. It doesn’t even have to look the same every day. What matters is that you keep showing up, keep writing, and keep trusting that the mess is part of the journey.

Embrace the Mess

So, here’s the takeaway: the creative process is messy. It’s full of ups and downs, false starts, and moments of self-doubt. But it’s also full of discovery, unexpected breakthroughs, and moments of pure magic.

The mess isn’t something to be ashamed of—it’s something to embrace.

You don’t have to have it all figured out. You don’t have to follow a strict routine, or write neatly within the lines.

Let the process be what it is—unpredictable, chaotic, and unapologetically messy. Because that’s where the real creativity lives.

oli’s symposium taglist 🫵🏾 you know you wanna join. let me know!

@slenders1ckn3ss @lucistarsfire @mai2themai @fond-illusion @p00lverinecentral

[soothedoll]

⸻ triple h 𝜉 fucking the authority (mdni)

thinking about ceo! hunter catching you masterbating in his office. he’s so crude wanting you to show him how you play with yourself.

“will you ever behave?” he knew the answer was no ,and you wasted no time sliding your panties to the side. wetness coating the fabric as he sat in front of you eyes low, and balancing on the balls of his feet.

you could feel his breath against your pussy a low wine escaping once the pad of your fingers came into contact with your clit finding a rhythm.

“pretty doll.” he grips the phone tightly wanting the camera to capture how good you made yourself feel. the bitter chill in his office perking your pretty nipples and kissing your leaking core.

with shaky hands you slide a finger into your pussy not long before you add another the fullness sending your head back and clenching your chubby thighs together.

“atta girl, you’re so wet for me. go on let everyone hear you.” you moaned at his words both digits working faster inside of your gummy walls as your cream pooled on the oak table.

“hunter.” his name fell from your pouty lips desperately wanting to feel him in any capacity. the lewd sounds of your cunt and calling his name perks his interest coming to wrap his free hand around your throat.

with a blurry vision the camera captures the glob of spit that lands on your clit glistening your folds as you fucked yourself into your hand. cheeks flushed and falsies damped with tears as the man above you smirked.

“gonna cum for daddy?” hunter knew you were close that ditzy expression and bubbly feeling in the pit of your stomach on the verge. all you could do was whimper hunter placing his forehead against yours as he strums your clit.

white toes resting on his shoulders watching three digits slick with arousal slam in and out of your needy cunt opening your mouth to catch his spit and swallow gingerly.

“i’m cu-m-ming” you could barely finish your sentence wetness slipping out of you and splashing his expensive cufflinks as expletives spat from the man. fingers working towards overstimulating his pretty girl and kissing your plump lips drowning out your cries.

with a gasp you came again body trembling and head resting into his chest as hunter kissed your temple a sweet gesture before the real fun began.

[eggzeroni]

idk I was listening to headlock and for some reason "Posted at your station" line (not even sure if that's the lyrics) makes me think of those little spy movie things where they use the earpieces to talk to each other and it like split screens to all of them talking

I like that line, so... (p.s, thanks so much @twoandahalfdimes for the motivation on the ill short thingy, I'll definitely make it, but I got distracted with this :')) I KIND OF WENT OFF THE WALLS WITH THE WHOLE FOURTH WALL THING BECAUSE TRYING NEW THINGS IS FUN IT'S A BIG FAT MESS BUT I LIKE BEING MESSY <3 "Posted at your station?" William questioned, his soft, almost modulated voice filling Rayna's ears.

"Yeah, yeah." She muttered back, kicking the rocks beneath her feet as she leaned on a pillar, her gaze wondering towards the museum behind her, like a pigeon to a piece of bread- "Did you just compare me to a pigeon?" Rayna sputtered in offence. "What an arsehole you are." She spat back.

Okay, fine, apologies. Let's go with something more boring, would that appeal to your taste?" Rayna didn't reply. - Like a moth to a flame "I'm not a moth either." She huffed, if she could look at me, my back would likely be scarred from how sharp it was- "Seriously? You're being silly now. Just carry on.... And you know you can do better than that." She mumbled, hearing snickering in her earpiece.

Fine. Rayna's eyes flicked towards the entrance of the museum, it seemed like it had some sort of hold on her, as she really couldn't resist the urge to go inside and take a peek, even if she wasn't meant to.

"Rayna, you are... still at your station, correct?" William murmured into her ear. "I am." She whispered back, even though it wasn't necessary for her to do so.

There was no reply, however she could almost imagine William nodding in response. Slowly, she stepped forward, looking around to make sure there was no one around to spot her little act of disobedience, as if a child about to steal a toy- "Oh for god's sake, can you make any good comparisons?" Rayna complained.

"You're doing what now?" Rowen's voice came through, clearly he'd heard the narrator- Oh dear.

"Now look what you've done..." Rayna put her head in her hands, utter disappointment written across her features.

I'm sorry, however, I can do this.

Just like that, Rayna was disconnected from the line, leaving William and Rowen utterly baffled as to how this was even possible, as they had specifically set this up so that she would be unable to hang up, knowing that was something she was likely to do.

Rayna grinned. "Thank goodness you're actually useful..." She whispered under her breath, now strutting towards the museum as if she were on some sort of runway. Fair enough, actually, you're quite pretty. "Oh- thanks?" Rayna raised a brow. "Didn't know you had a kind bone in your body-" Sike :)

As Rayna walked, she was... unfortunate enough to bang into the door head first. Turns out the museum was closed, and the door was locked. She fell onto the ground in a rather ungraceful manner, and rubber her head. "You're the worst creator I've ever bloody had." No, I'm the only creator you've had, and I love you too!! :D

[bloodintoink-blog]

(...) you want me to want you like you want me and I want you to want me like I want you but somehow, it's not the same (...)

—𝓓