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littledes1re · 2 months ago

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Millers Wood Carving

Pairing: Oldman!joel x Fem!reader

Summary: you want to surprise your dad with something new on his birthday and you decide it‘s going to be something carved out of wood. Luckily the owner of ‚Millers Wood Carving‘ shop is there to help.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, inexperienced!reader, very nervous!reader, socially awkward also, just the tip🫣, pinv, unprotected sex, age gap! (Reader is in her 20s, joel in his 60s) finger sucking, size kink, dom/sub undertones, Pet names (including little one!) slight mean!joel, he mocks reader once, praise kink, slight degradation, no outbreak

A/N: So OBVIOUSLY i have no idea about wood carving yall and everything I wrote here is info I gathered off websites so just don’t focus on that😭😭 I randomly got this idea and it stuck for days, I needed to write this.

It was a rather uninteresting present, to buy something carved out of wood for your father’s birthday. It all had been done, countless times. Flannels, shirts, a tie with a suit…a tie without a suit, perfumes, a new grill, new glasses and many many things more. It was all just repeating at this point. But for his 56th birthday in three months you wanted something new. Something that wasn’t the usual way of surprising him.

Carved wood.

You rolled your eyes as you stood in front of the ‚miller‘s wood carving‘ shop. Admittedly, you didn’t really like this idea. You didn‘t even know if your father would enjoy such a gift. It was a structure carved out of wood, something you can decorate with and that was it, nothing useful in any way. Wouldn’t it just sit on his shelf, gathering dust?

A sigh left your lips, as you looked into the display window, many animals, some objects like cars and planes carved out of wood. And through the window you saw shelves with intricate carvings—sturdy bowls, towering figurines lined. You had also absolutely no idea what kind of wood carving he would want. Little figurines, animals or any objects wasn’t in his interest, you knew that. Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe a suit would be a better—

“Can I help you, miss?“ your head turned around and you locked eyes with an old man. Old man—he stood tall, had board shoulders and his presence is very commanding. The curly silver hair was slicked back, the glasses he had sitting on top of his nose were slightly dirty. His mustache and beard, patchy with whites. Even if you knew that this man was older, he was still utterly captivating.

So much that you held still, getting nervous under the gaze of the stranger standing there.

„Y’looking for wood carving?“ his eyebrows going up, revealing his beautiful brown orbs.

„Yea. Yea, I think so. A present for my dad.“

“Ah, present for your dad you say. Well, you are just on the right spot, come with me.” He took the key out of his pocket and went to open the door. So he was the owner.

Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea after all, if a man like him was going to help you.

You walked through the shop with your mouth open. It was beautiful. Joel's shop was small but very cosy. Inside, there were even more of his carvings and lots of wooden blocks in every corner. It even smelled of it; as you walked through, it reminded you of a forest. He had occasionally very few customers, but that didn't bother him. He was pursuing a hobby and could do what he loved. More did he love the look on your face as you admired his shop, seemingly taken back and completely mesmerised of the tons of shelves he had with wood carvings.

Admittedly he was also a bit taken back when a young woman like you stood in front of his shop. It was usually the older people who bought his work and who he had more experience in. As he showed you his little work corner with a table, sat down and asked you also to sit down, he didn’t know how to quite act.

“I’m joel, by the way. S’nice meeting you. Would you like a tea?” His voice was sweet, warm, like honey over gravel. You politely denied him and told him your name, getting a little smile from him.

Despite the pleasant atmosphere in his shop, you felt a little tense. You hadn't expected him to be so intriguing; it all caught you off guard. The way he just sat there and tried to organise his things, eyebrows furrowed, legs spread. He wasn’t doing anything but he looked good. Too good for an old man. And you knew he was old, if the wrinkles in his face didn’t tell you, it was his style, if that didn’t tell you then it was the white hair. Yet you couldn’t help but stare, something about him was so gripping.

You didn‘t know what was going on with you.

While it was going to be the most innocent thing you had to do, buy a birthday present for your father, unknowingly and slowly your mind slipped past that and turned it into something naughty. While this seemingly very nice old man just wanted to help you out, you couldn‘t help yourself and started to daydream scenarios about him. And suddenly your body started to react to that too, warmth spreading all over your crotch and your thighs squeezing almost automatically.

“Y’know what you want?” You straightened slightly, focusing in on making your expression into that of someone who wasn’t just checking him out. But he caught you, with the small flicker of his eye, the subtle tension, the way you focused on him.

“Uhm, not really. I—I didn’t really think about that. I just know he doesn’t like animals, objects and uh, other small things.”

Oh great, one thing he loved about customers is that they didn‘t know what they wanted but still came to his shop. Usually he would sigh, shake his head and tell them to come when they know what they want. With that pretty face of yours tho, he couldn‘t bring it over his heart.

„What about a family tree thing? With your families names written on it. S‘just a block of wood, like this one—“ he pointed at the block besides you. „Just carved as a small tree with your names on the middle.“

You liked this idea. It was something your father might like, and even your mother. Something that could be placed over the fireplace, and would be considered decoration. It would gather dust, yes, but it would have a meaning. Joel watched you process this idea; he couldn't help but chuckle low. The way you bit those plump lips with your teeth, going left and right with your pretty eyes.

„S‘a good Idea, huh?“ his left eyebrow arched.

„Yea, yea. It‘s a very good idea.“ you nodded your head eagerly. He was intimidating, the way he looked at you. A smirk on his lips making you blush a little bit on the cheeks.

„Good. Then let‘s to a little consultation and then you can pick it up in like two weeks.“

„Consultation?“

Oh you were so clueless. And it wasn‘t annoying him once again. If you were any other person you would have been out the door immediately. He doesn‘t have the time and nerve to explain to them every single thing. But with you it was different. He could talk for hours, if that means that he has a pretty girl like you sitting there and listen to him.

One part of him felt bad, being attracted to you. You looked like in your early 20s, wasn‘t that okey for him to think about you that way. If he didn’t saw the way you looked at him, he would leave you alone, treat you like a every other customer. But the way you were sitting there concentrating on what to say while he could most certainly see the way your mind slipped away and thought about other things. The little glimpses on his arms and crotch, the lip biting. Desperate and sweet.

That‘s how he liked them.

„Yea, the one where you tell me what kind of wood I have to use, what the names of your family members are.“

Those pretty eyes turned confused once more, his amusement growing every second as you nervously tapped with your leg and cheeks flushing to a deeper red tone. He tried not the break eye contact, he wanted to see you.

You were embarrassed. Embarrassed because you absolutely didn‘t know anything about all of this and you felt like he was making fun of you in his mind or teasing you. The way his smirk not once let up, his intimidating gaze never leaving you.

„Didn‘t do your homework, huh?“ he chuckled.

„No, no. I‘m sorry. Have absolutely no idea what your talking about.“

„S‘okey. Here, this is basswood.“ he took a piece of wood and showed it to you. „S‘a little bit lighter than the other ones. I also have cherry. It‘s darker and can get very pretty brown in the end like this.“

He saw the way your eyes widened as he showed you something carved out of cherry wood. It was absolutely pretty, glossy and looking smooth. The color was beautiful just the way he said it.

„So I suppose, cherry will it be, huh?“ he asked just more amused, finding your reaction cute.

„Yes, cherry. Please.“ and so polite you were, he couldn‘t possibly let you go like this could he?

Normally this was it, after you tell him the names and the wood you want he‘ll had to let you go and make an appointment for next week, where you look at the process and tell him if he needs to do any changes.

But he couldn‘t let you out of his store, not yet. He was selfish, wanting to keep you for himself. It was weird developing a quite possessiveness over you, to a stranger he just met 20 minutes ago. He was out of his mind.

„Okey, then i‘ll make a quick sketch and you‘ll wait here to tell me if it looks like your imagination.“ A lie.

Joel was already more than experienced that he didn‘t even need to sketch anymore. You just nodded your head, no clue about everything and thinking that it just how he works. It wasn‘t a problem for you to stay longer in his shop either. You liked watching him. His lips puckering, whenever he blowed the dust away that was sitting on his table, His big rough hands that looked like he worked them out, no signs of softness. And his pretty curls always moving whenever he moved too.

Your eyes kept moving to his crotch, unbeknownst to yourself even. It wasn‘t something you were used to, you didn‘t know yourself to be this dirty.

The way he patiently explained everything to you made you less embarrassed but intrigued. While you could not get many words out and were nervous under his gaze, you wanted know things about him, so he could talk to you with that raspy and warm voice he had.

„How long have you been doing this?“ Bingo. That‘s what he wanted.

Joels left eyebrow arched as he stopped with whatever he was doing and looked over to you. Legs crossed, hands on your lap, cheeks flushed.

„S‘been like 5 years. Have always done this as a hobby, now I can do it as a business.“

„Wow, that‘s really great. These things are really beautiful, I wish I could also do something like this.“ you wished more that he didn‘t notice the way you had absolutely no idea what the say and how to speak. Asking him was a bold move, you could‘ve just waited until he said something. Oh, but joel noticed. That little stutter and uncertainty in your voice. He was holding himself back from not to chuckle, not to coo at your words. So fucking sweet were you.

„Why, bet you can do also all sorts of stuff.“ he answered, turning his head to the sketch again, awaiting your response, hearing a sigh coming from your lips.

„No, not things like that unfortunately. I don‘t really have anything that I can dedicate myself to.“ it was a tad bit embarrassing to say, basically admitting that you can‘t do anything creatively, or sports wise, or anything else wise when you‘re honest.

„Nonsense. Took me 50 years to realise I can do this. You‘ll find something, I promise, sweetheart.“ he said softly. The pet name he gave you turned your insides to mush, you didn’t except that in any way, it made you almost dizzy, your heartbeat just continued being fast, the tension in the room almost suffocating you.

„50? How old are you?“ bold. So fucking bold.

Joel didn‘t mind that it was bold, in fact, he thought it was cute how slowly and surely you grew to be comfortable in asking him questions. That‘s what he wanted, an conversation with you.

„62. Pretty old to be in business still, huh?“ he joked.

Your eyes widened, you would‘ve never excepted him to be this old. And you didn‘t mean to show it to him, your surprised face and then the slow realisation that you are thirsting over someone who is older than your dad hit you.

With the quick look of his eye, he chuckled, seeing you with wide open eyes.

„No—no. S‘not that old.“

„Not that old, huh? S‘the first time i‘m hearing that.“ Your cheeks flamed up again, a sudden urge to just stand up and walk away came over you. You looked down on the ground, not even wanting to see that smug smirk on his face that you were sure he put on.

You excepted him to say something do something but— a loud sound.

His phone was ringing and he abruptly put down his pen and answered the phone. With the silence of the shop you heard a female voice just faintly talking to him. Was that his wife?

His call ended with him saying ‚love you‘.

„Your wife?“ What the hell are you thinking?

„Daughter. Not having a woman by my side.“ he nodded. Like he was giving you permission. Permission to let those dirty thoughts about him continue, like he was telling you that you can check him out.

And he knew what kind of rollercoaster you were going trough. He knew how he was embarrassing you, but for him it was the cutest fucking thing to see. The prettiest pink on these cheeks, soft skin fingers playing with the hem of your sweet small dress. Heck, he wanted that you get more bolder and start asking even more questions.

„You got someone?“

„Huh?“

„A boyfriend?“ And maybe he wanted permission too.

„Oh, no. No.“ he didn‘t pick up the pen to continue instead sat there watched you. With a slight nod of his head, he run his hand trough his hair.

„Pretty girl like you really don‘t have any boyfriend?“

You didn‘t say anything, nervously swallowed. He just looked at you, observed you, his eyes going up and down your body. You should just look away, even walk away. But you couldn‘t. Everything in the background blurred together as you silently held eye contact with him.

There was this little moment where your lips opened like you wanted to say something but couldn‘t, making his body slightly shift like he was waiting for an answer. And as the small voice in him started to tell him that the question was too much, made you uncomfortable, but your eyes slowly moved from his head to his crotch. And as that wasn‘t surprising enough you took it one step further.

„Old man like you riling up for a young girl like me?“

This time it was his turn to feel embarrassed and be silent. This time it was his turn to feel like he said too much and nothing at once, awkward. His pretty brown eyes widened, but not for too long and he started to smirk again, that smirk turning into a chuckle as he gently put down his glasses, head shaking.

„Apparently you do got a mouth on you, huh?“ he suddenly got up, the heat between your legs now getting unbearable because he knew what was going on and rather than throwing you out of his shop, he played along.

He walked to the door, taking his keys and locking the door. For a second you really thought he was going to throw you out of his shop, but he didn‘t. The wooden floor under his footsteps made cracking sounds as he slowly came to you. One by one, while intensely looking at you. And by standing right in front of you, his bulge right in front of your face, looking up his frame was more massive than you originally thought.

Your tights squeezed together, looking up to him, waiting for him to do something. With those pretty doe eyes he was hardly containing himself. He knew he had to go slow, tease you, if you wanted something from him he had to make you get it.

Breath hitching as his big hand neared your face, landing on your chin, pinching it with his thumb and pointer finger. Obedient.

He parted your lips. Slowly eased two fingers into your warm mouth. Your head was spinning, not breaking eye contact as you slowly closed your lips around him, his jaw was clenched as he watched you intensely. The salty taste of his fingers filling your mouth, he was deep, pulled them out and filled you back in. A whine left your throat making him smile.

You were a good girl. Polite girl.

He pulled his fingers out, making you almost beg to put them in again. The throbbing, pulsing and soaking between your legs were driving you to be bold, grabbing his hand and trying to put his fingers back in again but he pulled away. Hearing him laugh low as he sat down on his chair again. But this time leg spread even wider, his body turned to you and he just looked at you.

While your heart pounded the nervousness left you, making you feel needy. And the way everything turned into this scenario didn‘t made any sense and how it escalated made your blood pump higher. You still devoted yourself to it, you wanted him. There was something aching for him, something deep down, wanting to be filled. You wanted him to take care of you.

His eyes went down his lap, bulge, signalising you something. The new found boldness surprised you once more as you sneakily got on your knees, slowly crawling to him. You sat there between his legs, his face was pleased, you looked up to him, expecting something, but he didn‘t speak.

Joel was enjoying the show. S‘been way too many years since a pretty girl like you did what he told her to do. Way too many years for him to take it slow, enjoy it, tease you even tho he saw the unbearable need behind your eyes. But he couldn‘t bring it over his heart to make you, nervous little thing, take him into your mouth.

Looking up to him with those unsure eyes, trying to act bold—you couldn‘t fool him. Even tho his cock was throbbing inside his jeans, aching for your mouth.

You were unexperienced and he knew that, got them all in their knees, taking his cock whenever he opened his legs in the past. But now he had to be careful, you didn‘t understand what he wanted.

And as he felt your mouth around his fingers he was most certain that you couldn‘t take his cock into your mouth, he was big and you unexperienced.

But he couldn‘t let you down like this could he? Inexperienced or not, he saw the way you bit your lips looking at his bulge. Those desperate eyes. Oh how much he would love for you to take his cock into your mouth.

Instead of unbuckling his belt, he thrusted his fingers into your mouth again. Taking you by surprise but you couldn‘t help but moan around it.

„S‘the only thing you get, ain‘t ready for cock yet.“

Your eyebrows furrowed as you swiftly pulled your mouth away from his fingers, looking up to him with confusion.

„M‘not a virgin, I swear. Been fucked once.“

And he fucking laughs. The abrupt laughter fills the silence ridden room, his voice all raspy, like he had one too many cigarettes, throwing his head back and slapping his knee.

„Once.“ he mocked you, once again the embarrassment washing over you. But you also couldn‘t help with feeling more aroused, his amusement on you being inexperienced.

„S‘a mans cock baby. A bit harder to take down your pretty little throat and to stuff your cunt with. Ain‘t having the time to teach you that shit.“

With that he stuffed your mouth once more with his thick fingers, pumping them in and out making your eyes roll back. He was being mean and in that moment but you didn‘t give a single fuck. You just felt the pleasure between your legs and his fingers in on top of your tongue.

You just took everything he gave you.

While on your knees the ache between your legs was too much to handle, you started to buck your hips up and down, the material of your panties making you release some friction, but it wasn‘t enough.

You were sucking and suckling around his fingers like there was no tomorrow and desperately humping down on the ground. The humiliation was forgotten, you wanted to be fucked. You looked so utterly fucked. Eyes squeezed shut as you enjoyed suckling on his fingers, tits moving up and down, little whines and moans leaving your mouth.

Joel was about to cum in his pants.

„Fuck, there you go.“ he smiled, his other hand coming to your chin collecting the drool that left your mouth and smearing it on your dress, giving your right tit a tight squeeze, making you whine his name incomprehensible between his fingers.

At this point your cunt was soaking, dripping down your thighs. And the agonising five minutes of sucking his fingers and humping basically nothing you came back to your senses now pulling away and begging him.

„Please—please, just. Just do something—please.“ your babbling made him coo, his dry hand coming on top of your head and stroking your hair.

„What am I supposed to do, hm? If you were fucked more than once baby, i would‘ve spread you there, cunt out and fucked you throughly. Don‘t wanna break you in half.“

„No, no— no. Please. Joel, please.“ you shook your head, giving him the best puppy eyes possible, trying to be as obedient as possible.

Been so long, since he had a needy little thing begging for him to fuck her. And even if he wanted to so badly, he knew you couldn‘t take it and his heart couldn‘t take you hurting.

He suddenly stood up, with a grunt grabbed you by the arms and carried you somewhere. You yelped, excepting everything but not this.

You saw a little couch, it was hidden back in his shop, besides some shelves and of course—wood.

His grip on your arm was hard and his breath coming irregular as he finally sat you down on it. He pushed you down the couch, putting a soft cushion behind your head so it was prompt up.

You didn‘t know what he was up to, you just wanted him to fuck you and the position he put you in definitely looked like he wanted to fuck you.

And as he spread your legs gently, pulled down your wet panties, it was more then evident that he was going to fuck you. A rush of adrenaline went trough you again; clenching around nothing, awaiting him to do something.

„prettiest fuckin‘ pussy i‘ve ever seen.“ he murmured, softly spreading your lips revealing your sweet little clit, aching to be touched, pulsing by itself. The cool air hit your cunt, your breathing coming in short. His thumb gently touched your nub, taking his time, rubbing you slowly. Releasing a whine, you laid your head back looking at the ceiling. Joel was concentrating on the way your cunt was reacting to his touch. Sweet hole releasing gush after gush, while your clit throbbed under his thumb. This is what he wanted, seeing you break under his touch, ask for more, be a good girl.

„Please.“ you softly whispered to him, his eyebrows furrowing, he looked at you. Shaking his head.

„Just the tip. Givin‘ you just the tip.“

And you didn‘t had the energy to argue against that, you wanted him as a whole, wanted to feel him. But in this moment again, you took everything he gave you.

Finally you heard his belt unbuckling, jeans hitting the ground, revealing his thick and angry cock to you. A whine left your lips, desperately wanting to kiss him better. The throbbing tip, pre cum releasing slit and his shaky shaft.

He took his cock into his hands and slowly jerked himself up and down, squeezing the tip, taking bit of the leaked from his tip on his finger and rubbed it on your mouth, making you lick it clean. And finally he pushed into you. His head going into your cunt, pausing quickly without pushing the rest of his shaft. While you whined around, already starting to move your hips, he squeezed the flesh on your hip and made you stop.

„didn‘t tell you shit about fucking you either. This or nothing, stay still.“

While your cunt gushed around his head, clenching down and your hips not trying to move you were on the verge of tears because of the frustration.

„Oh poor sweet baby. Ain‘t nothing like old mans cock huh? Already got you on the verge of cummin‘.“ and he was right. His thumb returned with your nub, rubbing once and twice before the orgasm hit you. His tip leaving your cunt, as your legs shook, your mouth dropped open and finally the sweet release washed over you. He made sure to ride out of your orgasm by gently stroking your clit.

„That‘s it, that‘s it little one. Was a good one, yeah?“ He nodded, looking into your fucked out eyes as you came down and nodded your head also. The way you reacted to his touch, so easy, so sweet. Not needing any more work other than having his tip in your cunt and thumb pressed on your nub.

„Fuck me. Can handle it. I promise, promise.“ begging, begging and begging.

„I don‘t know, sweets. Looking like this cunts not gonna take more than the tip, what if we just stay with just the tip, huh? Cum for me one more time and I can release my cum in you, maybe that‘ll make you feel full, yea?“

You were whining. Shaking your head from left to right. Begging.

„No, no— no. Please, just fuck me. Just do it, please.“

And as fate wanted joel had enough and completely pushed himself into you. His grith filling you like you have never felt before, your cunt feeling full and finally relieved.

Joel didn‘t let up, didn‘t make you get used to that feeling, of splitting you in two. He started fucking you. In a gentle but hard rhythm. His hips not even once stopping as you laid under this old man, while he continually pumped his cock into you. Finding that sweet spot of yours and focusing in on hitting it every time.

All the while he held eye contact with you, but you couldn‘t concentrate. Eyes rolling back, squeezing shut and avoiding his gaze.

„C‘mon sweetheart, m‘giving you what you want. The least you can do is look me into my eyes.“

He rasped. His breathing was heavy on top of you, his curls bouncing around. You felt his cock in your cunt pulse.

„Knew you were a good girl, knew it baby. Taking it like a champ. Was wrong about you huh? Pretty—cunt wrapped around me so—fucking—well.“

„Mhm—t-told ya. Told ya.“ you whimpered out, already feeling yourself getting clo— and he pulled out.

You released a whine, your fist banging on his chest repeatedly as your cunt pulsed and pulsed around nothing. His head was bent, he was watching your cunt and suddenly he grabbed you once more on the arm and laid you beside, crawling behind you on the couch. His hand then moved to your thighs, opening it and putting it over his leg, so his cock has access to your cunt.

A wet kiss was left on your temple and you heard him loudly breathing in your ear.

„gonna fill you up, pretty girl, s‘that clear? Wanna see it dripping out of you when i‘m done with you.“ he softly whispered and you nodded your head desperately.

„Want me to rub your pretty little clit, or you wanna try cumming without?“ He asked you, cock slowly entering you, stuffing you full once more. His thrusts started slowly as he waited for a response, leaving sweet small kisses around your neck and temple.

„Rub, please.“

„Oh, sweet girl. Made you so desperate and teased you so bad, am I not a bad old man, huh?“ his voice was soft like he was lulling you to sleep. Just like his thrusts, met the right spots but slowly left your cunt and slowly went in again, while rubbing gently on your clit. The atmosphere changing, his sweet talk was getting in your head.

„cumming—please.“ you whispered.

„Yeah? Good, baby. C‘mon then, I got you.“ he gave your temple one last kiss, as his thrusts slowly started to become more sloppy and quick, deep groans leaving his mouth. His thumb sped up rubbing you just right as you bit down the pillow underneath you and came all over his dick.

„There we go, let it all out.“

He thrusted into you a few more times, making you ride out your orgasm. Your legs already giving up and closing as he hold your thigh up as best as he could, releasing all that he had into you. His thumb stilling on your clit, he thrusted one more time as he slowly filled you, feeling the regular spurts in you.

As you laid there both, exhausted, but peaceful, you came back to your senses and realised what happened. Something so innocent turned so dirty, so fast. And with someone who was older than your dad.

His soft cock slid right out of you. His cum and your release already mixing and dripping down your thigh. He gently scooped it up, holding it in front of your mouth one last time and you took it, gently cleaning him, earning a soft little peck on your forehead. He stood up, putting his jeans back on and put a blanket over you, stroking your hair.

„Gonna work on your gift now. Can tell me if it‘s looking good when ya wake up again.“

Oh my gawd straight to horny jail🤭🤭

Thank you so much for 700 followers, its crazy. Thank you for reading my fics🫶🏻🫶🏻

Keep in mind, english is not my first language so feedback or any correction of mistakes are very welcome

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softaestluv · 4 months ago

Text

Guard Dogs

You were a proper good girl. Just like in his fantasies when he was a little boy. Ghost only looked to protect you from the evils of the world just like Riley. Your two personal guard dogs.

But maybe this is where he belonged, on the other side of the glass, staring at you from afar. Even if Riley wanted more.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Neighbor!Reader

Tags: Angst, Fluff, & Eventual Smut

Pt. 1, Pt. 2 , Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5 | masterlist | ao3

Ghost, who won’t admit it, gets a dog because when he’s not on assignments he gets lonely. His home feels terribly empty all by himself; the silence deafening, borderline painful. Adopted him from the local shelter, a German shepherd who he names Riley. Tells everyone that he needed a guard dog to protect his belongings when he’s not home, but everyone knows his prized possessions are far and few in between. Could hold all of them in his palms, carries them with him all the time anyways.

He trained Riley rigorously just like he did in the military. Treated him just as he did his trainees. Until he was obedient and well-behaved, listened to his every command. A perfect sidekick for him. Kept him company in his home that felt too large to be alone in. Always at his feet or curled into his side on the couch. A couch he probably shouldn’t let him on or bed sheets he shouldn’t be tangled in, but Ghost had a soft spot for him. Broke the rules for him because he was his dog after all, made the silence and loneliness a little bearable. Made his home a little more warm.

Riley who seemed to take a liking to you— the pretty bird who lived across the street. Made him think that maybe Riley was more like him than he realized; his own eyes had been drawn to you multiple times. He was usually well-behaved, didn’t approach strangers or jump on them for their attention. Ghost had trained him better than that. However, the first time he crossed your path on a walk, he pulled Simon by the leash, pressed his nose against your calf eagerly in interest.

You stopped in your tracks with a soft noise of surprise, “Oh! Well, hi there!” Your focus shifted to Simon, “Is it okay if I pet him?”

Simon hummed nodding his head in response. You gave him a small smile before squatting down eye level to Riley. Pet down his back and scratched behind his ears, Riley wagging his tail swiftly behind him, would probably purr if he was a cat. Dog hair covered your black shirt as he snuggled into your touch, but you didn’t seem to mind too much.

Cooed baby voiced praises to him that had him whining happily, “What’s your name, sweet boy?”

“Riley.”

“Riley,” You repeated softly, caused him to bark loudly in response. Snickered quietly at the noise, “Nice to meet you too, Riley.”

“Sorry, he doesn’t usually bug people like this,” Simon apologized, tugging on his leash lightly to pull him away.

You stood up at that, shaking your head, “Don’t worry. I don’t mind at all he’s a sweetheart.”

“Got dog hair all over ya now.” Gestured to the hair decorated on your clothing.

You exhaled a chuckle, brushing the fur off as best you could, “No worries, I live up the block. On my way home, anyways, just on a run.”

“Think I might live across from you. Moved in a couple months ago, but haven’t really been around.”

“Oh, yes! Wondered who lived there for a while now,” Held your hand out for him to take, “Nice to finally meet you.”

Riley whined when Simon pulled him away, tried to follow after you when you continued your jog. Sat and watched you run away despite Simon’s tugging or lack there of.

After that there wasn’t a day they didn’t run into you. Simon always woke up too early, military sleeping schedule beat into his mind. Didn’t have pleasant enough dreams to keep sleeping most nights anyways. At least that was the excuse he created in his mind to validate his actions.

Maybe Riley was his wingman, pressed his nose against your calf every time he passed you. Caused you to stop and greet them both, gave Riley endless pets and scratches before you turned your attention to Simon with a pretty smile. Drenched in sweat and frizzy hair from running, but each look from you had his mouth drying. Didn’t care that he wore a balaclava, didn’t even ask, chose to focus on his eyes instead.

It became his favorite part of his days, looking forward to the small interaction he would have with you. No matter how insignificant it was, but nothing seemed to be that way with you. Asked how he was, how did his day go yesterday, and how was Riley doing? How was work? Tiring, of course. Maybe you should sleep more instead of waking up so early!

He would if he could, but then he wouldn’t get to see you. His pretty neighbor, too sweet for her own good.

The only other time he got to see you was through your windows in the evening. It’s not like he was watching you, really, he wasn’t a stalker. He just so happened to be by his living room window everytime you came home from work. 6 o’clock on the dot, 5 on Fridays, started your weekends early.

Watched you slip out of your car, different sundress every time, dressed just like a pretty doll. Flowy and ruffled, hid your figure well enough. Didn’t flaunt it, but he knew what was underneath it all. He had seen your silhouette through the dimly lit curtains, shadows of you peeling layers off to shower.

Simon wasn’t a pervert, he wasn’t desperate for these small glimpses every night. But didn’t you know you should be more careful sweetheart? There were perverts out there, you were lucky he wasn’t one. He only kept looking to protect you from the evils of the world just like Riley. Your two personal guard dogs.

The evils of other men that you never brought home. No boyfriend in sight. Never stayed out late, even on weekends. Stayed snuggled on your couch or cooked for most of your free time. A proper good girl. Just like in his fantasies when he was a little boy.

Cooking he wanted desperately to try, spent hours in your kitchen preparing god knows what. It’s not like Simon would even know what you were making, his countless store bought meals buried in his trash were evident enough. Hoped he might get a taste one day, melt on his tongue because he knew it would be delicious.

But maybe this is where he belonged, on the other side of the glass, staring at you from afar rather than enjoying the warmth of your home and cooking. So he cherished what he could get, the small greetings every morning, and the clockwork of watching you every night. Even if Riley wanted more.

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h1biscusgal · 2 months ago

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Tee hee y'all, i'm not back but i loved y'all sm so take this subliminal i took six days to perfect.

I AM NOT BACK, NO, I AM SO SORRY.

my studying session been going good AND YALLLLLLL I MISS YOU SO MUCH, I CAN'T EVEN EXPLAIN.

so, last week, when i closed tumblr, my mind was reeling from one thing it kept repeating itself:

"i wanna give smth to my people in tumblr."

why? i've seen people having problems for the void, i've seen people say they are so close but their "heartbeat" stops them, some say they sleep without knowing.

so i thought.

"mf, why not a subliminal that will fucking guarantee you to enter IN EVERRRYYYY situation?"

think you need to keep awake? this sub

think you need to sleep to enter the void? still this sub

need to enter while using it? this sub

need to enter but can't have your phone with you during sleep? again this sub, you can listen to it during the day and try at night.

like WHATEVER the fuck you do, i have made a loophole for it, now for god's sake please be careful, it gave me such a headache making it my head is still pounding, it has PURE fucking delta waves and 5 set of repeated NON-LAYERED NOT TOO SPED UP affirmations, why?

these are the safest type of affirmations that penetrate the subconscious, i cannot express this enough please.

PLEASE BE FUCKING CAREFUL WITH IT, DON'T LOOP TOO MUCH, DELTA WAVES CAN MAKE YOU DEADASS TIRED.

now this? holy shit this? i call it my beautiful Voided Hibiscus project, and yes i love hibiscuses-

this sub???

here's the benefits:

Voided Hibiscus is a one-of-a-kind, high-power subliminal crafted to guarantee entry into the Void State — no matter your state of mind, environment, or experience level.

Whether you're lying still or fidgeting, wide awake or asleep, listening consciously or with it running in the background — the moment this subliminal activates, the Void becomes inevitable, it is fucking guaranteed and i made so sure of it by science.

During these exact 22 minutes and 22 seconds, your mind will swallow THE LITERAL definition of "master at void." The affirmations are layered with master precision — spoken, whispered, echoed, reversed — to penetrate the deepest layers of the subconscious, bypassing every mental block, doubt, or distraction. Delta isochronic tones pulse beneath the surface, gently entraining your brain to the perfect frequency of surrender, silence, and awareness, like ya'll i am NOT playing.

This is for you if:

You want to enter the Void effortlessly, with full certainty.

You want to enter during the day, or while sleeping — either way works.

You’re tired of trying methods and want results without effort.

You want a subliminal that works permanently — even after you stop listening.

Features:

Affirmations that dissolve fidgeting, overthinking, boredom, and resistance.

Built-in confidence: You will never doubt your ability to enter the void again.

Repetition formula designed to rewrite your subconscious with absolute certainty.

Works even if you accidentally fall asleep.

Activates the Void even when played silently or in the background.

After consistent listening, your command over the Void becomes instinctual.

like mf, you is the bored type? you is the annoyed impatient as fuck type? you is the type to try for 2 minutes and give up? homie this shit will throw you in the void while you move, fidget, breathe hard, feeling bored, sleep accidentally.

like what the fuck am i supposed to do next-

THIS CAN BE USED IN THREE WAYS:

awake method: lay down and have it on your head (no mf you won't sleep accidentally and ruin it bc i backed it up that you'll wake up there) and simply repeat affs for it, watch yourself enter without even knowing how the fuck you entered, i swear if you trust? you'll enter within the duration of those 22 minutes and 22 seconds, there's no "when", it's like a guarantee.

sleep method: if you is the type that yo parents let you have your phone with you? use it overnight and watch yourself wake up in the void.

thru-theday method: just listen to it during the day and do any method before sleep or just anywhere and bam.

there's no "how" here, this sub? almost made me tumble, i am not tryna brag, no seriously, but i thought to post smth that helps ppl, now let me stop yapping the fuck out and take this:

(so sorry for this quick and messy post-)

youtube

good luck loves, and send me the asks and messages coming! i'll be on here for a very few minutes and see what asks there is to answer.

EDIT: I AM SORRY WHAT THE FUCK???? LAST TIME I CHECKED I HAD 661 FOLLOWERS NOW IT'S A 1700 SMTH????? I AM SCREAMING PLEASE I LOVE YALL SO MUCH??? I CAN'T BELIEVE IT I WANNA CRY PLEASE.

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skmhlml · 3 months ago

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Note: I’m gonna be so sad when people aren’t obsessed with this thing anymore.

𝑬𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒏(s) 𝑿 𝑭!𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓

You just hear him—in your head. Static, distorted whispers that slither around your brain like cobwebs. Sometimes they sound like your own thoughts. Sometimes they’re commands.

He first noticed you when you looked directly into his eyes during a stormy night. That accidental glance marked you as his. From that moment, he began watching. From trees, behind blocks, in your dreams.

You keep finding little blocks missing from around your house—then reappearing in places that don’t make sense. A flower you planted is now on your bed. Your favorite tool is buried in the floor. He’s nesting.

You made the mistake of looking into an Enderman’s eyes too long. But instead of just attacking you and leaving you to respawn, he didn’t kill you. He froze, twitched… and followed you. Then another one began to follow. And another. You’ve been… claimed. Now you live in a strange place between dimensions. You don’t know how long it’s been. You don’t know if you’re alone anymore..

Endermen don’t communicate in words, but in strange, vibrating hums and pulses.

They steal blocks from the Overworld and recreate your home (or a twisted version of it) in The End for you to live in. It’s uncanny. Nothing is quite right. The walls breathe sometimes…

If you try to leave, one will teleport right in front of you, grabbing you with unnatural limbs that seem longer than physics should allow. Another will be waiting behind you. Their teleportation makes escape impossible.

They stare at you constantly. Even when you’re asleep. They don’t blink. You’ve stopped trying to cover your eyes.

Their form shifts slightly when aroused. The black void skin gets slick and twitchy. Sometimes you can hear the inside of their bodies, like static and clicking bone.

They don’t have traditional anatomy, but that doesn’t stop them. Tentacle-like limbs emerge from the swirling shadows of their torsos. Long, pulsing, ink-black tendrils that move like they’re tasting the air… or your skin.

They touch with terrifying reverence—dragging long, clawed fingers along your body, humming like they’re worshipping a pet. You.

One of them “marks” you by biting—gently at first, then deeper until you’re bleeding. The other Endermen grow aggressive with each other if the scent fades. They take turns keeping it fresh.

If more than one is with you, they restrain you with inky tendrils, murmuring in broken echoes, repeating phrases they’ve absorbed from your voice: “Stay… stay… forever… mate… warm…”

They try to mimic affection, but they don’t understand it. They’ll bring you random items: bones, eyes of other players, bloodied armor. Gifts. Offerings.

You’re collared with an obsidian band that you can’t remove. It marks you as claimed—and it glows faintly when they get aroused. You feel it buzz against your throat when they’re watching.

They don’t fuck like humans. Their anatomy warps and writhes—long, shifting tentacles with glowing ends, slick and hot. They pierce, fill, and stretch you until you’re choking on your own cries. And they don’t stop.

They purr when you cry. Whine. Scream. The sounds seem to excite them. You’ve seen them shudder, glitching in place, twitching in arousal from the sound of your sobs.

They lift you like a doll—never speaking, but chittering to each other in some broken dimension-code language before deciding together what to do with you.

They use their size against you. You’re completely engulfed by their height, their limbs, their cold, grasping touch. You don’t walk anymore. You’re carried. Dragged. Positioned.

They don’t ask. They simply fill. No prep. No patience. Just pure need.

If you fight, they don’t stop. They tighten restraints. Slam you harder. The only thing that slows them is you passing out.

#horror #enderman x reader minecraft #yandere enderman #enderman x player #endermen x reader #enderman x reader #enderman headcannons #endermen minecraft #endermen #yandere minecraft #minecraft x reader #minecraft x player #pet pl@y #size difference #monster fucker #breeding kink cw

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mscherub · 2 months ago

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Emotional Support Shrimp

A/N: cutely drops in this fic I’ve had in my drafts for months…I’m still working on the Idia request. AND FOR THE OTHER PPL WHO REQUESTED STUFF I SEE U, I’m just unmotivated…Writers block is kicking my ass 😞

Tags: A little dark, supposed to be funny, fluff, Floyd being a menace…

Warnings:

Floyd leech causes harm (when doesn’t he?)

Violence

mentions of injuries (random student, referee)

suggestive towards the end

Swearing

Honestly, when is money not always a huge feat for you? The day you finally get your allowance from Crowley, it’s gone within a minute from being spent on only a portion of needed items. Last week you ended up running out of tuna for Grim, and for the love of the seven you don’t wanna go through that again. Everyone knew of your situation, wasn’t very hard to see, but you weren’t the type to latch on to others and use them like a pay pig, but many offered which is a little concerning, anyways, to each their own, you suppose. You had your own values to follow, but you did appreciate what they were willing to do.

Azul knew quite fondly of your situation, using you as a “backup” employee for when one of the servers or dishwasher at the lounge decided to call off, and you usually accepted because, hey, money! He didn’t exactly trust you in the kitchen, mainly based off of the liabilities he could face since you didn’t even have birth records or anything that he could “ok” for you to work within that vicinity, but everything else was a great option.

The laborious shifts were no stranger to you after having taken up a position there so many times, you could say you were used to it by this point, and an even bigger achievement, used to the ways of the tweels, specifically Floyd. Yes they were unpredictable, yes they were scary when they wanted to be, yes they gave off mafia vibes, but they somehow “accepted” you, accepted, of course, being a very vague term to describe it. Maybe tolerate is a bit better. They didn’t seem to wish to cause harm or other masses of stress like they would just for funsies with other guys around campus, but if push comes to shove, you bet they’d have no doubt and chuck you under the bus in mere seconds, hence why you try and stay on their good side.

Technically they all owe you one in a way, especially Azul with his little overblot, but that’s something in the past for you at least.

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

Incident One: Ice Bath

“Prefect, go reason with him!” Azul barks out the command. You sigh and turn around from his office and go to find Floyd. A cycle that repeats itself. Free Therapist for Floyd is a good title…no, wait no. Doesn’t make sense. Plaything would be more appropriate. The thought makes you shudder and shake your head.

The click of the dress shoes on the ground, the clamor of people in the lounge, drowns out as your thoughts officially take over.

This time Floyd messed around more than he should have with people on Azul’s black list, and he may or may not have gotten carried away. So now you’re back on the hunt to find him after getting an earful from the boss himself, and hearing him and the troublemaker bicker in his office. Fun times here at Mostro Lounge. Why’d you choose to work here. Should have asked Mr. Sam if he needed any help…

The door to the pool is stuck wide open and once you peer your head inside you see Floyd swimming in circles angrily, the water rippling swiftly around his body.

“Floyd.” You call out. It’s almost akin to a gentle coo. Where did that gentleness come from? Whatever…

“Wanna swim, Shrimpy? I’ll promise not to drown you.” He stops and smirks. Ok. Stay away from the water. “Or if you came here to chat…we can see if I’ve got the patience for that right now.” He sighs.

“Azul—“

“I don’t wanna hear it. Quit your yapping and go swim around somewhere else.” His eyes narrow and his fins tense.

“Look. If you just got back to work then—“ you’re cut off again.

“Work is the last thing I wanna do right now.” He glares at you, but then eerily a smirk forms once he beckons you over. “You can cheer me up if you swim with me.”

“I have to get back to working too— and ok, never mind…”

He hoists himself up onto the tiled floor, half of his tail still swaying in the water. And then he pouts at you. It shouldn’t do anything to sway your determination to get him on track again, but it crumbles down those walls and you find yourself walking towards him.

“Yay! You do like me a little at least then, Shrimpy.” He giggles, and before you know it he grabs your wrist and slips back into the water, pulling you in with him.

It’s cold. OH IT’S SUPER COLD!

Thrashing your arms in the water you bob back up to the surface, your uniform hat drifting away to the other side of this might-as-well-be ice bath. This was a lot colder than you remember when you went down to the sea the one time…

“Hah! Cold? Humans are just so weak…” Floyd’s voice rumbles from behind you and his slick, slimy arms wrap around your soaked clothes that act as a second skin, yet barely do anything to keep the bite of the cold away.

“But you’re my Shrimpy so I’ll keep ya safe.”

His warmth is shared with yours now, but it’s not enough, unfortunately.

“Floyd…lemme outta here. It so fucking cold holy shit.”

He giggles at your misfortune and spins around a few times with you in his arms slowly.

His chin rests on your shoulder and a silence falls over you two. It’s not uncomfortable. But it’s short lived.

“Hold your breath!”

“Floyd, wait— No!!”

Bubbles spew out of your nose and you force your eyes open only to see mismatched ones gleaming with amusement.

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

“I can’t believe you two…the time spent, rather wasted, will be taken out of both of your checks. This is just unbelievable…” Azul groans. His hand runs down his face before he sets his elbows down on the desk and rubs his temples.

“Out of my office.”

The silence is loud as you two walk out, a towel wrapped around you and a sloppily dressed Floyd who was just earlier grumbling about having to drink that transformation potion.

“Do something like that again and…ugh…”

“Eh? I thought it was fun, Shrimpy! We’ll swim again soon for sure.”

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

Incident Two: Plucked Petals

“Drag him back to work…” Again?

You heed Azul’s orders and you turn out of his office yet again, pushing open the door and heading on your way to search for the one and only…

He left midway through his shift. It had only been like 3 hours…and he already got “bored.” You’re just fed up with his excuses, and then you end up getting yelled at as well if you take too long. You need to get back on the clock, too, “be lucky I’m even paying you to go get him,” Azul says, “be lucky I even pay you in the first place,” Azul says. Ok…anyways.

Traces of Floyd are no where to be seen. He couldn’t have gone far in the span of, what? Five minutes? He had long legs, sure, but he—

“OFF WITH YOU’RE HEAD!”

Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no. You knew who that was. Great. Now you had to calm down two people! Lovely…

You jog around the corner of the mirror chamber to the path way only to see Floyd with rose petals scattered about around him and a very angry riddle with his arms crossed in an exponential amount of annoyance and anger, as well as an unamused look.

“Oh-“

Riddles head whips in your direction and you prepare yourself for the onslaught of complaints…

“He broke a rule!” Riddle says, “He ruined my flowers,” Riddle says, “He came onto Heartslabyul grounds without invite and unannounced,” Riddle says. You had enough.

“Yea. He uh…mhmmm. I’ll take him back, just…uncollar him…” your finger points over to Floyd. He’s actively tugging at it and trying to crane his neck downwards so he can gnaw it off…is he ok?

“This is not the first time this has happened. I’ve let him get away with his actions one too many times. I shall send this matter to Headmaster Crowley now if you’d excuse me, Prefect. I have more pressing matters to tend to than dwaddle on a sorry soul who doesn’t know basic decency…”

“Riddle…I get where you’re coming from but Azul will soon have my head if I don’t bring him back and myself…so uh.” You sway on your feet.

He thinks for a moment. You weren’t untrustworthy, so maybe he could let this slide— just kidding, he’s Riddle. With a stern look and a dismissive tone, he makes up his mind and drags Floyd away to the main building.

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

“And now Floyd has earned a suspension?” Jade hums as he wipes off a table.

“From entering any other dorm besides his own, prohibited to participate in any club activities or work at the lounge, and now Azul’s making me work his shift and mine for at least a week…until his suspension is up.”

“My, my…I’d say it was deserved. As much as Floyd is held dear to me, he causes the outcomes with his actions. He finds them to be quite amusing, however, greatly so once you get involved.”

“Yea— wait…when I get involved? Is he doing this stuff on purpose?” Your hands perch themselves on your hips.

“That I cannot tell you.”

��Ugh…”

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

Incident Three: Balling

“What the fuck…” That’s all that leaves your lips once you step into the gym. People are chatting loudly and quickly and the only message that you got from Ace was:

Help. Floyd did sum shit. Tell him to get a hold and hopefully plan his words right so he doesn’t get a law suit

Safe to say you are fairly concerned. You push through the crowd of kids and find the familiar redhead accompanied by Jamil. Ace doesn’t let you speak one word once his eyes land on you.

“Ok, before you get all mad here, Prefect, you were the first one I decided to call cause uh…you know. You’re closer to the twins than anyone else really…” Ace attempts to reason with you but you’re entirely focused on something else. Someone else.

“Why is that guy passed out?”

The referee is surrounded by a few Sports med mages, all assessing the passes out form in the middle of the court. There’s a small pool of blood under his nose, which his nose is now plugged up with bits of gauze.

“Ok, yea. So…Floyd was given a penalty and he kinda hurled the ball at the ref…now he’s…” he motions vaguely to the motionless form. “Kinda knocked out. Probably has a broken nose. The look on the ref’s face was kinda priceless, though—“

Jamil smacks Ace and sighs.

“What?!”

“Floyd stormed off…” Jamil nods. That much is expected.

“Ok then…I shall…go find him.”

The suns setting. There’s a nice orange hue casted across the land. The setting would be really amazing to gawk at if it wasn’t for the task at hand. To find the culprit and ease him down from his hot headedness…you’re fine.

“Floyd—“

A hand grips your shoulder and turns you around. Face pressed against sweaty skin in under a second and you know who it is.

“Gross! Floyd!” His arms squeeze and, yep, don’t even try and breathe.

“That damn ref, you know? So sensitive! All I did was just trip someone…a couple times. RSA was kicking our asses again…just a tiny bit of foul play never hurt anyone…at least not too bad. Sports back in the sea were more fun!” His hold is steadfast.

“I once broke some poor guppies arm in a sport back home. Scuttle Ship. Fun game. And then I ripped his fins.”

“O-oh…ok…uh. On accident?” You struggle to keep your face from being muffled against his skin.

“Nah. Whole point of the game…whoever comes out less hurt is the winner.”

Oh…oh.

“Fun game…why are you here, anyways? Did ya come to watch the game? Hope you were gonna cheer for me.” His embrace, eases up.

“Uh, yea…and also I was worried…to see that you kinda left after what went down in the gymnasium…”

“Eh. He was a dumb ref like I said…”

You pause and clear your throat. “Your team needs you again…even id you’ll probably be benched.”

“Well then there’s no point in me going back. Plus. You’re better to hang around. I didn’t wanna play that game today, anyways…whaddya say we go scare some students walking around this late, huh?”

“Floyd…”

“Cmon.”

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

Last shift of the week! Yay! You just gotta tough it out. Easier said than done. You’ll get your paycheck and then off to Heartslabyul to get Grim and then probably get force-fed some pastries by Trey which you’ll happily accept, and then back to Ramshackle.

“Jade, where’s Floyd? I need these orders for table 12, like now…” you huff as you shift the tray out from under your arm and place it down on the counter, looking back in the kitchen through the doubles doors that swing at their hinges. Articulating back and forth in a fluid motion.

“He got called into Azul’s office.” He hums as he idly writes down things on his notepad

“Again?” That’s just great news for you. “If I have to call him down again I might just quit for real this time.”

Jade doesn’t even turn his head at your words. There ones you’ve said before yet you’re still here.

“Always, he’s been slacking off, as usual.” He smiles. “I can go ask the cooks where the meals are if you’d like.”

“I’d…appreciate it. I need the tips from customers tonight so I need all the tables I can get. Thanks a bunch.” You sigh, leaning against the counter and pulling out your phone. You read a few of the messages sent to various group chats you were in, the first year group chat oddly talking about how Professor Crewel is, quote, “a kinky mf.” Yea, you’re just gonna put your phone away again…were they wrong though?

Jade comes back out carrying another circular tray, you straighten up and you take it off of him. “Thank you, Jade. You’re a financial savior for me.” You chuckle as you move your hand around on the bottom till it rests balanced on your palm.

“It was nothing, really.” He gives a small bow and goes back to his duties.

You head off again back into the seating areas, weaving through the crowds of people who were, for some reason, standing instead of sitting and ending up in your way. You make it over to your section and then over to the table, bending your knees a bit as you place the tray down on a smaller foldable table off to the side. A random plate is selected and you put on your happy face and act for the people sitting around in the booth.

“Here you are, the seafood bake, uh, then you, you got the lobster dish here…then you ordered the salmon, and then you ordered the snow crab! That’s it I believe? Does anybody need anything before I head off?” You clasp your hands together and look frantically around the table as you wait and watch for any of them to speak. You’re met with small shakes of their heads and soft sighs of no’s, taking the hint and giving one last bright smile before you nod and walk off.

Off in the distance, a muffled slam of a door is heard and you see Floyd walking out of Azul’s office, a grimace etched onto his face as he heads back into the kitchen and passes by Jade, who, just glares at him before he goes to finish his own tasks.

You knew what would happen next, Azul would find you, then make you “calm him down.” It was never something you liked mainly because it was putting your life at risk, which was ironic because Azul explicitly stated he didn’t want you partaking in any harmful activities, but whatever. It’s sadly another small side job that’s forced upon you just so Floyd can get back to work himself. All for money…

The other waiters grab dishes and scurry off, moving far away. The chatter and yelling within the kitchen dies down significantly, going quiet as pots and pans slam against the stove top, the only culprit of that being Floyd. You take one breath in before you go inside and pick out the teal-ish colored hair from the other bundles of students and walk over to him as calmly as you could. It’s better to do the things you know that you’ll be asked to do before they happen, so…you got this. And you’re only doing it because you know you’ll be asked to and totally not because you like Floyd maybe a little. That’s not it. Definitely not it. He’s scary why would you like him? Exactly. Anyways! No sweat! It’s just Floyd…that’s it! Just Floyd and no worries…everything will go swell and you’ll all be happy again! Maybe he’ll break a few ribs when he squeezes you but that’s nothing…you’ll just be magicked up later by the nurse mage and you’ll be just fine. Just fine. You’re sweating. Shit—

“Hey, Floyd. What happened.” You sigh with a slight pout on your face. He doesn’t even look at you, his face contorting even more into a look that said “leave me the fuck alone.” It was worth a shot…he usually found that to be a dumb look on you but I guess not today. Oh no. He’s royally pissed right now. Hopefully Azul didn’t sneak a waiver somewhere in that working contract you signed…

You straighten up and glance at the other chefs in the kitchen, all of them giving you questioning gazes. One in the back clasps his hands together and bows his head and— wait, is this guy really praying right now? Geez…

“Floyd…” you try again.

He works away harder at the random meal he’s cooking. The contents already looked charred…

“Don’t wanna talk, Shrimpy,” He huffs, “Go.” He says gruffly.

“I’m not gonna go—“

“I’m busy! Since Azul wants me working my fins off then you know what, I’ll do just that!” He spits out. It sounds threatening, filled with warnings, but before you could try one last time to get him to ease up, one of the students bumps into him, sending the dishes they were carrying flying into the air. The guy stumbles back, food splattering on the floor and plates shattering, Floyd acting like a brick wall and staying still as he slowly turns to look down at him. No words are exchanged. None at all. He simply dumps the hot oil and food that he had into the pan onto him.

Screaming, yelling, a lot goes on within the span of a few seconds. Azul comes in, Jade follows behind, other waiters peer into the kitchen to see what’s going on.

You take the initiative and you grab Floyd’s arm while he’s distracted and take the pan from out of his grasp and set it back down on the stove. You turn the burner off and you look back at him, then to the, now injured, guy upon the floor.

“Floyd. This is coming out of your check, and you’re banned from the kitchen.” Azul comes over quickly with an aura of anger. Floyd rolls his eyes and pushes past him to walk out.

“Prefect, go after him, will you? I don’t need him hurting another person who doesn’t deserve it.” Azul waves his hand at the situation. It was common so no one really took much time to dwell on it since Floyd partook in these types of activities just to pass the time. A common occurrence if you will.

Azul gives you one last stern glance to tell you again silently to go do what he had asked of you. You reluctantly nod and you go out to search for him. It’s absurd, really, having to do all of this. It’d be better if they left him alone to blow off some steam, but no, you have to go calm him down, you have to be the one to watch him like a helicopter parent.

You go to the tweels shared room and knock on the door. It was a just a guess he’d be in his room, but you silently hoped he wasn’t so you’d have some time to avoid either a life or death situation. You liked your life at least a little now…

Silence. You’re met with silence. Ok, try again, just once more to make sure he’s not in there. You knock again, a little louder this time and announcing yourself to being there. And silence again. Maybe fate is helping you out today…

“Floyd? Are you in there?.” You’re about to knock one last time when the door is quickly ripped open, an angry Floyd peering down at you. Brows furrowed, eyes squinted and dark, glazed over with frustration and anger, a scowl etched into his lips. Yep…and here you were, standing in front of him, practically helpless and without anywhere to run because you know he’d find that a fun game and catch up to you in a second.

You straighten up under his gaze and clear the lump in your throat that you didn’t even know formed.

“Hey…”

Floyd doesn’t make any noises, instead opting for what he likes to do when he’s this mad, and wraps his arms around you and squeezes tight. He brings you into the room and closes the door with his foot, going over to his bed and taking you down with him as he nuzzles his cheek against yours.

You try and squirm out of his arms but he’s insanely strong and the efforts you make are useless. You’re already waiting for your back to make a popping noise…

“Floyd— heyyyy…let me go.” You murmur out as you struggle to breathe with all this extra weight on top of you.

“Shhh, Shrimpy. Quiet.” He mutters. He moves his face to the crook of your neck, his warm breath fanning against the side, which in turn causes you to tense up. What the fuck is he doing. You try to shrink away, but that was a mistake because he squeezes you against him even more.

He brushes his lips over your pulse point and smirks, but it quickly fades away as he opts to keep his face pressed up against your neck, not doing anything. He likes to feel your heart racing…

“Always trying to make me feel better, Shrimpy…” he sighs. “And you do…meh, sometimes…you don’t have to listen to Azul…but ya do. Starting to wonder if you just like being around me…” he nuzzles into you again, teeth grazing your skin.

“For one, I kinda have to listen to Azul…” you whisper. “I can’t be like you with him. Plus…I don’t mind you all that much since—“ he squeezes again. For sevens sake. “Ease up! I don’t mind you, yea…you’re fine to be around. That’s it.”

“Liar…” he chuckles. “You’re so silly…” he pulls his face up and looks at you, his mismatched eyes calculating, inspecting that gaze in your eyes towards him.

“You’re stupid, too…for liking someone like me. But it’s so cute, Shrimpy.” His lips quirk up into a smirk and he bears his razor sharp teeth to you. “I could easily hurt you, Shrimpy….”

“That sounds vaguely like a threat but…you don’t really hurt me— not ever actually. Scare me? Yes…but not hurt.” you murmur. His smile softens a bit and he nods, moving his forehead to rest against yours. If you weren’t already flushed, you were now.

“No…but I could, that’s the point.” He giggles before moving away again. He was teasing. “Do you know why I don’t?” He hums as he sits up, letting his arms unravel from around you. He looks out the window connected to the sea. You sit up as well, taking in a well deserved breath of air.

He’s silent for a moment, watching as the fish pass by without a care. Your uniform is all wrinkled now, great—

“Cause I’d be kinda pissed off without you around, y’know. And not just how I usually am…I’d be mad all the time.”

You stop. He stops and looks at you. You make very awkward eye contact with him, but both of your gazes soften. That’s sweet of him in his own way. Quite frankly you didn’t think he was capable of that since it’s not usually like him. Why is your heart beating a bit quicker now? This time it’s not so much out of stress or the fear of being eaten alive, Floyd looks fairly sated so…what’s this feeling for…

“What do you think of me, hmmm?”

You don’t know how to respond to that. Does he actually care what people think? No, not really. You see that all the time with how he even talks to teachers. But if you had to say, the few people he listens to, slightly, are Jade, Azul, and…you. That doesn’t mean anything! This is an odd question coming from him. “I think you’re…ok. Being around you is fun sometimes…uh…I don’t really know.” That’s great. You probably ticked him off more…

“Just ‘ok’? Ouch, Shrimpy…” he pouts as he looks at you. He inches his face closer to yours again, personal space being far out of the question at the moment. He looks down to your lips before smirking again and then locking on to your eyes.

“You just saying that cause you’re hiding something?”

That’s not…you weren’t, no. Definitely not. You didn’t really want to say how well he made you smile or laugh on days where you were down, or that he cared that much to make you happy again. Or whenever he’d always seem to find you to be his go to person to bug now for, well, everything he did.…you didn’t wanna say you liked getting him out of trouble, didn’t want to tell him you do enjoy being around him, he’d get all smug about it…and that’s it! Totally nothing else behind it. Nope.

“Be honest, Shrimpy. You like me? Cause I like you…for some reason.” He sighs. He moves closer again.

Kinda straight forward, no?

“What…huh?! WAIT WHAT?” you manage to stammer out. Floyd nods along to your words with an unimpressed look.

“I like you.”

“I heard you the first time!”

“Do you like me?”

“Ok…well…no! Wait…maybe? Yes? How do I even answer that right away?!” You’re freaking out and he’s enjoying it.

His smirk widens again and he laughs at you…this guy.

“See? Silly Shrimpy…” his arms lace back around you and his face is right in front of yours again.

Without taking anything else into consideration, Floyd pushes his lips against yours.

You don’t move, you don’t try and push him away, and out of all the times Floyd has ever given you a chance to stop him in any of his acts, you could tell this moment was one of them. His eyes are still locked onto yours, lidded and a smirk forming, gaging your reaction. His arms barely touch your body, giving you a chance to get the fuck out if you’d want to. But you don’t move away. You push your lips against his more and you flutter your eyes closed. Floyd takes the hint and he holds you again, though this time, it’s gentle.

After a moment you both pull away, a goofy grin across his face. “Hmmmm…” he giggles, “I feel a lot better now, Shrimpy. See? I’m bored now…cmon, let’s go somewhere and ditch that stupid work Azul’s got us doing…”

So! Wasn’t the best, yes, I know, but it’s something…

Also I feel like some parts from my courting fic for Floyd wiggled its way in here—

Master List

Please don’t steal or copy any of my work! You may, however, reblog if you’d want to!

Pictures belong to Disney Twisted Wonderland but are edited by me :)

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foldingfittedsheets · 2 years ago

Text

When I was young I was dating this absolute cocknob right as I graduated high school. More on that later.

As a present ostensibly to me (but mostly my folks) I was whisked away after graduation to spend two weeks in Europe with my parents. The plan was to see London, Paris, and Heidelberg.

I was moody and a teenager and was largely disgruntled by this fabulous adventure. I went along with sullen foot dragging and black looks. I commandeered my reprehensible boyfriends enormous black hoodie and wore it on the trip. At the start of our jaunt into London I mentioned offhandedly to my mom that it was burning when I peed.

“You’re just dehydrated, and your period is about to start.”

She was right on both counts. I upped my water content, and had my period (which may have contributed to my overall ill humors.)

So we found ourselves in a tiny hotel in Paris, a week into our jaunt, when I repeated, “Man, it just really burns when I pee.”

“What?!” my mom demanded.

“I told you like a week ago that it was burning.”

“Augh! Now we have to go to the hospital!” she proclaimed.

“What?! Why?”

“Because,” she snapped, “You have a bladder infection.”

More bickering ensued, and my temperament was not improved by knowing I’d told her I was having an issue a week ago and been ignored.

My dad heard about the itinerary shift with resignation and we trooped down the narrow stairs as a family to ask the concierge where the nearest hospital was.

The absolutely lovely man at the desk was immediately so concerned when we asked for directions. “Is everything okay?” he asked with very genuine sympathy and I muttered that everything was fine, we just needed a quick visit.

Lucky for us the hospital was only a few blocks away. We walked there and the building was massive, home to what appeared to be several separate wings but no obvious main entrance.

We wandered inside and it was like a weird dream. There was no one around. Huge echoing corridors met us as we peered in vain for a front desk or possibly signs. We searched with increasing frustration for anyone to talk to and somehow found ourselves in some tiny back offices.

A woman sat at her desk and looked bewildered to see three lost Americans approaching her. She greeted us and as a family we all simultaneously realized the massive flaw in our current course.

You see, dear reader, we did not speak French. My dad and I both spoke German. I inquired politely if she also spoke German and she shook her head looking increasingly cornered. We asked if she spoke English.

“Leetle…?” she replied.

“My daughter has a bladder infection! Blad-der?” My mother declared this at a high volume as if volume alone could bridge the communication gap, while simultaneously miming over my stomach, circling where she presumed my pelvis was under the gigantic black sweatshirt.

The woman’s expression turned extremely skeptical and she slowly repeated “Bladder…” She scrutinized me for a moment then said, “You go…. This?” And pointed to something purple on her desk.

“The purple signs?” my dad asked.

She nodded and we set off. I was stewing with resentment at my mom for having ignored my first complaint when we were in a country that spoke English. And also generalized hostility about being on the trip and the object of miming. Now here we were in a French hospital, lost and unable to communicate. I also was under no illusions that someone who didn’t know the word for purple would have any clue what bladder meant.

And slowly I realized what had actually happened as I peered at the purple signs. My mother circling my stomach with her hands, gesturing to my middle. The woman’s skeptical face.

“Hey mom,” I chirped, syrupy and smug. “I don’t speak French. But I do know that it’s a Latin based language. And wouldn’t you know, but that purple sign looks an awful lot like it says ‘maternity’ to me.”

“Shut up!” she snapped.

A few minutes later we stood surrounded by the moans of pregnant people and the cries of fresh new lungs wailing at their first taste of cold air.

I smiled sweetly at my disgruntled mother.

Luck was with us however. A nearby father noticed us and came over to ask if we needed help. With perfect English he gave us clear directions.

As we finally approached the right area for walk in services it was clear how we’d missed it the first time. A large swathe of the front of the building was covered in tarps. A huge wall sized window was broken, and construction was taking place, but at least it had a bustle of people and a clear line. We sat down in the queue of chairs.

While we sat some police officers came in. They walked up to a man ahead of us in line and with few words exchanged they handcuffed and led him politely away.

I was genuinely so out of reality. Every new thing that happened was like a bizarre dream from the empty hallways to the maternity ward and now this tarp strewn waiting room in which people could just be calmly arrested.

It was a shock to me then when we reached the front and the nurse spoke with perfectly unaccented English to assess me. Not only did she know bladder but a whole slew of other medical words I couldn’t guess at. I peed on a stick and we waited.

When we got the results she told me it was good because they could give me antibiotics today for my now confirmed infection, but bad because I’d need the doctor to sign off. I nodded and my mom and I were escorted to yet another small room to wait.

When the doctor arrived I felt suddenly gangly and awkward. I’m not tall but I towered over this tiny French woman who radiated calm composure. She seemed to be around my grandmothers age. She looked up at my blushing face and said, “Bladder infection?” Her English had a much stronger accent than the nurse but with the same medical competence.

I nodded.

She nodded too and we sat in a still contemplative moment on my UTI.

“Do you have… boyfriend?”

My face was on fire, every cell of me wanting to flee from this tiny perfect old woman. I nodded.

She nodded too. We sat still in the knowledge that I had a boyfriend and a UTI.

“Do you and your boyfriend do… it?” Her delicate accent stretched it into “eet.”

I don’t know if she didn’t know the word for sex or if she thought saying “it” was kinder but I wanted to melt into the floor and cease to exist to escape my increasing mortification and her meaningful pause. I nodded.

“Okay,” she said kindly. “When you and your boyfriend do… it… you must make pee pee.”

I writhed slightly under the psychic damage of this elegant medical professional saying “pee pee” and I nodded more emphatically hoping she’d desist this torture.

She continued. “If you and your boyfriend do… it… five times? You make five pee pees. If you do it ten times, you make ten pee pees.”

My face had never been hotter, all the blood in my body had volcanoed to my head, pounding in my ears and valiantly attempting to give me an aneurism to end my suffering. There is no mortification as acute to a teenager as an adult talking about sex and here was this medical professional telling me about… it.

Meanwhile, my mother. Who should have been regretting her poor parenting and reflecting on her neglect in failing impart this vital part piece of sex ed to her kid. Alas, she was laughing herself sick the corner. She added to my embarrassment by quietly repeating “pee pee” and “it” under her breath as she wheezed and chortled.

The doctor patted my hand kindly and handed me the antibiotics. I got to spend the rest of my trip in Europe avoiding direct sunlight and listening to my mother parrot “Do you do… eet?”

#ramblies #funny #story #writing #teenage angst #there’s a couple stories I tell that my betrothed has to hear on repeat cause they’re party pleasers #this is one such #ffs foibles

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lilolebambi · 5 months ago

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six fit under by the weeknd.

toxicex!reader x toxictaken!matt blurb. ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ you just can't let him go.

warnings.ᐟ.ᐟ: dom to subby matt. meanish reader?? she knows it's wrong but she doesn't gaf. fem receiving. fingering. (matt the munch🙂‍↕️)

You shouldn't be here. You have one of the most important exams of your life tomorrow, but you here you are. At Matt's frat. You're steering away from every drink you're offered, every alcoholic game that your friends want you to play because you know what's gonna happen.

One way or another, you're ending up in Matt's room by the end of the night. You hate admitting it yourself, but he's your Achilles' heel. You can't stop yourself from giving into him.

You run one of your hands through your hair, letting out a deep sigh. "You good?" One of your friends asks, seeing the distressed look on your face. "Fine. I'm fine." You say, beginning to walk off towards the kitchen.

One shot won't hurt.

Five won't be that bad.

Ten won't lead to a terrible hangover. You can handle it.

You can't remember how many shots you took. All you know is that frat boy who said he could take more shots than you is probably throwing up.

You're stumbling off to the bathroom when you realize that you left your phone somewhere in the kitchen, you groan. You just need to check how your makeup looks and maybe pee, then you'll be back in there.

You stumble back as someone bumps into you. "The fuc—?" As soon as you look to see who bumped into you, his cologne fills your nostrils.

"Matt." His name files out of your mouth before your brain can catch up with your actions. He looks you up and down, "You look good."

"I know." You say, "Where ya going?"

You raise an eyebrow. You both know that you know exactly where you're going, you know this frat like the back of your hand.

"Bathroom." You begin to walk again just for him to block your way. "Matt." You say sternly, searching his eyes for the reason he's doing this and you're met with lust. Pure lust.

"You should come to my room."

"I need to check my makeup." He rolls his eyes. "You know I have a mirror in my room." You know know that, you remember when you caught him fucking some girl in front of it.

"Need to pee too—" You try to walk off, but he grabs your wrist, "Come to my room."

"Matt." You say sharply. You're trying so hard to resist, trying so hard to get him to back off. "Please?" He says, low and whiney.

You bite your lip. "Will you finally leave me alone after?"

He nods.

"Fine. Move."

You can see him staring at you from the corner of his bed as you push up your lashes and bend down slightly to fix your dress as you fix your twisted bra. "You look good."

"I know." You repeat. "Like....really, really good." He stands behind you in the mirror. You didn't even hear the bed creak when he got up.

You barely have to blink before his lips are on yours. Your eyes flutter shut. God, how you missed the feeling of his lips against yours.

It's embarrassing how much you let him get away with. He picks you up and wraps your legs around his waist as he carries you over to his bed.

When he throws you on his bed, it's like deja vu, the good kind. A moment you wouldn't mind staying in as his chain dangles in your face, and your eye contact becomes sinful.

Until the thought that he has a girlfriend appears in your mind. You swerve his kiss. "I get you all the way to my bed, and you do thi-?"

"You have a girlfriend."

"Oh, c'mon—" He says, staring down at you with disbelief in his eyes. "Knees."

The way his body instantly responds to your command makes you smile. You wonder if his new girlfriend knows he has this side to him.

You sit up slowly, admiring the sight in front of you. She probably doesn't, the first time you tried to be in control Matt freaked the fuck out.

He stares up at you with those puppy eyes. He knows what those do to you. "You're terrible." It comes out way softer than you wanted it to but you can't think with the way he's looking at you.

He smirks. "You let me kiss you." You scoff and cross your arms. "Before I remembered you had a girlfriend."

"Don't you want me to fuck you?" He presses, parting your legs and pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. "Remember that time I fucked you so hard you couldn't go to class in the morning?"

You avoid his gaze. Your panties are soaked, to say the least. "Yeaaah, let's refresh that memory." His hands slip up to the hem of panties, "Couldn't move, had me carrying you 'round all day...Let's go back to that. Let me take care of you, baby."

His words are getting to you. Bad. You won't give in, you won't. You remember how your heart broke into a million pieces when you found out Matt was cheating on you. You won't do that to another girl.

Yet, you still let him slip off your panties. "Fuck, you're dripping, sweetheart. You were craving me, huh?"

You won't give in. You won't give in. Yet you make no moves to push him away as he presses soft kisses from your inner thigh up to your core.

Fuck it.

You pull his head back his hair, causing him to let out a whimper. "You're not fucking me."

"What—?"

You tug on his hair harder, making him whine. "You're eating me out." He eyes you with disobedience, "Do you seriously think you deserve think to feel good after what you did to me? You're lucky I'm even letting you near me."

The venom in your words is wounding, but he still doesn't think you're serious. "Y/n—"

You lean foward and tug his face to you. Making him let out the most pained sound you've ever from him. "One more fucking word Matt. One more word that isn't you saying yes, you're not even gonna get this. I'm gonna storm out of here, find your girlfriend and telling her what a fucking asshole you are." He gulps as you threaten him gravely, but the tent in his jeans gives off another emotion than scared.

"Th...that hurts." He whines. "What's it gonna be, Matt?"

"I'll...I'll eat you out." He mumbles. "Louder."

"I'll eat you out."

You finally let him go from the deathgrip you have on his hair. "Are you gonna be a good boy?" He nods eagerly. "Say it."

"I-I'll be a good boy for you... Mama."

"Good boy." The way his ears turn pink almost makes you feel bad for how mean you just were to him. Almost.

He wets his lips and leans in before licking at your clit, he eyes you. You tilt your head at him, knowing exactly what he wants. "Gotta do more than that if you want praise, baby."

He furrows his brows together. Matt slips his fingers inside you, making a scissor motion. You gasp at the stretch. You haven't been the most sexually active ever since you guys broke up.

"T...tell me I'm doing good, please?" He mutters against you, causing you to moan. You want to, but you'd rather see him needy and wanting.

You bite your lip and refuse to let out any moans as you watch the attention he's paying to your clit increase and feel his fingers reach deeper inside you. "Ma, pleasepleaseplease—" He mutters against you again, placing sloppy kisses down your pussy. "M being a good boy, isn't that what you wanted?"

You let out a loud gasp as he reaches that special inside you, "S-see— m making you feel good? Please?"

You can't take it anymore. Him thrusting into that spot repeatedly with his fingers causes you to fall flat against the bed. "Yeah— you're being a really good boy Matt— being ah— such a good boy for me—" You say, getting interrupted by moans. It only spurs him on more, making him latch onto your clit.

You practically scream. "Matt— matt— ohmy— Your back arches off the bed. "Please." He whines, taking a break from sucking your throbing nub. "Can you feel clenching down on my fingers."

"Wan' me to come for you—?" You choke out. "Please, Mama, been so good for you."

"Fuck—fuuuuck— baby, m coming!" You scream, coming all over his face. You whine as he spreads your legs wider to lap up your release.

You pant heavily as you come down from your high, squirming as you feel Matt still working in between your legs. "M..matt." You say weakly, he ignores you. Pussy drunk.

You pull him by his hair. He pouts, slowly pulling out his fingers. "Just wanna taste you." He says, hair sticking to his face from your release.

You smirk down at him. "Bet you're all hard from that, huh?" He nods slowly. "Tell you what," You sit up, "Make me come again, and I'll think about letting you fuck me."

The way he immediately tries to dive back into you makes you laugh. You have to throw your doggy something.

tags 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚: @inspiredangel @whore4mattsturniolo @domizzzsstuff @sosasturns

#theyluvpeach★#sub matt... NGH #sub matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #x reader #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo

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kayawolfhorse · 6 months ago

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Tall Claims TV

Full list of faux-news headings from the Mumbo vs Hermitcraft case!

Record Sales Down After Players Discover /playsound Trick

Rich&Rich Gets Record Bonuses Despite Losing Customer Funds

Permit Office Closed from December to June for Christmas

Snow Begins to Fall as Xisuma Forgets to Run ‘No Rain’ Command

AI Chat Bot Found to be Lonely Man With a Redstone Keyboard

Mined Worker in Hospital After Proving ‘Water is Safe to Drink’

Diamond Inflation at All Time High as Doc Builds Another T-Bore

Bop and Go Jingle Still Topping Charts, World Tour Announced

Neck Roll Parrot Dance Goes Viral on Brick-Tok

Gem-M is Ditching Voice Chat and Would Rather Message Instead

Shopping District Portal Deemed ‘Ugly Beautiful’ by Poll

Etho Upgrades Tissue Box to a Washed Takeaway Container

Globe Earthers ‘Still Believe’ Despite Farlands Expedition

Moon Size Report: Still the Same (Thank Goodness)

Netherite Out of Style as Youth Opt for Less Flashy Brands

Independent Study Finds Thumb Shifting to be Optimal

Increase Arm Muscle 33.3% With One Simple Click! Story at 10

Big News: TV Caption Writers Would Like More Pay, Says Everyone

Older Minecrafters Say New Generations Have it Easy

Villagerian is the Most Hostile Language, According to Poll

Surplus Mega Corp. Says ‘Air Quality is Better Than Ever’

New Zombie Flesh Diet Guarantees Fast Results

Hacker Infiltrates Ender Chest Network—Items Lost

Engineers Add 5th tick to Repeater, Public Still Uninterested

‘Is That Sheep Looking At You?’ New Show by MineFlex

How Many is Too Many? Asks TV Caption Writers

Leaving Floating Trees Named Biggest ‘Ick’ by Gen-M

Blockympic Gold Medalist Banned After Failed Speed Potion Test

Pig Kills Owner After 20th ride Without Getting Carrot

New Smart Watch Puts F3 on Your Wrist

Wart Epidemic Caused by Irresponsible Marketing Campaign

New Study Finds 91% of Players Don’t Understand Comparators

Kelp Powered Furnaces Recommended to Fight Climate Change

Research Finds We do Not Live in a Simulation

Skyscraper Firm Lobbies Government for Increased Build Height

Copper Voted Best Block in Minecraft, Despite Limited Uses

Theoretical Physicists Model Curved Blocks Called ‘Balls’

Magic Mountain Lawn Flamingo Company Goes into Liquidation

Hungry Hermit Addiction Reaches Epidemic Levels

Gen-M Should ‘Stop Eating Golden Carrots’ To Save For Starter Base

#I’M SO OBSESSED WITH THESE. i hope whoever wrote them finds a triple vein of diamonds when they next go mining #the entire video is fantastic the case is hilarious and the editing is top-notch—i really wanted to save the headings in particular #hermitcraft #hermitcraft spoilers #mumbo jumbo #hermitblr #kaya posts

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duskidolsmut · 3 months ago

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"Coachella Whore"

Lisa is a k-pop star on fire, an insatiable slut who lives for the raw, limitless lust backstage at Coachella. She throws herself body and soul into lust, her body glistening with sweat, glitter and cum, her pussy dripping with every touch, every insult of “whore” or “slut” that ignites her desire. On stage, she shakes her hips like a hungry whore, her tight shorts showing off her pussy, her moans escaping as she teases, knowing that thousands of eyes are devouring her. Off stage, she is a submissive toy for the dancers, begging for cock in every hole — mouth, pussy, ass —, hot milk dripping down her face, breasts and thighs, shamelessly licking herself. Lisa loves being exposed, humiliated with dirty words, used without warning, her breath stolen in games of control, her body vibrating with pleasures that she cannot control. Every thrust, every jet of cum, every hungry look is a trophy for her, who lives to be the greedy bitch of the festival, dancing on the line of danger where everyone can see — or hear — her degradation.

Tags: exhibitionism, active voyeurism, light humiliation, cumplay, free use, breeding roleplay, breath play, shock eggs, submission, gangbang, oral sex, anal sex, vaginal sex, swearing, public horniness, cum on face, cumming inside, vibrator, breath control, sensual dance, backstage, festival

W: 13.938

The sun beat down hard on the open-air stage where Lisa was rehearsing with her new team of dancers, just three days before Coachella. Around them, tarps and equipment blocked the view of curious onlookers, but the hot wind kicked up dust, leaving the air thick with sweat and tension. Everyone was supposed to be focused on the choreography—or at least trying to be. Lisa, in a skin-tight black top and leggings so thin they showed everything, swayed at the center, her body glistening as the music blasted from the speakers.

The dancers were a team of ripped guys, most built like they had "big dicks" written all over them. Ricardo, the leader, stood out the most: tall, broad-shouldered, with dark skin and a commanding presence that made everyone snap to attention. But Lisa couldn’t take her eyes off Jamal, the new guy with a smirk and thighs so thick they stretched his shorts. When the choreographer yelled "Positions!", she felt heat flood her pussy just imagining what these guys were packing.

The routine was fucking sensual, full of grinding and touches designed to drive anyone wild. The main move was the worst—or best, depending on who you asked. Lisa had to bend forward, arch her back, and rub against the dancer behind her, who today was Ricardo. On the first try, she lowered herself slowly, the sheer leggings leaving nothing to the imagination as her ass brushed against his bulge. And holy shit, what a bulge. Even half-hard, his cock was thick enough for her to feel every inch against her, and the rush of lust hit her so hard she almost moaned right there.

"Fuck, Ricardo, you’re... really positioned well, huh?" Lisa murmured, laughing low, her voice shaky as she straightened up, heart racing.

He chuckled, his hand lingering on her waist a second too long. "Relax, Lisa, it’s just the dance... for now." His tone was pure filth, and it made her even wetter.

But Lisa didn’t want to relax. The slut in her was screaming for more. When the choreographer called for a repeat, she made sure to "mess up" the move, whining with fake innocence: "Dude, this part’s so fucking hard—let me try again!"

The other dancers, sweaty and scattered across the stage, exchanged glances, some smirking. Jamal, leaning against a speaker, bit his lip as her leggings rode up, showing off her slick pussy so clearly he could see the outline. Lisa knew they were all watching, and it only made her hotter. She bent over again, this time grinding harder against Ricardo, feeling his cock stiffen and throb against her ass. Every roll of her hips was a calculated tease, and she let out soft, barely-there moans—just loud enough for the nearest guys to hear.

"Damn, Lisa, you trying to fuck up the routine or fuck me?" Ricardo growled in her ear, his grip tightening on her waist as she rose, his cock now rock-hard against her leggings.

She laughed, tossing her hair back, her nipples hard under her top. "Just trying to get it right, Ricardo... but if you wanna fuck me, I won’t complain." Her voice was sweet, begging, already picturing him pounding into her.

The other dancers were staring, and Lisa loved it. The open stage, even with the tarps, felt like someone could catch them any second—a roadie, a fan, anyone. And she wanted them to see. Wanted them to know she was a cock-starved slut, ready to beg for every inch. By the time rehearsal ended, she was dripping, her leggings soaked between her thighs as she grabbed her water bottle, eyes locked on Ricardo.

"Man, you’re killing us with that move," Jamal joked, wiping sweat off his face, but his gaze was glued to her ass, and Lisa’s pussy clenched just from that look.

"Yeah, Jamal, but I’m a professional, right?" She winked at him before turning to Ricardo, who was packing up. Trembling with need, she slipped a piece of paper with her address into his pocket. "Come to my place tonight, Ricardo... please, fuck me, I’m your slut," she whispered, her voice so desperate he laughed, his cock twitching in his pants.

"Fuck, Lisa, you don’t play, do you? I’ll be there." His stare burned as she walked away, her ass swaying like an invitation.

At her place, the night was hot, and Lisa waited for Ricardo in black lingerie that barely covered her pussy, her tits practically spilling out as she paced. When he knocked, she opened the door shaking, her cunt dripping just seeing him there, sweaty, the bulge in his pants screaming he was about to wreck her.

"Fuck, Ricardo, I’ve been dying for you," she moaned, dropping to her knees instantly, hands yanking at his zipper. "Fuck me, please, call me your slut—I wanna be your whore!"

He laughed, pulling his cock out, and holy fuck—it was a monster: thick, black, veins pulsing, the kind of dick that’d make any girl whimper with lust.

"Your pussy was begging for this during rehearsal, huh, you greedy slut? Here—take it!" he growled, shoving his cock into her mouth without warning.

Lisa gagged, tears welling as she sucked hungrily, spit dripping down her chin. She moaned loud, the curtains wide open, streetlight spilling in—her arousal spiked at the thought of someone seeing her there, on her knees, being used.

"Yeah, call me your whore, Ricardo, fuck my mouth!" she begged, pulling off just to speak before swallowing him again, her throat clenching tight.

He yanked her hair, throwing her onto all fours on the rug, her lingerie ripped apart in seconds as he drove his cock into her dripping pussy.

"Take it, you hungry bitch, feel this dick tearing you open!" he snarled, pounding hard, the slap of skin—pap, pap, pap—filling the room.

Lisa screamed, pleasure exploding with every filthy word.

"I’m your slut, Ricardo, fuck me, call me your whore!" she pleaded, her cunt clenching as she came fast, body shaking. But she wanted more. All of it. "Fuck, harder, wreck me, please!"

He laughed, slicking his cock with her juices before lining up against her tight asshole.

"Wanna be my perfect little slut, huh? Then relax that ass—I’m gonna fuck your brains out," he ordered, spitting for lube.

Lisa froze, fear flashing hot. She didn’t take dick in the ass often, and that monster looked way too big.

"Wait, Ricardo, go slow, I… I don’t do this much, okay?" she whispered, voice trembling, heart racing as she arched—submissive but gut-churned.

"Relax, you dumb bitch, I know what I’m doing. You’ll beg for it," he growled, pushing the head in slow, her tight hole resisting.

"Fuck, it hurts, Ricardo, shit!" she cried, hands clawing the rug, body tense as he forced himself deeper, her ass burning with every inch. Tears spilled, but she didn’t tell him to stop—lust tangled with pain as she moaned: "Go slow, please, I’m your slut, but fuck—!"

He paused, spat on his cock again, then thrust deeper.

"That’s it, you fucking whore, take this dick! You’ll love it," he taunted, and the degradation lit a fire in her—the pain twisting into something else.

Lisa breathed deep, relaxing, and suddenly the burn melted into pleasure, raw and intense. His cock slid easier now, filling her ass, and she moaned loud, euphoria exploding as he started fucking her slow.

"Holy shit, Ricardo, it’s… it’s good now, fuck! Pound my ass, wreck me, call me your slut!" she begged, arching deeper, her pussy dripping onto the rug as her ass stretched for him.

He laughed, speeding up, his monster cock splitting her open as he switched back to her cunt occasionally, slicking himself.

"Take it, you greedy bitch—pussy and ass, you’re my perfect fucktoy," he grunted, slamming so hard she came again, her ass clamping around him as she screamed: "Yes, wreck me, I’m your whore, fuck!"

She was gone, lost in the stretch of her ass, the filth of his words, the thrill of being seen through the open window. Ricardo hammered into her, alternating holes, her soaked pussy coating his dick while her ass pulsed, already addicted.

"Fuck, Lisa, your ass is tight as hell—gonna fill you up," he warned, thrusting deeper.

"Do it, Ricardo, wreck both holes, cum in me, please!" she sobbed, body trembling from endless orgasms, the pain in her ass now pure pleasure, total submission.

When he was close, he dragged her to her knees and jerked off over her face.

"Open up, slut, take my load like the whore you are!" he growled, hot cum splashing her face, tits, even her open mouth. Thick streaks dripped onto the rug as Lisa rubbed it into her skin, licking her fingers, eyes glazed with lust.

"Fuck, Ricardo, give me more, cover me, I’m your greedy slut!" she begged, grinning as she smeared it everywhere—cum glistening on her tits, her face, her ass and pussy still throbbing.

He laughed, wiping sweat as he tucked his dick away.

"Damn, Lisa, you’re one hell of a cocksleeve. Don’t kill me at rehearsal tomorrow with that ass," he teased, leaving her a sticky mess on the floor—body spent, but her mind already craving more.

The next rehearsal dawned even hotter, the sun scorching the open-air stage where Lisa and the dancers sweated buckets. Tarps blocked outside eyes, but the wind kicked up dust, mixing sweat and lust in the air.

Lisa couldn’t stop replaying last night—Ricardo’s black dick splitting her pussy and ass, cum painting her tits, his voice hissing whore, slut in her ear. Her cunt dripped just remembering, and she needed more.

Today, she upped the ante. A skintight crop top, nipples poking through, and leggings so thin they showed everything—especially since she’d gone commando. No panties. Just her slick folds staining the fabric, and Lisa loved knowing everyone saw how bad she craved cock.

Ricardo led as usual, shoulders gleaming, but Jamal watched too—eyes locked on her ass, the bulge in his shorts screaming game on.

When the choreographer told them to start, Lisa was already in total slut mode. The sensual choreography was the same, with that awesome step where she bent over and rubbed her ass against the guy behind her. Yesterday, she felt Ricardo's cock harden, and today would be no different. On her first try, she went down slowly, sticking her ass up against him, her leggings marking her wet pussy as she rubbed against his hard bulge. Fuck, his cock was throbbing, thick as fuck, and she moaned softly, her arousal exploding at the thought of the other dancers watching.

"Fuck, Ricardo, you're always... ready, aren't you?" she murmured, laughing slyly, her voice trembling as she went up, her pussy dripping with no panties to hold the honey.

He laughed, his hand brushing her waist, the heat of his touch making her want to beg right there.

— Dude, Lisa, you're the one who doesn't make it easy with that ass, you bitch — he replied, low enough for only her to hear, and the insult made her pussy throb.

Lisa knew everyone was watching — Jamal, the other guys, even the choreographer seemed distracted. And she loved that. The open stage gave her that adrenaline rush that someone could peek through the canvas and see her shaking her hips like a hungry whore. So, she found a way to fuck up the choreography again. Every time they rehearsed the step, she made sure to “mess up,” complaining with an innocent face:

— Fuck, it's hard to get this shit right, let me do it one more time!

The dancers laughed, but their eyes were heavy with lust. Jamal, on the side, wiped the sweat with his shirt lifted, showing his abs, and Lisa bit her lip, imagining his dick rubbing against her. She went back to Ricardo, going down again, this time harder, her ass rubbing his cock until she felt it hard as hell, throbbing in her leggings. Without panties, her honeyed pussy was all over the place, leaving a wet spot that couldn't be hidden. She moaned loudly, letting the others hear, her exhibitionism taking over as she thought: I want them to see what a slut I am.

"Lisa, fuck, what do you want with that shaking?" Ricardo whispered, his hand squeezing her waist, his cock so hard it seemed to rip his shorts.

"I'm just training, Ricardo... but if you want to fuck me, I'm all yours," she replied, pleading, her voice so submissive that he laughed, his arousal exploding.

But Lisa didn't stop there. In one of the moves, when Ricardo was behind and Jamal came to the side to adjust the formation, she saw her chance. “Accidentally,” as she picked up the pace, she guided Jamal’s hand to her thigh, letting it slide until it brushed against her wet pussy through her leggings. The touch was quick, but enough for him to feel the wetness, his eyes widening as she moaned softly, pretending it was an accident.

“Fuck, Jamal, sorry, bro, I was distracted,” she lied, biting her lip, her pussy throbbing with the contact, her heart racing because he had felt how crazy she was for cock.

“Distracted, huh? Your pussy is saying something else, you bitch,” Jamal replied softly, laughing mischievously, and the insult made her want to fall to her knees right there.

The rehearsal continued, but Lisa was beside herself. Every brush against Ricardo, every look from Jamal, every repetition of the step was a torture of lust. The wet leggings showed everything, and she shook harder, moaning loudly for the others to hear, imagining everyone knowing that she was a begging whore. When the choreographer let the crowd out, she was shaking, her pussy dripping so much that it left a trail.

The rehearsal ended with Lisa shaking, her pussy dripping so much that her black leggings were stained, the wetness marking her honeyed pussy for everyone to see. She stumbled to the locker room to get her bag, her body on fire, her hard nipples poking through her tiny top. The air inside was heavy, a mix of sweat, testosterone and something else — pure lust. Ricardo and Jamal were leaning against the lockers, their shorts marking their big dicks, their hungry eyes glued to her. Lisa tried to walk past, but her pussy told her to stop, desire overcoming any shame.

The heat of Ricardo's body trapped her against the cold metal of the lockers, the strong smell of his sweat invading her senses, making her pussy throb faster. Jamal closed in behind her, his hot breath on her neck, his hard bulge brushing against her ass. Lisa's heart raced, excitement mixed with a humiliation she loved—here, pressed between two males, she wasn't a pop star, she was just a begging slut, a cock-crazed whore. Their silence only increased the tension, their eyes telling her they knew exactly what she wanted.

Without a word, Lisa fell to her knees, the cold floor biting into her skin as she tore at the zippers with trembling hands. Ricardo's cock sprang out first, black and thick, veins pulsing like a living threat, followed by Jamal's, almost as big, the head glistening with hardness. She swallowed Ricardo's hungrily, her throat tightening as saliva ran down her throat, the salty taste filling her mouth. She switched back and forth between Jamal, gagging, her eyes watering, each gasp a proof of her submission, an offer to be used like the whore she wanted to be. The wet sound of hickeys echoed in the locker room, too loud, and she knew the half-open door was letting it all out into the hallway.

Then she saw it: Marcus, another dancer, standing in the shadows of the doorway, his hand tucked into his shorts, jerking off with wide eyes. Voyeurism hit her honeyed cunt like a shock, her arousal exploding at the knowledge that she was being put on by someone else. The humiliation engulfed her—it wasn’t just being fucked, it was being seen as a greedy slut, a whore who threw herself at cocks while a stranger came watching. Her body trembled, her pussy dripping onto the floor, and she sucked deeper, her muffled moans vibrating on the cocks, wanting Marcus to see every detail of her degradation.

Ricardo grabbed her hair, pulling her up, the metal of the lockers freezing her back as he ripped her leggings with a yank. Her honeyed pussy was exposed, glistening without panties, and he thrust his big dick in with a brutal thrust, the wet sound mixing with her hoarse scream. Each thrust was a reminder of what she was—a hungry slut, a whore who begged for cock in front of anyone who wanted to see. The half-open door swayed in the wind, and Lisa imagined Marcus jerking off faster, his lust fueling hers, the humiliation burning hot as she thought: Look how slutty I am, cum watching this bitch take a dick.

Jamal was not far behind. He smeared his cock with spit, lining it up with her tight asshole, and pushed in slowly, his thick cock forcing its way in as she writhed, her body trapped between them. Her asshole still hurt from the day before, but the pain only increased her submission, the feeling of being broken in like a worthless slut. She moaned loudly, the sound echoing down the hallway, wanting Marcus to hear, to know that she was giving it all up. Ricardo pounded her pussy without mercy, his cock smeared with her honey, while Jamal opened her ass, each thrust deeper, the rhythm of the two becoming a fucking machine that made her body bounce.

Humiliation pulsed through every vein. Lisa felt exposed, degraded, a whore used for their pleasure and for Marcus' show, who was now moaning softly at the door, his hand flying down his shorts. She wanted to be called a slut, she wanted to be cursed until she came, but they were both so focused on breaking into each other's holes that the curses came only in their eyes — looks that said “you're our whore, take my cock.” And she took it, her body shaking as she came, her pussy squeezing Ricardo's cock, her ass winking at Jamal's, each orgasm a wave of delicious shame for being so greedy in front of a voyeur.

The locker room became a chaos of sounds — the metal of the lockers banging, flesh colliding, her moans filling the space. Lisa was lost, the pleasure overwhelming any thought, only the desire to be fucked, wet, humiliated. Ricardo sped up, his big dick pounding her pussy until she came again, the honey dripping down her thighs, while Jamal pounded her ass, her tightness pushing him to the limit. She wanted to scream “call me a whore”, but her voice came out only in moans, her body speaking for her as she begged for more with each shake.

When they were at their limit, they pulled her to the floor, on her knees, right in front of the half-open door, her body glistening with sweat and honey. Ricardo jerked off quickly, his big dick spurting hot cum on her face, the milk running down her lips, dripping onto her breasts, making her ripped top wet. Jamal came with her, the thick jet hitting her open mouth, her exposed pussy, until the floor was stained. Lisa rubbed the cum on her skin, her fingers smeared, licking it all up while she looked at Marcus, who was cumming on his shorts, his eyes glued to the image of her wet, defeated, fulfilled. The humiliation was perfect—a slut covered in milk, used for their cocks and a stranger's lust, every drop of cum a trophy of the degradation she loved.

She stayed there, on her knees, her body shaking, her pussy and ass throbbing, her face and tits glistening with cum. Ricardo and Jamal wiped away the sweat, chuckling softly, as Marcus disappeared through the door, silence returning to the locker room. Lisa smiled, exhausted, the delicious shame still burning, already dreaming of the next rehearsal, more dick, more looks, more milk to beg for.

The third and final day of rehearsals for Coachella dawned with the air so thick it seemed like the sun itself was horny. The open stage, surrounded by patched tarps and speakers, vibrated with the heat rising from the hot sand, the wind carrying a smell of dust and sweaty bodies. Lisa was electric, her honeyed pussy dripping since she woke up, her body still sensitive from the brutal fuck in the locker room with Ricardo and Jamal the night before. The cum smearing her face and tits, the insults of “bitch” and “whore,” Marcus jerking off while watching everything — each memory made her pussy throb, begging for more dick, more looks, more humiliation.

She arrived on stage with a dirty plan in mind. Her black top was just a thin strip, her hard nipples almost tearing through the fabric, and her black leggings — without panties, of course — stuck to her skin like a second skin, highlighting her wet pussy and pert ass. Ricardo was there, leading the dancers, his broad chest glistening with sweat, his eyes already glued to her as if he knew the bitch was ready to fuck everything. Jamal, next to her, wiped the sweat with his t-shirt, his six-pack exposed, the bulge in his shorts giving her pussy a shock. Marcus and the other guys completed the team, all with that look of someone who carried a big dick and knew how to use it.

Lisa couldn't think of anything else but dick. The rehearsal was just an excuse to tease, to feel their dicks, to be seen as the greedy whore that she was. But today she wanted more — she wanted everyone naked, their bodies exposed, the raw lust taking over. When the choreographer, already a little pissed off with her “mistakes,” told them to start, she felt the heat rise up her spine, her pussy getting even more wet on her leggings.

The sensual choreography was the same, with that step that made her blood boil: bending her body, sticking her ass up and rubbing against the guy behind. Lisa had already turned this into a provocative ritual, but today she was out of control. On her first try, she went down on Ricardo, her ass pressed against his bulge, his half-hard dick throbbing through his shorts. The thin fabric of the leggings let her feel every vein, every throb, and the honey from her pussy dripped down, staining her thigh. The scent of his sweat, thick and masculine, filled her nose, mixed with the sticky heat of the stage, and she moaned softly, a husky sound that vibrated in her throat, loud enough for Jamal and Marcus to hear from nearby.

The other dancers were transfixed, sweat dripping from their foreheads, their eyes heavy with lust. Lisa knew she was center stage, the slut everyone wanted to fuck, and the exhibitionism made her heart race. The canvas around her swayed in the wind, leaving cracks of light where someone could peek, and she imagined hungry eyes outside, roadies or fans watching her twerk like a whore. Each repetition of the step was more shameless—she went down slower, rubbed harder, moaning shamelessly as her leggings marked her honeyed pussy, the luscious fabric glistening under the stage lights.

But Lisa wanted more, she wanted everything exposed. During the break, while the guys were getting water, she threw out the idea, her sly voice disguising the mischief:

— Dude, it's fucking hot today, huh? I'm sweating my eyes off in this outfit. What if we rehearsed... I don't know, lighter? Like, without anything, to really feel the choreo?

The choreographer raised an eyebrow, but before he could speak, Ricardo laughed, his dirty look cutting through her.

— Without anything, huh? What do you want to feel, you bitch? — he muttered softly, and the insult made her pussy tighten.

Jamal joined in, taking off his shirt with a smile.

— For me, let's go. I'm really melting — he said, and the other guys, laughing, started taking off their clothes, their shorts falling down, their already half-hard dicks swinging free.

Lisa couldn't believe it was working. She took off her top in a second, her breasts bouncing, her hard nipples shining with sweat, and she tore off her leggings, her honeyed pussy glistening, the honey dripping down her thigh. The hot air licked her skin, mixed with the smell of male bodies, sweat and lust, and she trembled, the delicious humiliation burning as she exposed herself to the hungry eyes. Ricardo, Jamal, Marcus and the others were naked, their big, thick black cocks swinging, some already throbbing, and she wanted each one of them, wanted to be fucked in front of everyone, called a whore until she came.

The choreographer, embarrassed, mumbled something about “focus” and left, leaving the stage for the dancers. Ricardo took the lead, naked, his big dick pointing as he ordered “let’s do the dance”. Lisa obeyed, submissive, her body vibrating with desire as she positioned herself in front of him. The music came back on, low, a low pulse that seemed to echo in her pussy, and she started to do the dance, now with nothing between her ass and his dick. The heat of his hard cock brushed against her sticky ass, the head throbbing against her asshole, and she moaned loudly, the sound tearing through the hot air, her senses collapsing with the raw touch.

Without fabric, each brush was a delicious torture. Ricardo’s dick, sticky with sweat and her honey, slid between her buttocks, brushing her pussy and asshole, and Lisa repeated the step without stopping, her body trembling as she wiggled harder, slower, wanting to swallow him with her ass. The smell of sex hung over the stage, her sweat mixed with the guys', the heat sticking to her skin like a second layer. Jamal, Marcus and the others watched, spread out, their eyes glued to her ass, and Lisa saw their hands moving down to their cocks, starting to jerk off slowly, the guys' low moans mixing with the sound of the music.

The voyeurism made her horny. Being the show for those men, seeing their big cocks throbbing because of her, made her honeyed pussy drip onto the floor, the liquid glistening on the hot sand. The humiliation was perfect—a naked slut, shaking for one guy's cock while the others touched themselves, everyone knowing she was a begging whore. She wanted to scream "fuck me," but she held back, letting her body do the talking, each shake a silent plea to be fucked.

Then, on impulse, Lisa broke her pace. Halfway down, she turned her body, climbing on Ricardo like a bitch in heat, her thighs wide open wrapping around his waist, her wet pussy rubbing against his hard cock. The heat of his cock against her pussy was unbearable, the honeyed head throbbing so close to her hole that she trembled, sweat running down her breasts as the stage spun before her eyes. The other guys stopped, their hands on their cocks, pounding faster, the air filled with moans and heavy breathing.

Lisa, submissive, begged in a hoarse voice, the sound tearing through her throat:

"Please, Ricardo, fuck me, fuck me in front of them, I'm your slut!" Desperation dripped from each word, humiliation igniting as she felt the dancers' gazes, their big cocks throbbing, Marcus moaning louder, his hand flying.

Ricardo's cock brushed the entrance of her honeyed pussy, covered in sweat and her honey, and Lisa wiggled, begging with her body, wanting to be filled there, on stage, for others to see her be the whore she loved to be. The heat of their bodies, the smell of sex, the sound of the handjobs all around her—it all swallowed her up, the total submission, the delicious shame of being the center of all this mischief.

—Please, Ricardo, fuck me, fuck me in front of them, I'm your slut!—Lisa begged again, her voice cracking with desperation, her breasts bouncing, her hard nipples brushing against his sweaty chest. The humiliation burned her good—being a begging whore, exposed to everyone, made her pussy drip on his cock, the honey running down his cock until it dripped onto the hot sand.

Ricardo laughed softly, the deep sound vibrating against her, his dark eyes shining with mischief. Without saying anything, he grabbed her ass hard, his big hands sinking into her flesh as he aligned his big dick with the honeyed entrance of her cunt. The heat of the honeyed head rubbing against her hole made Lisa moan loudly, the sound echoing throughout the stage, an invitation for the dancers to watch her degradation. With one thrust, he thrust it all in, his thick cock tearing her pussy in one stroke, the wet sound mixed with her scream—half pain, half pleasure—filling the air.

The stage seemed to spin before her eyes, the heat of the desert licking her skin as Ricardo pounded mercilessly, each thrust a thunderclap that made her body bounce. Her honeyed pussy squeezed his cock, making everything wet, the liquid running down her thighs, shining under the improvised lights. Sweat dripped from her breasts, mixing with Ricardo's, the smell of raw sex dominating the space. Lisa moaned and moaned, the guttural sounds tearing from her throat, too loud, wanting everyone to hear, to know that she was a hungry whore. The exhibitionism consumed her—Jamal jerking off faster, his big black cock throbbing in his hand, Marcus moaning softly, the other guys touching themselves with their eyes glued to her broken pussy.

Each of Ricardo's thrusts was a perfect humiliation. Lisa felt like a worthless slut, a pussy to be used, and she loved it. His big dick hit her hard, the impact making her breasts bounce, sweat flying as she wiggled, her body begging to be fucked more. The dancers around her were mesmerized, their hands flying on their dicks, the sound of skin on skin mixing with the thrusts — bang, bang, bang — that echoed like drums. Lisa looked at Marcus, voyeurism turning everything on: he was almost cumming, his eyes wide, and she wiggled harder, wanting him to see every detail of the whore she was.

The heat of Ricardo's cock in her honeyed pussy was driving her over the edge. She came screaming, her body convulsing, her pussy squeezing his cock so hard that he grunted, thrusting deeper as her honey dripped onto the floor. But Lisa didn't want to stop — she wanted more, she wanted all of it. When Ricardo slowed down, his cock still hard, she slid down, on her knees in the hot sand, her body glistening with sweat, her pussy throbbing, wet. The dancers moved closer, their big cocks swinging in front of her, and Lisa, submissive, opened her mouth, her eyes imploring as she licked the air, begging for cock.

She started with Jamal, his thick cock filling her mouth, the salty taste of sweat and lust exploding on her tongue. She sucked hungrily, her throat tightening as she gagged, saliva running down her chin, dripping onto her breasts. But instead of letting him cum, she stopped at the last second, his cock throbbing in her hand, a frustrated groan escaping Jamal. Lisa smiled, the slut inside her loving the cruel control of denying him milk, even though she was submissive. She moved on to Marcus, licking the wet head, sucking deep until he moaned loudly, his legs shaking, only to let him go too, his big cock throbbing, unrelieved. One by one, she sucked them all—five thick, black cocks, throbbing with desire—, gagging, getting her face covered in saliva, but always stopping before she came, leaving each guy with a look of anger and pent-up desire.

The stage floor was stained with honey and saliva, the air heavy with the smell of interrupted sex, the frustrated moans of the dancers echoing as Lisa stood up, her breasts glistening, her pussy dripping. Her humiliation was double now—being the whore who sucked everyone in front of everyone, and the slut who denied them milk, even though she was begging for cock. The voyeurism was still pulsing: she knew the guys were crazy about her, their hard cocks proof of the power her submission had, and the thought of someone spying through the tents only made her want more.

Ricardo, the only one who had fucked her pussy, chuckled softly, wiping away the sweat as he put away his cock, still covered in her cum. Lisa staggered to the corner, grabbing her ripped leggings, her body shaking with lust and delicious shame, the dancers' eyes burning into her back. She imagined the cumplay that never came — the cum she wanted smearing her face, her breasts, her pussy — but she saved her desire for the next round, knowing she had left everyone hungry.

While the crowd got dressed, Ricardo pulled Jamal, Marcus and the others to the improvised lockers on the stage, out of her hearing. His mischievous smile said it all before he even opened his mouth. Sweat was still dripping from his forehead, the smell of his fuck with Lisa stuck to his skin, and he couldn't hold back his betrayal:

"Dude, Lisa is a slut who loves to be used as a hole. She begs to be fucked, sucks until she chokes, and wants to be called a whore while she takes cock. I'm warning you, this pussy and this ass are for anyone who wants to break in."

The guys' eyes widened, their big cocks jumping in their shorts, still hard from the frustrated blowjob. Jamal laughed, patting Ricardo on the shoulder.

"Fuck, she denied me my milk, but now I know this whore will let it all out," he said, his voice full of lust.

Marcus, still red from jerking off, muttered: "Fuck, I saw her taking dick and I already knew she was a greedy slut. I want to fuck her too."

The group laughed softly, whispering plans, their eyes shining with the promise of using Lisa as she wanted — a pussy, an ass, a mouth for dick. Ricardo's betrayal spread her fame, each word planting the seed of what was to come at Coachella, while Lisa, on the other side of the stage, wore her sticky leggings, her pussy throbbing, unaware that her submission was becoming a legend.

The rehearsal ended with the stage empty, the desert heat still sticking to her skin, the air heavy with the smell of sweat and unresolved lust. Lisa was exhausted, her honeyed pussy throbbing, her ripped leggings tucked in haphazardly as she walked to the makeshift dressing room—a tent at the back of the stage, surrounded by tarps and speakers. The honey dripped down her thighs, mixed with sweat, and her breasts swayed in her tiny top, her hard nipples marking the fabric. Her head was spinning with what had happened: the brutal fuck with Ricardo, his big cock tearing her pussy in front of everyone, the blowjob from the other guys, denying them their milk, the frustrated moans echoing. She loved the humiliation of being the stage slut, but she didn't know that Ricardo's betrayal had spread the fire.

Inside the dressing room, the air was stuffy, the smell of hot metal and dust mixed with the distant echo of the test music. Lisa threw her bag in a corner, her body trembling with desire, wanting to touch herself, but before she could breathe, the canvas of the entrance opened. Ricardo entered first, his broad chest glistening with sweat, followed by Jamal, Marcus and the other three dancers — five burly males, their eyes hungry, the bulges in their shorts pulsing. Her heart raced, her desire mixed with butterflies in her stomach. They surrounded her in silence, their bodies so close that she could feel their heat, the strong smell of male sweat invading her senses.

Ricardo crossed his arms, his mischievous smile cutting through the air.

“Your fame is spreading, Lisa. I told the guys that you love being a hole, a slut who begs for cock. Now they want proof,” he said, his voice deep, each word dripping with humiliation.

Lisa swallowed hard, her honeyed pussy clenching at the implicit insult, her exhibitionism igniting as the guys’ eyes devoured her. She should have been scared, but her lust was in charge — being surrounded, judged as a whore, was all the bitch inside her wanted. Jamal took a step, his hand on her shorts, his big dick marking her as he chuckled softly.

“You sucked everyone off and didn’t let them cum, you slut. Show that you’re the whore Ricardo said you were,” he said, and the “slut” made her moan softly, the sound escaping unintentionally.

Marcus and the others closed the circle, the space getting smaller, the heat of their bodies suffocating. Lisa trembled, submissive, her pussy dripping on her leggings, her heart beating so loud it seemed to echo in the tent. She had no way to escape — and she didn’t want to.

“Please… I’ll show you, I’m your slut,” she murmured, her voice hoarse, pleading, her eyes lowered as she tore off her top, her breasts bouncing free, sweat glistening on her skin.

The guys laughed softly, a sound that cut like a knife, and Ricardo pointed to the center of the tent, where a dim light hit the dusty floor.

“Then dance, you whore. Shake your ass naked so we can judge your whore body,” he ordered, and the order made her pussy throb, the humiliation exploding as she obeyed.

Lisa let her leggings fall, the sticky fabric sliding down her thighs to the floor, her honeyed pussy glistening, her asshole still sensitive from the previous fuck blinking with the cool air. Naked, she walked to the center, the hot floor biting her bare feet, sweat running down her back, dripping on her pert ass. The smell of male bodies enveloped her, mixed with the hot metal of the tent, and the silence of the guys was worse than any insult — a silent judgment, their eyes scrutinizing every curve, every drop of honey running down her thigh.

With no music, just the sound of their heavy breathing, Lisa began to shake her ass. She got down slowly, her hands on her knees, her ass sticking up high, her honeyed pussy glistening as she spread her thighs, showing everything. Her movement was slow, each wiggle an offering, a request to be used. Sweat dripped from her breasts, her hard nipples jiggling, and she moaned softly, the hoarse sound filling the tent, loud enough for someone outside to hear. Exhibitionism took over her — the canvas at the entrance swayed in the wind, and she imagined a roadie peeking in, jerking off while watching the slut show off.

The dancers watched, their big cocks throbbing in their shorts, some already with their hands inside, slowly jerking off. Jamal bit his lip, his eyes on her honeyed pussy, while Marcus, still red from the scene on stage, breathed heavily, his hand squeezing his cock. Ricardo stood still, his arms crossed, but the bulge in his shorts said he was dying to fuck her again. Lisa wiggled harder, her ass and pussy winking at the audience, her honey dripping onto the floor, the smell of her sex mingling with the sultry heat. The humiliation was perfect—being judged as a whore, her body exposed for evaluation, every moan a reminder that she was just a hungry slut.

She got down on all fours to the floor, her ass sticking up high, her hands spreading her buttocks to show her wet asshole, her pussy dripping as she wiggled. The wet sound of her pussy moving filled the tent, mixed with the guys' low moans, their handjobs getting faster. Lisa turned around, lying on the warm floor, her thighs spread, her fingers brushing her pussy just to tease, her body glistening with sweat as she moaned:

"Please, look at me, I'm your whore," she begged, her voice shaking, the humiliation exploding with each hungry look.

The guys were mesmerized, but no one touched her—it was the trial, just like Ricardo ordered. Jamal chuckled softly, his big dick throbbing in his hand, and Marcus groaned, almost cumming, but he held it in. Lisa stood up, her body shaking, her honeyed pussy leaving a trail on the floor, and stood, naked, in the center, her breasts rising and falling with her heavy breathing. The tent seemed smaller, the heat stifling, the smell of lust dominating everything. She knew she had proven herself—she was the slut Ricardo had said she was, the whore who begged for cock, and now the guys were dying to use her.

The stuffy air in the tent smelled of sex, male sweat and hot metal, the heat sticking to her skin like a sticky caress. Each of the guys' breaths was a burden, each of their low moans—their hands squeezing their big cocks in their shorts—a reminder that she was just a begging whore, exposed to satisfy their lust.

She stopped shaking, standing in the middle of the circle, her breasts rising and falling with her heavy breathing, sweat running down her thighs, mixing with the honey that glistened on her pussy. The silence of the dancers was worse than any curse, a silent judgment that made her heart race, her pussy throb with delicious shame. Ricardo took a step forward, his broad chest shining, the bulge in his shorts throbbing as if he wanted to rip the fabric.

“Fuck, Lisa, you really are the slut I said. Body of a whore, pussy begging for cock,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the air, each word a stab of humiliation that made her moan softly, the sound escaping uncontrollably.

Jamal laughed, his hand on his shorts, his big black cock marking it as he shook his head.

“You shook it really well, you whore. But proof isn’t just about dancing,” he said, and the other guys murmured in agreement, their eyes glued to her honeyed pussy, to her asshole that blinked with heat.

Lisa trembled, submissive, the humiliation exploding like fire in her pussy. She wanted to fall to her knees, suck everyone there, let them smear their cum on her face, but the desire to be judged, to be the slut who begged for more, ruled her. Voyeurism pulsed in the air — the canvas of the entrance swayed, and she imagined someone spying, a roadie or even the choreographer watching her degrade herself. The thought made her pussy drip even more, the liquid running down the floor, the smell of her sex dominating the tent.

Marcus, still red from jerking off during rehearsal, took a step forward, his eyes shining with lust.

“You denied us our milk on stage, you slut. Now what do you want? To be our real pussy?” he asked, his voice hoarse, and the word “slut” hit like a slap, making Lisa bite her lip, her body trembling as she nodded.

— Please... I'm your bitch, use me, judge me, I beg you — she murmured, her voice weak, pleading, her eyes lowered as sweat dripped from her hard nipples, the hot ground biting her feet. The humiliation was everything — being called a whore, being exposed like a hole for cock, being the showpiece of those males who were dying to break her in.

Ricardo laughed softly, the sound echoing in the tent like thunder. He moved closer, so close that the heat of his body burned her skin, the strong smell of male sweat invading her senses.

— You're a greedy whore, Lisa. Everyone saw that body begging for cock. But today you only dance, you bitch. Tomorrow, at Coachella, we'll use you for real — he said, the words dripping with promise and humiliation, his big cock throbbing in his shorts as he walked away.

Lisa moaned, desperation squeezing her honeyed pussy, her arousal exploding at the idea of being used by everyone at the show. The other guys laughed, some adjusting their dicks, their hands still sticky from touching each other while they judged her. Jamal gave her ass a light slap, the sound cracking in the tent, and she moaned loudly, the touch leaving her skin burning, the humiliation mixed with the desire to beg for more.

“Get ready, you whore. Your pussy is going to work tomorrow,” he said, laughing as he left, followed by the others.

Marcus was the last, his eyes glued to her breasts, his big dick showing through his shorts. He didn't say anything, but the low moan that escaped him as he passed her was proof that he was dying to fuck her. Lisa was left alone in the tent, naked, her body glistening with sweat, her pussy dripping onto the floor, the smell of lust and humiliation clinging to her skin. She grabbed her ripped leggings, the sticky fabric sticking to her thighs as she put them on, the tiny top barely covering her hard nipples. Her heart was pounding, her head spinning with what had happened — the fuck with Ricardo on stage, the frustrating blowjob from the others, his betrayal by telling her she was a hole, and now the naked dance, the judgment of her body as a slut ready for cock.

She left the tent, the desert sun beating down on her face, the hot wind licking her sweaty skin. The stage was empty, the tents swaying, but the echo of her moans seemed to hang in the air, as if Coachella itself knew what was coming. Lisa smiled, her honeyed pussy throbbing, her arousal still alive as she thought about tomorrow's show—the stares of the audience, the big cocks of the dancers, the promise of being used like the whore she begged to be. The rehearsal day was over, but the slut inside her was just beginning, ready to give herself body and soul on the festival stage.

Coachella day arrived like a storm of heat and adrenaline, the desert vibrating with the pulse of the crowd, the sound of bass echoing through the tents and stages. Backstage, the air was thick, full of dust, sweat and the metallic smell of equipment under the sun. Lisa was electric, her body on fire since the last rehearsal, where she gave herself like a slut on stage naked, fucking Ricardo, sucking the dancers and shaking her butt naked in the dressing room while they judged her slutty body. Her honeyed pussy dripped just remembering it — the insults of “slut” and “whore”, the big dicks throbbing, the promise of being used as a hole. Today, on stage, she was going to dance for the world, but backstage, the slut inside her was begging for cock.

Lisa was wearing her show outfit: a red top that barely covered her breasts, her hard nipples showing through the fabric, and shorts of the same color so tight that her honeyed pussy left a wet outline, without panties, of course. Sweat was already glistening on her skin, mixed with the glitter from the stage, while she mentally checked the choreography. Ricardo, Jamal, Marcus and the other two dancers — five burly males, their sculpted bodies shining through their tight shirts — were gathered in a corner backstage, laughing softly, their hungry eyes glued to her. The smell of testosterone and sexual tension hung over her, and Lisa felt her pussy throb, knowing that the day was going to be an explosion of naughtiness.

Before the last stage check, Ricardo called the dancers to a corner, his deep voice cutting through the noise of the roadies. Lisa was adjusting the microphone, but she heard bits and pieces, her heart racing with each word.

“Listen, bros. Lisa is our reward today.” Whoever stands out in the choreo, whoever makes the audience go crazy, will fuck this bitch however they want. She begs for cock, she's an open hole for us — he said, laughing, his big dick marking his pants while the others exchanged punches on her shoulder, their eyes shining with lust.

Lisa pretended not to hear, but her pussy dripped immediately, her shorts wet as she imagined being used by everyone, called a whore, covered in cum. The humiliation was like fire — being announced as a “reward”, a trophy for cock, made her want to fall to her knees right there. The exhibitionism was pulsating: backstage was full of people — roadies, technicians, other artists — and she loved the risk of someone hearing, of knowing that she was the slut of the group.

The time for the show was approaching, but before that, the dancers pulled Lisa into the main dressing room, a cramped tent at the back of the stage, the stuffy air smelling of hot canvas and sweat. The lights were dim, casting shadows on their bodies, and the sound of the crowd outside was a distant roar, mixed with the throbbing bass. Ricardo had locked the canvas entrance, but left a crack, the wind rustling the fabric, and Lisa felt her pussy tighten with voyeurism—someone could spy, watch her degrade herself like the whore she was.

Without warning, Jamal grabbed her arm, the heat of his hand burning her skin, and pushed her to her knees on the dusty ground. The impact made her breasts bounce, her top riding up, almost exposing everything. Lisa moaned softly, the hoarse sound escaping her as she looked up, surrounded by the five dancers, their big cocks marking their pants, their hungry eyes devouring her. The smell of male sweat filled her nose, mixed with the sticky heat of the tent, and she trembled, submissive, her pussy dripping in her shorts, her heart beating so loud it seemed to burst.

“Show us whore you are, Lisa.” Prove you want to have sex before the show — Ricardo said, his voice deep, each word a humiliation that made her pussy throb.

Lisa didn't need orders. Her trembling hands went to the zippers, pulling out Ricardo's cock first, that thick black monster glistening with sweat, the veins pulsing as if it were alive. She opened her mouth, swallowing hungrily, her throat tightening as saliva ran down, the salty taste exploding on her tongue. The wet sound of hickeys filled the tent, too loud, and she moaned, wanting the crack in the canvas to let the noise out, for someone to hear the begging whore. Ricardo grunted, his hand in her hair, but pulled his cock out before he came, his big cock throbbing in front of her face.

“One at a time, you whore. Show each one of them,” he ordered, and Lisa obeyed, submissive, passing it to Jamal.

Jamal's cock was almost as big, the sticky head brushing her lips before she swallowed, sucking deep until she gagged, her eyes watering as she moaned. But it wasn't enough—she wanted more, she wanted them all at once, she wanted to be fucked like a slut.

"Please, fuck me together, I'm your whore, I'm begging for more cock!" she whimpered, her voice cracking, pulling his cock out of her mouth just to beg before going back to sucking.

Jamal laughed, pulling his cock out, leaving her mouth empty, his frustrated desire making her moan louder. Marcus came next, his big black cock throbbing as she licked, sucking until he moaned, but he also pulled away, denying her release. One by one, the other two dancers — Carlos and Trey — took over, their thick cocks filling her mouth, their saliva dripping onto the floor, mixed with the sweat that dripped from their breasts. Lisa sucked desperately, begging between each exchange:

— Use me, please, I want more cocks, I'm your greedy slut!

The floor of the tent bit her knees, the desert heat sticking to her skin, the smell of sex and testosterone suffocating. Voyeurism exploded — the crack in the canvas swayed, and she imagined a roadie spying, jerking off while watching the pop star on her knees, being used as a hole. The humiliation was perfect: being the promised reward, sucking one by one while begging for more, her body exposed to the hungry gazes. Her top was crooked, her breasts almost jumping out, her wet shorts marking her pussy, and she loved being seen like that — a begging whore, ready for anything.

But the guys had other plans. Ricardo came back, his big dick in his hand, jerking off quickly in front of her face.

“Open your mouth, you whore, you’re going on stage as our marked slut,” he growled, and before she could respond, the hot jet of cum hit her face, smearing her lips, her nose, dripping down her chin.

Jamal came right after, his cock throbbing as he came, the thick cum painting her forehead, running down her eyes, the hot milk glistening on her skin. Marcus, Carlos and Trey joined in, each jerking off, the jets hitting her face, her breasts, her top, even her wet shorts. Lisa moaned as the cum dripped, the strong smell of male milk mixed with her sweat, the floor of the tent stained. She rubbed the milk into her skin, licking her fingers, begging with her eyes for more, even though she knew it was just the warm-up.

"That's it, you whore, you're going to dance with our cum on your face," Ricardo said, laughing, while the others put away their dicks, their laughter echoing in the tent.

Lisa got on her knees, her face sticky, the glitter from the stage mixed with the cum shining under the dim light. The sound of the crowd outside grew louder, the show minutes away, and she smiled, her pussy dripping, her body shaking with lust. The humiliation of being marked, of going on stage as the dancers' slut, was all she wanted. But she knew that this was just the beginning — the real fucking, the total mess, would come later, when the stage went dark and backstage became her playground.

Coachella was on fire, the desert vibrating with the roar of the crowd, strobe lights cutting through the purple dusk sky. The main stage was a living beast, the bass of the music pulsing like a giant heart, the heat of the day sticking to everyone's skin. Lisa was backstage, her body shaking with adrenaline and lust, her pussy dripping in the shorts that clung to her pussy, highlighting every curve. The top barely held her breasts, her hard nipples shining under the glitter, but what no one in the audience knew — and what made her burn inside — was the dried cum in her hair, on her face, on her breasts, stuck like a tattoo of the dirty dressing room.

The cum dried quickly in the desert heat, leaving shiny trails that mixed with the glitter, the salty smell still stuck in her nose, mixed with the sweat and the sweet perfume of the stage. Lisa didn't clean up anything—she wanted to dance like that, marked like the backstage whore, the heat of humiliation pulsing in her pussy as she imagined the audience seeing, even without knowing, how greedy she was.

She grabbed the microphone, the cold metal against her slick lips, and looked at the dancers, all lined up, their sculpted bodies shining in their tight clothes, their naughty eyes telling her they knew what she was carrying. Ricardo smiled a little, his big dick marking his pants, while Jamal blinked, the promise of the post-show fuck hanging in the air. The roar of the crowd grew as the announcer announced her name, and Lisa took a deep breath, her pussy dripping, her heart beating so loud it drowned out the bass. It was time to be the pop star—and the slut—on stage.

The lights exploded, the stage igniting like a volcano, and Lisa came out twerking, her shorts riding up, her ass shaking as the music boomed. The crowd screamed, thousands of eyes glued to her, the heat of the lights licking her sweaty skin, the glitter and dried cum shining like diamonds. She sang, her hoarse voice mixed with moans that escaped without wanting to, the microphone picking up every sigh as she danced. The smell of smoke and electricity hung in the air, mixed with her sweat, her cum-slicked hair sticking to the back of her neck, every movement making her feel the dancers' marks on her skin.

The choreography was pure heat, each step a provocation that set her pussy on fire. But the moment she wanted most — her favorite step — came in the second song. The beat slowed down, a sensual bass that made the floor tremble, and Lisa positioned herself, Ricardo behind her, the heat of his body burning her back. She got down slowly, her ass sticking up against his big dick, which was hard as hell, throbbing in his tight pants. Her shorts rode up, marking her wet pussy, and the contact of his cock against her ass elicited a loud moan — “hmmm, fuck” — that escaped into the microphone, echoing to the thousands in the audience.

The crowd screamed, thinking it was part of the show, but Lisa was shaking, her excitement exploding with the exhibitionism. Ricardo’s cock rubbed her ass and pussy through the fabric, covered in sweat and her honey, and she wiggled harder, moaning again — “fuck, that’s it...” — the hoarse sound leaking into the microphone, her voice mixing with the music. The smell of his sweat, strong and masculine, filled her nose, and she imagined the audience seeing the truth: a begging slut, dancing with dry cum on her face, crazy for cock. Voyeurism consumed her — every eye in the crowd was a judge, every scream an applause for the whore that she was.

Lisa repeated the step, “missing” on purpose, like in rehearsals, going down on Ricardo again, her ass pressed against his big dick, her moan now a muffled “fuck, fuck” but loud enough for the microphone to pick up. The crowd went crazy, their cell phones recording, and she loved the risk — would anyone notice? Who would see the cum shining in her hair, the sticky shorts, the moans of a slut? The heat of the lights stuck to her skin, the sweat running down her breasts, dripping onto the stage, and she danced with more fire, her body begging for more.

But it wasn't just the steps. Other movements became naughty. In a spin, she rubbed her breasts against Jamal's chest, her hard nipples scraping his shirt, a low moan — "hmmm" — escaping into the microphone as her pussy dripped. In a change of position, Marcus moved behind her, his hand "accidentally" brushing her ass, and she moaned again, the sound echoing, the audience thinking it was a performance. Every touch, every brush, was a torture of lust, the stage turning into a disguised orgy, the smell of sweat and glitter mixed with the echo of the bass, the dried cum on her skin burning like a brand.

Lisa sang, but her voice was hoarse, interrupted by moans she couldn't hold back. She wiggled alone in the middle, her thighs open, her shorts showing her pussy, and moaned softly — "fuck, I want..." — the microphone betraying her again. The crowd screamed, the flashes of their cell phones capturing every curve, and she imagined the world watching: the pop star with cum in her hair, moaning like a whore, her body begging for cock. The humiliation was perfect — dancing marked by the dancers' milk, the glitter not hiding the truth, her arousal exposed to thousands.

The pace picked up during the last song, and Lisa went all out. She went down on Ricardo, her ass shaking so hard that his big dick seemed to rip his pants, the heat of his cock wetting her shorts. She moaned loudly — "fuck, put it in..." — the microphone amplifying it to the entire festival, the crowd exploding without knowing it was real. Sweat dripped from her forehead, mixed with the dried cum that stuck to her skin, the salty smell returning with the heat, and she wiggled, begging with her body while Ricardo laughed softly, his cock throbbing against her ass.

The show ended with Lisa in the center, panting, her body shining with sweat, glitter and dried cum, her pussy staining her shorts, her moans still echoing in her head. The crowd roared, the applause like a wave, but she only thought about backstage — about the dancers' big cocks, the promise of being fucked like never before. She left the stage, her sticky hair sticking to the back of her neck, her face marked by dried milk, and looked at the dancers, who were waiting, their eyes hungry. Coachella had seen the pop star, but now the bitch was ready for the real show, the one that would come when the lights went out.

The Coachella stage still echoed in Lisa’s head, the crowd’s cheers mixing with the thumping bass as she ran backstage, her body on fire. Lisa staggered down the canvas hallways, her shorts clinging to her pussy, her top askew, one nipple nearly popping out as she dodged roadies and speakers. The air was stuffy and dusty, and the sound of the next act was distant, but all she could think about were the big cocks—Ricardo, Jamal, Marcus, Carlos, Trey—waiting to fuck her again. The humiliation of dancing with cum on her face, of moaning “fuck, fuck” to the audience without them knowing the truth, had driven her crazy. She wanted to be used, called “whore,” covered in cum until it dripped, her exhibitionism exploding at the thought of someone watching her degrade herself backstage.

But before she could reach the main dressing room, a familiar voice cut through the air.

“Lisa? Oh my God, what happened to you?” Rosé was standing at the entrance to a smaller tent, her eyes wide, her blonde hair shining in the dim light. She was wearing a light dress, her face made up for her own show, but her expression was one of pure shock.

Lisa stopped, her heart racing, her pussy dripping as she felt Rosé’s gaze travel over her state—her hair tangled, the dried cum glistening on her forehead and cheeks, her sticky top stuck to her breasts, her shorts stained with honey and sweat. Her smell was pure sex—cum, sweat, lust—and the heat backstage made everything stick even more, her skin sticky under the glitter. The humiliation hit her hard: being caught like this, exposed like a slut, made her pussy clench, but the lust mixed with a thread of shame that only increased the fire. — Rosé... I... it's just the show, you know, heat, glitter... — Lisa stuttered, her voice hoarse, trying to laugh, but the sound came out weak, pleading, as if she were asking Rosé to believe her lie.

Rosé frowned, taking a step, her nose catching the strong smell before stopping, her eyes widening even more.

— Dude, that's not glitter, Lisa. Are you... oh my God, are you covered in... cum? — she whispered, her voice shaking between shock and something else, maybe curiosity, as she looked at the dried tracks on her neck and breasts.

Lisa bit her lip, the dusty floor of the tent biting her bare feet, the desert heat rising up her legs. She could lie, but the slut inside her wanted to confess, wanted Rosé to know how much she loved being a whore. Voyeurism throbbed — the tent canvas swayed, and she imagined a roadie eavesdropping, listening to their conversation, jerking off while watching the pop star get wet.

— It's... it's cum, Rosé. I... I fucking like it. I'm crazy, I know, but I love being used like this — she admitted, her voice low, submissive, her eyes on the floor as sweat dripped from her forehead, mixing dried milk with glitter.

Rosé was silent, breathing heavily, her eyes glued to Lisa's sticky face. The air in the tent was suffocating, the smell of cum and sex surrounding them both, the sound of the crowd outside a muffled roar.

— Used how? Like... what did you do, Lisa? Tell me, damn it — Rosé said, her voice now firmer, a mix of shock and fascination, as if she wanted to understand her friend's madness.

Lisa took a deep breath, her pussy dripping in her shorts, the clinging fabric showing everything as she spoke, each word a humiliation that made her arousal explode.

— The dancers... Ricardo, Jamal, the others... fucked me before the show. They put me on my knees, they smeared my face, my body. I begged, Rosé, I begged to be their bitch, to call me a whore, to cum inside me. And on stage, I danced with it on my skin, moaning into the microphone, crazy for more — she confessed, her voice shaking, her hard nipples throbbing in her top, her body begging for cock even as she spoke.

Rosé swallowed hard, her eyes wide, but now with a different shine — it wasn't just shock, it was curiosity, maybe even a hint of lust. She took a step, her dress brushing her thigh, the heat of the tent sticking to her skin too.

"Fuck, Lisa, do you... do you really like this? Being like... one of their whores? Doesn't it hurt you?" she asked, her voice low, her gaze fixed on the dried cum that glistened on Lisa's neck.

Lisa laughed softly, the sound hoarse, almost a moan, as she shook her head.

"Hurt?" No, Rosé, I love it. Every curse, every spurt of cum, every look judging me as a slut... that's what makes me cum. I'm running to the dressing room now, they're going to fuck me again, all together, and I want to beg for every cock — she said, her eyes shining, submissive, her pussy dripping so much that her shorts were soaked, the honey running down her thigh.

The floor of the tent seemed to pulse with heat, the smell of her sex dominating the space, the glitter falling on the dusty floor as she spoke. Rosé stood still, her breathing quickened, her eyes roaming over Lisa's sticky body, as if trying to understand the abyss of her friend's lust. The tent swayed louder, and Lisa felt the voyeurism again — she imagined the dancers waiting, maybe listening, knowing that she was confessing to being their whore. The humiliation was perfect: telling Rosé, exposing her degradation, made her want to run to the gangbang even more.

Rosé touched her arm, the contact warm, almost electric, and Lisa moaned softly, the sound escaping unintentionally.

“Dude, you’re crazy… but, like, if it makes you happy, go for it. Just… be careful, okay?” Rosé said, her voice soft, but with a tone that said she wouldn’t forget this conversation.

Lisa nodded, her heart racing, her pussy begging as she smiled.

“Thanks, Rosé. But watch out, it’s not me. I’m the bitch who begs for everything,” she replied, laughing, and left the tent, her sticky shorts sticking to her ass, her hair with dried cum swinging as she ran to the main dressing room, where the dancers waited, their big cocks ready to break her in as promised.

Lisa ran backstage at Coachella like a bitch in heat, her heart beating so hard it drowned out the roar of the crowd outside. The show had been crazy—dancing with the dancers’ dried cum stuck to her hair, her face, her tits, moaning “fuck, fuck” into the microphone while she grinded against Ricardo’s big dick, her honeyed pussy dripping onto her black shorts. The conversation with Rosé minutes before—confessing that she loved being the sticky bitch, begging for cock—only lit the fire. Now, her shorts were clinging to her pussy, her silver top was askew, a nipple almost popping out, and the smell of cum, sweat and glitter hung over her, the desert heat sticking to her skin like a promise of mischief.

She entered the main dressing room, a wide tent at the back of the stage, the stuffy air smelling of hot canvas, metal and testosterone. The lights were dim, casting shadows on the bodies of the five dancers waiting for her — Ricardo, Jamal, Marcus, Carlos and Trey — all sweaty, their pants showing their thick cocks, their hungry eyes shining. The canvas at the entrance was half open, the wind swaying, and Lisa felt her pussy throb with voyeurism — someone could spy, watch her degrade herself like the whore she begged to be. The dusty floor bit her bare feet, the sound of the next attraction echoing softly, and she trembled, submissive, eager to be used. Ricardo took a step, his broad chest shining, his big dick throbbing in his pants as he chuckled softly.

"It's time, you slut. You're our toy now, a hole for us to fuck however we want," he said, his deep voice dripping with humiliation, the "toy" making her pussy drip in her shorts.

Lisa moaned, the hoarse sound escaping as she fell to her knees, the hot floor tearing at her skin. Jamal grabbed her hair, pulling her head back, and shoved his big dick in her mouth, her throat tightening as she choked, saliva dripping down her chin. The salty taste exploded on her tongue, the smell of male sweat suffocating, and she sucked hungrily, her eyes watering, begging with her body to be used more. Before she could breathe, Ricardo ripped her shorts, the sticky fabric falling in shreds, and turned her face down on the floor, her ass sticking up without her order.

— Take it, you whore, a toy pussy doesn't ask for it — Ricardo grunted, shoving his big black cock into her pussy without warning, the impact eliciting a scream from her, the sound muffled by Jamal's cock in her mouth.

Lisa was an object, a slut to be fucked without consideration, and she loved every second of it. Ricardo's cock tore her pussy apart, the honey running down her thighs, dripping onto the dusty floor, while Jamal pounded her throat, his saliva smearing her breasts, her torn top hanging from her hard nipples. The heat of their bodies burned, the sweat dripping onto her ass, the smell of sex dominating the tent. She moaned, the sound muffled, wanting to beg for more, but there was no room — she was just holes, used however they wanted.

Marcus joined in the game, his big cock throbbing as he took Jamal's place, shoving it into her mouth without saying a word. Lisa choked, her throat burning, her saliva dripping onto the floor, mixed with the honey that was dripping from Ricardo's broken pussy. Suddenly, Carlos turned her sideways, his thick cock lining up in her ass without warning, covered only in spit, and thrust deep, the tightness eliciting a scream that vibrated in Marcus's cock. The pain mixed with the excitement, her ass blinking as she was fucked in all three holes, turning her into a meat doll, humiliated and fulfilled.

The sound of the thrusts echoed in the tent, mixed with her muffled moans and the guys' grunts. Lisa imagined a voyeur — a roadie, maybe Rosé — watching her being broken in, her exhibitionism exploding as she thought: Look at what a slut I am, fucked like a toy. Sweat ran down her breasts, dripping onto the floor, the glitter falling with the dried milk that still marked her skin, the smell of old cum and new sex suffocating everything.

Then came the humiliation, rising to a new level. Ricardo, pounding her pussy, leaned in, his hot breath in her ear.

— I'm going to fill that pussy, you whore. I'm fucking you to get you pregnant, you greedy bitch — he grunted, his big dick throbbing as he thrust deeper, his threatening tone making her pussy tighten, even though she knew it was a game.

Lisa moaned, Marcus's dick muffling the sound, and tried to beg:

— Please, fill me, I'm your bitch! — the words came out jumbled, the humiliation of “getting pregnant” burning hot, her pussy dripping even more.

Jamal, who was now jerking off next to her, laughed, taking Carlos' place in her ass.

"This ass too, you whore. We're going to fill you with milk, make you drip like a pregnant slut," he said, sticking his big dick in her tight ass, the squeeze eliciting another scream from her, pleasure and pain mixing as she trembled.

Each guy "threatened" to fill her, calling her a "slut" and a "milk hole," and Lisa came nonstop, her pussy convulsing, her asshole winking, her body begging for more humiliation. Trey took her mouth, his thick cock pounding her throat, while Carlos fucked her pussy, switching with Ricardo, all of them using her as a toy, without warning, without pause. Sweat dripped, the dusty floor was stained with honey and saliva, the heat of the tent was suffocating, the smell of sex and cum dominating everything.

Ricardo was the first to cum inside her, the hot jet filling her, the milk dripping as he grunted:

— Take it, you whore, milk to get you pregnant! — The humiliation of the internal orgasm made Lisa cum again, her pussy squeezing his cock, the honey mixing with the cum.

Jamal came in her ass, his big cock throbbing as it filled her tight hole, the hot milk dripping into her ass.

— Your ass is full, pregnant bitch — he cursed, and Lisa moaned, her body shaking as Carlos took her pussy, cumming inside too, the hot jet mixing with Ricardo's.

Marcus and Trey finished in her mouth, their cocks throbbing as they smeared her throat, cum running down her chin, dripping onto her breasts, her torn top now just a rag. Lisa swallowed what she could, licking her fingers as she rubbed the milk into her skin, the strong smell of fresh cum mixing with sweat and glitter. The floor of the tent was a puddle—honey, cum, saliva—the heat sticking everything to her skin, the air heavy with the echo of her moans.

Lisa was sprawled on the dusty floor of the tent that served as a dressing room, her body glistening with sweat, glitter, and fresh cum dripping from her pussy, her broken ass, and her wet face. Her top was just a torn rag, her shorts torn to shreds, and the heavy smell of sex—cum, saliva, honey—choked the stuffy air, mixed with the desert heat that came in through the half-open canvas. The five dancers—Ricardo, Jamal, Marcus, Carlos, Trey—stood around her, their thick black cocks still half-hard, sweaty, chuckling softly as they looked at the begging slut they had just fucked. But Lisa, submissive, was shaking with desire, her pussy throbbing, wanting more humiliation, more cock, more of everything.

What she didn't know was that Rosé was there, hidden. After the conversation in the hallway, where Lisa confessed that she loved being used like a whore, Rosé followed her, driven by a burning curiosity. Now, crouched behind a pile of speakers on the side of the tent, Rosé peered through the crack in the canvas, her eyes wide, her breathing fast. Her hand slid under her light dress, her fingers brushing her wet pussy as she watched Lisa covered in cum, moaning like a whore. Rosé's active voyeurism was secret — no one could see her, not Lisa, not the guys — and she bit her lip, her desire exploding as she touched herself, hypnotized by her friend's degradation.

Ricardo grabbed Lisa's wet hair, pulling her to her knees, the dusty floor scraping her skin.

"Do you think it's over, you slut?" I'm just getting started with your toy body," he grunted, his big cock throbbing as he thrust into her mouth, pounding deep, her throat tightening.

Lisa choked, saliva dripping, the salty taste of fresh cum and sweat filling her tongue. That was when the breath play began. Jamal, next to her, wrapped his hand around her neck, squeezing lightly but firmly, his thumb pressing against her throat as Ricardo fucked her mouth.

"Breathe when I let you, bitch. If I let you," Jamal said, his voice cold, his grip controlling her air, his eyes shining with the humiliation he knew she loved.

Lisa's eyes widened, the controlled desperation pounding hard, her pussy dripping as she fought for air, her throat blocked by Ricardo's big cock and Jamal's grip. The pleasure was insane—being used without control, her air stolen, her body begging for more. When Jamal let go, she sucked in a sharp breath, only for Marcus to take his place, his thick cock pounding her mouth while Carlos squeezed her neck, repeating:

The sharp tone making her cum without touching her pussy, the honey dripping onto the floor.

Rosé, hidden, sped up her fingers in her pussy, her dress riding up, her arousal exploding as she watched Lisa choke, her face red, saliva dripping onto her breasts. Her voyeurism was feverish — seeing her friend humiliated, treated like a toy, made her pussy drip, the wet sound of her fingers muffled by the noise of the tent. She wanted to scream, but she held it in, her eyes glued to the scene, her heart racing at the idea of no one knowing she was there, masturbating to Lisa's degradation.

In the middle of the action, Trey brought something. While Lisa was on all fours, her pussy exposed, he took a small vibrator, covered in her own honey, and stuck it in without warning, while Ricardo stuck it in her ass. Lisa moaned loudly, the sound muffled by Marcus's cock in her mouth, not understanding what was happening until Trey pressed a remote control, the vibrator turning on with a shock that made her pussy convulse.

"Who— fuck, who's controlling this?!" she screamed, her voice torn between involuntary moans, her body shaking as the vibrator pulsed, her arousal out of control.

Trey laughed, hiding the remote, leaving her begging.

"Shut up, bitch, you're our toy, take whatever we want," he said, as Jamal went back into her pussy, sticking his big cock in with the vibrator, the tightness making her scream.

Lisa was turned over without warning, her ass fucked by Carlos while Marcus stuck his fingers down her throat, the vibrator keeping her on edge.

"Breathe, you whore, or you'll choke," Marcus grunted, his fingers covered in saliva squeezing her throat as Jamal turned up the vibrator, the shock making her cum screaming, her pussy dripping cum and honey.

Ricardo, now in her pussy, pounded deep, the vibrator still inside, and cursed:

"I'm going to fill you up again, you pregnant slut, that pussy is going to drip my milk," his big cock throbbing as he came inside, the hot jet mixing with the vibrator making Lisa tremble.

Carlos, in her ass, came with her, the milk filling her tight hole.

"Your ass is full, whore, ready for one more," he said, and Lisa begged, her voice muffled:

"Fill me up, please, I'm your slut!"

Lisa lay destroyed on the dusty floor of the tent that served as a dressing room, her body covered in sweat, glitter, fresh and dried cum, a living map of her submission. Her honeyed pussy dripped a mixture of honey and warm milk, her broken asshole throbbed, leaking more cum that ran down her thighs, staining the floor. Her face was glistening—cum on her lips, her chin, her forehead—her tangled hair stuck to her neck, her torn silver top hanging from a hard nipple, her black shorts reduced to rags. The vibrator still pulsed softly in her pussy, forgotten by Trey, each vibration eliciting hoarse moans that echoed in the stuffy tent. The smell of sex was insane—cum, saliva, male sweat—mixed with the desert heat that filtered through the half-open canvas, the sound of the Coachella crowd a distant roar.

The five dancers — Ricardo, Jamal, Marcus, Carlos, Trey — were standing around, sweaty, their thick cocks finally softening, their low chuckles cutting through the air as they wiped away the sweat.

Rosé, hidden behind the speakers, had already cum twice, her wet pussy dripping onto her light dress as she watched Lisa being fucked. Her secret voyeurism was feverish — no one, not Lisa, not the guys, knew she was there, her fingers flying in her pussy, biting her lip to keep from moaning out loud. But now, exhausted, Rosé was slowly backing away, her heart racing, her head spinning with what she saw. She left the tent unnoticed, her body shaking, already thinking about what it all meant, especially with Jennie arriving for the show in two days.

Lisa lifted her wet face, her eyes shining with lust and exhaustion, cum running down her chin as she licked her lips.

— Please... I'm your bitch, use me always — she murmured, her voice hoarse, pleading, the vibrator still pulsing in her pussy, eliciting one last moan that made the guys laugh.

Ricardo crouched down, the strong smell of his sweat invading her nose, and pulled her sticky hair.

— You're our hole forever, you whore. Coachella is over for you, but we'll fuck you whenever we want — he said, the final humiliation dripping in each word, his big dick swinging as he stood up.

Jamal gave her sticky ass a light slap, the sound cracking in the tent, and laughed.

— And there's more bitches out there, bro. Jennie's coming in two days, right? I bet she'll want a piece of this — he said, his eyes shining with the idea, planting the seed of a new game.

Lisa moaned softly, her body shaking at the comment, imagining Jennie—her friend who was always so controlled, but with that fire in her eyes—falling into the same madness. The exhibitionism was even pulsing now, the floor stained with cum and honey as proof of the show she put on, the canvas half-open letting the echo of her moans leak backstage. She wanted the world to know—the sticky slut, fucked like a toy, was who she loved to be.

The dancers left, their laughter echoing as they disappeared through the canvas, leaving Lisa alone, face down, the vibrator finally turning off. The heat of the tent was stifling, the smell of sex clinging to her skin, sweat dripping onto the floor. She smiled, exhausted, her pussy and ass throbbing, her face glistening with fresh, dried milk. Coachella had been everything—the stage, the moans into the microphone, the gangbang that had branded her a greedy whore. But Jamal’s comment stuck in her head: Jennie, in two days, on the same stage, with the same dancers. Lisa imagined her friend shaking her hips, maybe hearing rumors of what had happened, maybe giving in to the same lust that had consumed her.

She stood up slowly, her sticky body staggering, cum dripping down her thighs as she picked up what was left of her torn top. The festival was still roaring outside, but for Lisa, the real show had ended here, backstage, sticky and fulfilled. Two days later, Jennie would take the stage, and something told Lisa that Coachella still had more nastiness in store, with the same big dicks ready for another begging bitch.

#kpop smut #blackpink smut #lisa smut #lalisa smut

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solbaby7 · 1 year ago

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If ur still taking requests can i ask for azriel x reader. Where reader and Az are newish friends. One day Elain asks reader for help on how to please a man (I imagine elain always on her back 🤷‍♀️). Reader asks elain if its to show Az and elain just blushes sweetly saying "maybe". Reader being a girls girl shows elain how to be ontop and how to do other favors like if they were besties. ( idk if uve seen game of thrones but a girl shows khalessi how to ride khal drogo. The girl straight up straddles her with clothes on of course, And shows her. I have it in my head that while reader straddles elain Az walks in and is like 😮😮). Readers a bit jealous cuz she has a mini crush on azriel but doesnt show it. She sees elain with some hickies and what not and she decides she cant be around Az anymore (hurts too much blah idk lol). Az is like wtf! Turns out that Elain was asking for sexy help for lucien!!! Doesnt have to be detailed smutty at all, whatever ur comfortable with is cool with me. Oh btw i so so loved that possessive toxic azriel fic u posted the other day. 🫠🫠🫠 🥵🥵🥵

I love love love love love this idea! So happy you requested it🤍💗

—

Teach Me

azriel x reader

[ part 2 ]

“Well—can you help me with that?” A furious blush fans across Elain’s cheeks, eyes wide and hands fumbling at her sides. Dainty fingers dig into the intricate lace detailing of her dress, nails raking over the pattern in attempts to calm the racing of her heart.

“You want to know how to please a male,” You repeat gently, slightly shocked after she’d timidly slipped into your bedroom with flushed cheeks and sweaty palms. It took Elain ten whole minutes to reign in her rambling until she’d finally blurted it out. “Anyone in particular?” She doesn’t meet your eye, shifting her weight from foot to foot and your stomach rolls at the turn your mind takes. Elain had been spending a lot of time around Azriel; afternoons spent tending to the garden and evenings were blocked off to trail behind as she baked some new sweet treat. “Az, maybe?”

“Maybe,” Elain mutters softly, subtly taking in the contents of your room. The pictures propped against your side table and the endless jars and creams stacked neatly on your vanity. “Can you please teach me?”

Pushing side your curiosity, you offer an encouraging smile, patting at the spot beside you on the bed. “Come here.” The first step is hesitant and so is the one that follows but Elain still finds herself following the gentle command and complying even further when you urge her to lie back. You can feel her thighs shake when you swing a leg over to straddle them but the trembling subsides when you adjust her hair and straighten out her dress. “Sex is like a dance.”

Immediately, she’s hooked, hanging onto every word as if you were the Mother herself coming down for a personal visit. Briefly, Elain’s gaze flicks to the door, shoulders relaxing when noting its shut and locked; curtains drawn and the fireplace crackled with life. The smell of you is everywhere. Something light yet memorable, soft and elegant, classic and slightly sweet—soothing in every way. “A dance?”

“It starts off slow,” You begin, a sliver of your abdomen exposed in your Night Court attire. A breathable onyx top that seemed to wrap around your chest like a bandage, blending into a lighter material that was slightly see-through. “Lingering glances from across the room, the heat of feeling his eyes watching you long after you’ve looked away.” Her confusion is palpable in her furrowed brows and slight pout. “Love always begins in the eyes—I’ve heard of women who’ve finished males with nothing more than their gaze alone.”

“Finished?” Your brow raises, a teasing smirk accompanying it and the implication alone has Elain’s cheeks rosy once more. “Oh, gods. I don’t think I’m capable of anything like that.”

Your fingers trace along the length of her bare arms, holding her hands and guiding them to the sides of her head as you hover, voice low. “You are a woman. You’re capable of anything.”

Elain swallows thickly, taking in the words as if it were the first time she truly wanted to believe them. “What if he doesn’t like it? Like me or the fact that I’m not very experienced.”

“They don’t care about if you have experience or not. They simply desire what they’ve never had.” She hangs onto every word, analyzing the way you guide her through the motions of what she’d do. Talking her through the scenarios on how she’d touch; when to kiss and gently tug at hair. Eventually the blushing becomes less frequent, Elain’s eyes fluttering closed as she visualized it, working through the new feelings that brewed at the thought of being able to use such teachings.

“And they like that? Us on top?”

“If you like it then they’ll love it.” You rest her hands at your waist, demonstrating the sensual rocking of hips going back and forth. “Fae males are not like the human men you were accustomed to—all sweet and gentle. Fae’s fuck. They take control,” You’re still above her, watching as her thoughts race a mile a minute, thick lashes fluttering before she moves in a flurry. Quickly the position is changed and while it’s a little sloppy, Elain was obviously paying attention as she hooks her leg over your thighs the same way you had hers. “Good job—exactly like that.”

She lets out a laugh, seemingly surprised in her own actions but the thrill of it all is evident across ethereal features. “My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest.”

“Breathe through it and always remember that no matter how highly you think of him in your mind, no matter how highly others think of him—in that room, he belongs to you. There for you to do as you please and if you’re ever uncomfortable you can always say no. You can always stop no matter how far you’ve gotten.”

Elain nods in understanding, dainty fingers barely gripping at your wrists. “Thank you for this. I don’t know what I’d do if—just, thank you.”

She lingers a tad longer, following every instruction you give and just as you’re about to correct her, your door creaks open. A familiar voice calls out your name, shadows slinking across the wallpaper but they freeze once they take you in—sprawled out against the bed with Elain straddling you, hands pinned by your head.

“We were just—“ Elain scrambles off of you, cheek and chest a furious red as her mouth opens and closes; unable to come up with a reasonable explanation before she’s sliding past Azriel and rushing down the hallway.

“Most people knock.”

But Az wasn’t most people. You’d been friends for years and long since had he forgone the formality of knocking before entering. He hasn’t moved an inch, still donning his fighting leathers and surely he must’ve just rushed in from flying because his hair was a fucking mess. Inky strands lay messily atop his head, flopping over his forehead and teasing the thick of his brows. “What was that?” A finger points in the direction Elain had just disappeared off too and you’re unable to explain why such anger swells in your gut—all too aware of the fact that another female would be using your moves on him.

Seducing him in a manor that belonged to you but would never actually be you.

“Just wait a little, I’m sure it’ll make sense soon.” Confusion sweeps over the angles of his face at the vagueness of your words, skewing the corners of his mouth and you have to physically tear your eyes away before you did something stupid. Like, kiss him. You suck in a sharp breath, a hand curling around the doorknob. “You should get to bed, Az. It’s late.”

You can’t bear to see the look on his face when you close the door on him but it was for the best. It was one thing crushing on him while knowing he wanted another. But it was more complicated now, teaching the object of all his desires exactly what to do to him—how to please him and draw out the sounds you’d been dreaming about for decades.

You flop down on your bed, nose scrunching at the lingering smell of Elain on your pillows.

Sleep doesn’t grace you with her presence that night, instead offering a series of scenarios of what could be happening a few hallways down.

Elain’s back two days later, a goofy grin spread across her cheeks and a line of hickeys branding the side of her neck in a way that makes your stomach turn. It takes everything in you to hide the jealously, to smooth over the embarrassment of ever possibly thinking that Azriel would go for you when he had a blushing Archeron hanging off his arm. “I take it that it went well.”

“More than well,” Elain confessed, dressed in a pale shade of green with ivy’s laced into the thin sleeves. “It was perfect—everything was perfect thanks to you.” She continues on, divulging naughty details and devastating descriptions of Azriel’s fingers grazing at bare skin, the tickle of his hair against her cheek, the warmth radiating from his body when the nights chill became too much. “I’d always heard whispers about the males of Autumn but you guys really weren’t joking,” Your head tilts to the side at that certain detail, brow quirking and your spoon halts its swirling about the teacup. “Fire really does run through their veins.”

“Autumn males?” Your hair flicks behind your shoulder with the wild way you turn to face her, arms crossed loosely over your chest. “You were with Lucien last night?”

Elain nods with a knowing smile growing at the corner of full lips, the tulle of her dress shifting obnoxiously when she takes a seat on your bed.

“I guess I just assumed you’d be with Azriel.”

“Not quite my type,” She replies wistfully, gaze far away as if she were reminiscing on the night before and the male involved. “He’s yours though,” It’s not a question but a statement, thrown out there as if it were a known fact amongst others and you were the last to be let in. “—you like him.”

The teacup pressed to your lips muffles the words but Elain still understands perfectly clear. “”He’s my friend.”

“Friends don’t really look at friends the way he looks at you.” You swallow audibly, attempting to hide your interest and yet it’s the quick flick of your eyes that gives you away. “It’s exactly as you said the other night,” Elain raises from the bed, a gentle hand trailing up your arm the same way you’d done to her. “Love always begins in the eyes. Just look at him—really look at him and see what’s right in front of you.”

Your hands tremble in your lap and for the first time in a very long while, it was you that felt like the blushing virgin searching for answers and not knowing where to look. “I don’t think I’m capable of handling what I might find.”

“You are a woman,” Elain softly answers. “You’re capable of anything.”

#acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x you #azriel #acotar azriel #azriel x you #azriel fluff #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar smut #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #az smut #azriel smut #elain archeron #acotar

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puckinghischier · 6 months ago

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Nico looking stressed, grumpy and pissed off lately. He would def take out all that on reader if they gave him permission to do so. God he would become a whole different person in bed 😵‍💫🫠

“just say the word, and i promise it all stops. it all starts and ends with you,” he’d check just one more time you’re sure, almost feeling guilty for what he’s about to do.

“swear on my life, neeks. give me everything you’ve got. please,” you whine and squirm, his outburst on the ice earlier planting a seed in your brain only he can grow.

his eyes darken, your pleas all he needs to spur him on, slamming into you so hard you see stars, gripping your hips with a bruising pressure.

he gives you no warnings, no recovery, just slamming into you over and over again, every ounce of anger he felt on the ice being transferred to your body.

your body jolts with each thrust, thankful the two of you won the argument for a plush headboard in this exact moment. his grunts are animalistic and guttural, never having heard sounds like this from him before. they make your body melt into his even more, not having enough brain power to think about the implications of why this is all so hot for you.

“swear, just can’t get them to do anything right. s’like trying to teach monkeys how to play hockey,” he grunts, using the physical outlet to purge the mental frustrations as well. “s’like i’m the only one on that ice that gives a shit about anything. they won’t shoot, won’t block, aren’t there for passes. a bunch of idiotic fucks.”

you would respond, but the moment you open your mouth, his fingers immediately fill the space. you swirl your tongue around the digits, sucking lightly. the action earns a particularly deep groan, throwing his head back like it’s the most erotic thing he’s ever experienced.

“don’t wanna hear anything other than my name from these pretty little lips, got it?” his eyes bore down onto yours, waiting for your small nod of agreement. “if i can’t get the performance from the guys i want, you’re gonna give me the performance i want in here.”

his command wasn’t even that harsh or demanding, but you’ll be damned if it didn’t make your eyes nearly roll back into your head. when he slips his fingers from your mouth his names becomes the only word in your vocabulary. repeated over and over and over again, never stopping.

you can feel his grip on your hips tighten, making you wonder how many purple splotches you’ll be able to count tomorrow morning. his thrusts get more aggressive as your whines of his name get louder and louder, teetering on the edge of pathetic, but you don’t care.

he thrusts into you the harshest and deepest he has yet, and it causes your body to erupt into the most intense bliss you’ve ever felt, feeling nico’s own body still and his deep voice cry out a loud “FUCK!”

you convulse and shake beneath him, wondering when the waves of pleasure are gonna stop. nico’s still hovered above you, blinking his eyes in a daze.

he pulls his softening dick out of you, a whimper escaping your still shaking body. the waves of pleasure are still subsiding when he climbs off the bed, returning a few seconds later with a warm washcloth and a fresh pair of boxers on.

when he goes to clean you up, you whine and whimper at how sensitive you are, nico’s soft ‘shhhs’ not doing much to calm you.

he crawls into bed beside of you, lifting the bed sheet to cover your bare body, pulling you against him.

“y’alright, sweet girl?” nico whispers as he nudges his nose into your neck, back to his sweet and attentive self. you hum back a “mhmmm,” nestling into his warm body.

you can feel him smirk into your skin, his rumbling voice causing goosebumps to rise. “didn’t realize y’liked when i’m so rough. maybe we should explore this more often.”

the thought brings another whine from your throat, wanting to roll over away from him, but you’re trapped in his arms, any kind of movement impossible.

“god, let a girl recover a bit, yeah? think my vagina is gonna fall off if you put those images in my head right now.”

nico erupts in full on belly laughter, amused at this new discovery. “well not right now, no. just…gonna keep it in mind anytime i try to tell myself not to get too worked up during a game. might…slip and let a hit or two through if i know this is what i have waiting on me when i get home.”

and when he see’s the hand sized bruises on your hips the next day, rushing out apologies and peppering kisses over the purple skin, you assure him you’re fine, seeing the small glint in his eyes at the physical reminder of last night, you know that his penalty minutes are about to sky rocket.

#alliyaps #ew i so don’t like how i ended this #but i’m an idiot so you’re just gonna have to deal with it #hockey #nhl #new jersey devils #nico hischier #nico hischier blurb #nico hischier fanfic #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier one shot #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier x y/n #nico hischier x you #nico hischier smut #gyatt gabs 📞

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slutoru1207 · 3 months ago

Text

Invincible!Mark x reader x Variants!Mark part 12

The baby’s soft cooing was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. His tiny body was warm against your chest, his small fingers curled into your shirt. You focused on his steady breaths, on the gentle rise and fall of his little body, trying to block out the eyes watching you.

They were always watching.

Scarred Mark was the first to break the silence. His voice was low, almost hesitant. “He looks like you.”

You tensed, adjusting your grip on your son. “He looks like Mark.”

Sinister Mark’s lips twitched into something resembling amusement. “Same thing.” He took a slow step closer, gaze fixated on the baby. “Let me hold him.”

You pulled back instinctively, arms tightening around your son. “No.”

Scarred Mark exhaled, looking away. “I never got to hold mine.” His voice was thick with something raw—regret, grief, an unbearable weight that made your stomach twist.

Another Variant scoffed. “That’s because you lost her before she could give birth.”

A muscle in Scarred Mark’s jaw ticked, but he said nothing.

The baby stirred at the shift in tension, letting out a tiny whimper. Your heart clenched as you instinctively rocked him, whispering soft reassurances.

The room stilled at the sound.

Cold Mark—the one who had spoken so little—stepped forward. “You’re stressing him out.” His voice was even, but there was a quiet command in it. He was looking at the others, not at you.

Sinister Mark let out a quiet chuckle. “I just want to hold him.”

“No,” you repeated firmly.

Scarred Mark let out a shaky breath. “Please.”

That one word made something crack inside you. His voice wasn’t manipulative, wasn’t demanding. It was broken.

You hesitated.

The baby let out another small sound, shifting in your arms. His little face scrunched before relaxing again, his lips parting as he sighed in his sleep.

Scarred Mark swallowed hard.

Against your better judgment, you glanced down at your son, then back up at him.

Slowly, hesitantly, you shifted the baby just enough for Scarred Mark to reach out. His hands trembled as he gently—so, so gently—cradled the baby’s tiny body, pulling him close.

His breath hitched. His eyes squeezed shut for half a second before opening again, staring down at the child in his arms like he couldn’t quite believe he was real.

The room stayed silent.

The baby stirred, then relaxed.

Scarred Mark exhaled, his hold tightening slightly—but not in a way that scared you. Not yet.

“He’s warm,” he whispered.

Sinister Mark watched with a smirk, but he didn’t interrupt.

For a moment, just a moment, the eerie possessiveness was gone. There was only a man—broken, grieving—holding something he thought he would never have.

Then, the moment passed.

Scarred Mark’s arms tightened ever so slightly, his expression darkening with something unreadable. His fingers curled protectively around the baby’s tiny form.

Your stomach dropped.

You had just made a mistake.

#invincible comic #invincible season 3 #invincible fanfic #mark x reader #invincible x you #invincible smut #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson invincible #invincible x reader #mark x you

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writingunderneathawillow · 4 months ago

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mercy kill (bucky barnes x reader)

woah, this one’s dark. also i’ve never been shot (yay) so sorry if anything’s inaccurate lol cw: dark, hurt no comfort, gunshot wound, reader death, bucky crying :( ouchie, she/her reader, no use of y/n word count: 1,6k

You were shaking.

The blood slowly trickled out of the gunshot in your stomach.

It had happened within milliseconds, so quickly that neither of you had noticed.

A sharp crack and the last of the assailants went to the ground. Bucky’s chest was heaving, his hands bloodied and curled into fists as the man in front of him hit the floor.

There was a rage in his eyes that you hadn’t seen in a while.

All the attackers were dead but the danger wasn’t over. You were locked in the facility with no way out. The metal doors were shut close, sealed with an immovable force.

A gasp escaped your lips and Bucky’s eyes darted to you.

His eyes went soft as he looked at you.

Your hands involuntarily went to your stomach and you felt it. The wetness of the blood seeping onto your hands. Waves of dizziness rocked your body and Bucky was at your side, steadying you within seconds.

“Sweetheart?” His voice shook as his strong hands wrapped around your shoulders, eyes shifting over your pale face. Your legs gave out underneath you and he guided you to the floor. Shallow wheezes trembled from your lips and your eyes rolled back.

Pain.

Indescribable pain shook you to your core.

“Sweetheart, you’ll-,” Bucky’s voice trembled as he cradled your body softly. “You’ll be okay,” he continued, soft hands gliding over your color drained face. He pulled your shirt up and you winced as the cloth moved over the gunshot.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured and you looked at him. You saw the tears in his eyes.

“It’s okay,” you managed to say.

Blood spilled from the wound as Bucky assessed the damage.

“You’re gonna- you’re gonna be fine,” he insisted, embracing your face.

You nodded, knowing that you wouldn’t be.

“They’ll come and get us,” he continued, pressing his hands onto your stomach.

Sharp sounds of pain filled the room as the pressure on the wound brought blinding lights before your eyes. It felt like hot steel and icy waves at the same time.

“They’ll be here.”

His eyes examined the room, looking, begging for something that could help you.

“Yes,” your voice was weak, “Steve… and Nat, they’ll come,” you whispered.

Bucky nodded.

“Yeah, baby, they’ll be here,” he replied.

But no one came. You laid on the floor, going from pale to grey. The blood didn’t stop, no matter how much pressure Bucky applied.

A panic, a fear that you had never seen on his composed, stoic face before, crept onto his expression.

Your eyelids felt heavy. It was as if someone was forcing you to close your eyes, fingers slowly sowing your lashes together.

“Don’t fall asleep.”

His voice was loud, like a command.

You pried open your eyes to look at him.

Tears were painting his cheeks, illuminated under the dim lighting in the warehouse.

“Sorry,” you apologized, your voice low. “I’m just so…,” your voice trailed off.

“No,” he said. He hadn’t meant to sound so cold but he was determined to keep you awake.

He picked you up, trying to block out the pained gasps that came from your lips as he moved closer to the doors.

“Stay awake. I’ll get us out of here,” he ordered.

He softly put you on the ground, half lying, half sitting up. His eyes danced over your pained frame until he managed to rip his gaze away from you.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he repeated.

Then he threw the first punch. His metal fist connected with the door, a loud bang echoing through the room. The door didn’t budge. Not even a single scratch marked the area where he had directed all his energy to.

You shivered. The blood collecting on your legs was hot but your skin was clammy and cold, contrasting with the warm fluid.

“Bucky,” you muttered.

A second and a third blow landed on the door.

Loud clangs, bam, bam, bam, filled the eerie silence along with your shallow breaths.

His first ten or twenty punches were methodical, with precision and what seemed like practiced ease.

Then they became uncoordinated. Wild and ungracefully, he leapt forward, throwing his entire weight against the door. It didn’t budge.

You tried to say his name again but all that came from your mouth was a cough and blood. The metallic taste lingered on your tongue as you groaned and wiped the blood and spit away.

Bucky’s gaze drifted to you again. The fear in his eyes doubled and he was by your side again. You saw the sweat on his forehead, the shaking in his arms as he cradled your face. “It’s no use,” you said weakly. “It won’t open.”

He shook his head. “I’ll get us out of here. You’ll be fine. The others will be here.”

You looked at him, reaching for his hand on your cheek.

“Bucky,” you didn’t know where the strength came from as you held onto his wrist. “Listen to me.”

His eyes focused on you, anxiety written all over his face.

“James,” you said quietly.

He shook his head again, hearing the tone in your voice but you continued before he could say something.

“James, we’re so far away. The others… it’ll take them at least four hours to get here. And they don’t even know that we’re… in trouble.”

You gestured weakly to your comms, that had shut off the second the doors had closed. His lower lip quivered. His eyes examined your wound again and then travelled over your greyed face.

“I’m gonna die,” you whispered.

“No.” He sounded so determined, as if he would fight off death the second he knocked on the door.

“James, listen to me,” you begged. “Please, just…” You looked at him. “I won’t make it. The doors won’t open.”

“No,” he repeated, loosening himself out of your grip. “I can do it. I can get us out of here.”

His body rocked with sobs as he threw himself against the door. Once, twice, ten times.

You winced as he crashed into the door, you practically felt his body ringing as he connected with it.

“James,” you pleaded.

Slowly, he turned to look at you. Blood ran from a cut over his eyebrow and sweat glistened on his body.

“Please don’t let me die alone.”

His eyes widened.

“You’re not gonna die,” he implored.

“Yes, I am.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and filled with such sorrow that you almost wished death came sooner. “I’m not gonna make it.”

He dropped to his knees in front of you.

Your entire suit was stained with blood. You didn’t even fathom someone could lose so much blood and still talk.

“It hurts,” you whispered.

Bucky grimaced as you said this.

He enveloped your body with his, pulling you close, so that your head rested on his lap.

“You’ll be okay.” You felt his shaking, the way his whole body trembled as the lie ran off his lips.

“I love you,” you croaked.

“Don’t,” Bucky hissed, his own tears mixing with yours as they fell from his face.

“Don’t say that. Not like that.”

“James…,” you sighed. “I don’t have long. I need to say it now. You need to hear it now.”

You fixed his gaze.

“You are the love of my life. You’ve made me happy…,” a pained gasp slipped from your lips as you moved to touch his face. “You’ve made me the happiest person on this planet, every day since I’ve known you. I love you.”

He whimpered at your words, more silent tears rushing down his cheeks.

“When I’m gone-“ “Stop.” “No, listen, you have to hear this! When I’m gone, you can’t go back. You can’t become this cold… soldier again, okay? I need you to be happy.”

He pulled your face closer to his own.

“How can you ask that of me? How could I be even close to happy without you?”

Every particle of his body, every atom protested at the thought alone.

“I can’t- I won’t let you do that to yourself,” you replied, “You can’t go back to the man you were before me, okay?”

He didn’t reply, his hands buried in your hair.

“I love you,” You repeated.

A sound of pure agony escaped his lips.

“I love you. More than anything. More than life. More than this world.”

His words were woven with pain, every fiber of his soul hurting at the thought of a life without you.

“You have to let me go,” you continued quietly, the mere act of moving your lips draining you of all energy.

“Please,” you whispered.

The world seemed to get smaller. Darker. Breathing in felt like fire. Breathing out felt like ice.

“Everything hurts,” you murmured.

Bucky writhed in agony as he looked at you, heard your words, the plead behind them.

“You can’t…,” he began, “You can’t be asking this of me.”

You couldn’t reply. Your throat was like sandpaper. The pain of the gunshot in your abdomen was like blinding white light.

You held his hand and slowly brought it up to the gun in his holster. Don’t make me suffer any longer, you begged in your head.

His breath came in low gasps as you pleaded with him silently.

“I can’t,” he whispered.

You opened your mouth to say something, but only more blood spilled from your lips. It wasn’t red or even brown, it was black like ink, painting your chin.

“Please,” you managed to beg him. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he wailed as he slowly loosened the gun from the holster.

“I love you,” he gasped as he released the safety.

“I love you,” he repeated as he pointed the gun at your forehead.

You nodded, wishing you could say it one last time.

“I love you,” he said as he pulled the trigger.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #hurt/no comfort #angst no comfort #angst no happy ending #winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fandom

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biwitchenergyz · 28 days ago

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That Thing Called Love

Chapter 1 of 3: Blackberries and Pecans (Next)

(Warnings! This work contains references to suicide, period-typical racism and sexism, as well as mentions of the KKK, plus I take elements from other vampire lore (ex; shapeshifting)

(Title from the song That Thing Called Love by Mamie Smith, considered the "First Lady of the Blues". The song is also referenced in this, and she is an incredible woman!)

“Promise me you’ll take your bag!” Annie places the finishing touches on the amulet, blowing out the candles she lit around the house. She was rushing to get it done before nightfall, but she was a mere minute too late. You watched the sunset from her window; the colorful glow made the world appear hopeful.

“Don’t talk to strangers and don't let anybody in.” Annie chided as she tied the mojo bag around your neck. She was always suspicious of the dark, and when you told her you walked to her place from your own, she practically begged you to spend the night. You refused, reminding her your cat was waiting for you and he wouldn't take kindly to missed meals.

“I ain’t a little girl anymore, Ann! I know all about the creatures of the night.” With gentle hands, you adjusted the delicate bag around your neck. “Few folks have called me one from time to time.” Annie laughed at that, finally relaxing as you headed for the door.

“I'd better be seeing you tomorrow! We’ve got shopping to do.” Your sister was strange in her affection. She was not used to expressing her love with words of comfort. Often, it came in the form of actions and commands. “Don’t forget. Farmers market at two pm!”

You waved her off, sensing her follow you outside, where she stood watching as you made your way to the tree line. “Bye, Annie!” You shouted, waltzing into the woods, sticking to the manmade path that you knew by heart. When you looked back, Annie was gone, and the trees were blocking your view of her little house.

The moon lit your path as she always did. You would never tell anyone, but during these walks, you enjoyed talking to her. She listened with an open heart, and you often found yourself performing for her.

There were nights when you repeated poetry or lines from your latest reading. On nights like this, when the woods were more comforting than imposing, you liked to sing. Softly at first, then the memory of your mother singing in her kitchen came over you, and you sang louder. Gliding down the path with a rhythmic swing in your hips.

“ Now I want somebody, please.

To cure me of my love disease.”

Music came naturally to you. It was rooted so deeply into your childhood that it seeped out of you at every given chance. You weren’t like Sammy, Annie's cousin through marriage, who could sing in front of a crowd of thousands. That kind of talent was rare, but as you sang aloud, you figured the moon must be pleased, for she glows brighter than before, like a beacon guiding you home.

“That thing called love will make you sit and sigh.

That thing called love that money cannot buy.”

A sudden noise, like leaves crunching beneath someone's feet, startles you into silence. The handgun at your thigh feels tempting as you pat it, waiting for someone to jump from the trees. The sound comes again, but this time it's accompanied by the call of a bird, albeit tinier and weaker than any bird you've ever heard.

Inching onto the path is a black bird, dragging half its body with a lone clawed foot in your direction. Its wing and foot, nearest to you, appear injured, and they limp at its side. You recognized its more diminutive stature and fanned tail, instantly knowing it was a crow instead of the common raven. The creature's eyes flash at you, red like blood, but everything looks strange under the moon's glow.

You knew there were owls in these woods; you’d seen them a few times, and owls had a habit of attacking smaller birds. Speeding up, you were able to get close enough to see the wound in the moonlight. It was a nasty cut; the poor bird wouldn't make it till morning on its own, defenseless and exposed.

“Ya’ poor darling!” You bend to your knees, watching as the crow stops its desperate crawl. Instead, it looked at you with eyes so human yet so sorrowful. Gently, you wrapped the bird into your arms, cradling it against your chest. It didn’t fight, only letting out a slight wounded sound.

“I can’t leave you out here. My sister, Annie, doesn't care for birds. Especially not birds like you.” Birds of death and mourning were the last thing your sister needed to see right now. If the poor thing were to continue down the path to her house, he might find himself dead at her hands.

The crow tilts its head, confused by your words. Gently, you rub the back of its head, hoping to provide some form of comfort. You’d bandage its wounds when you got home, but for now, you could only offer tenderness.

“Leo ain’t gonna be happy about this.” You whisper aloud, thinking of your chunky tabby cat as he waits for you to return home. He didn't do well with sharing attention, not to mention his affinity for leaving dead birds at your doorstep. With the look of the wound, the crow would probably need a week to heal. You figured Leo could share the spotlight during that time.

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Your cottage was different from Annie’s shack. It was your childhood home, buried deep in the old woods, surrounded on every side. Originally, a gift from your father to your mother: two bedrooms with a small kitchen, a bathroom, and a dining room that also counted as the parlor. Annie didn’t like to visit anymore; she called it haunted, but you called it home.

On the small porch was a cushioned swing that you and your mother used to sit on for hours. Sometimes the two of you would watch Annie and your father as they tended the garden, other times you would all sit on the porch drinking mint tea. Your sister stayed with you for a few years after her mother died. It was the first time she got to know her father and you. Still, Annie was out of the house as soon as she could be, and sometime around her move out is when your father left.

The house wasn't the same after that. Your mother wallowed in sorrow, lying in her bed from sunup to sundown. Nothing you and your sister did could pull her from her melancholy. It wasn’t much of a shock when Annie and the Moore twins, childhood friends of yours, came knocking on the door to tell you your mother had been found face down in the delta.

Against your better judgment, you told the crow all about the history of your cottage, and to its credit, the bird seemed to listen. “With mama gone and daddy missin’, the house and half acre were left to me. I use the spare room for my plants and crystals, but there’ll be enough room for you to heal right.” You turn the key as quietly as you can, but it is to no avail, as soon as the door opens, Leo is waiting for you, meowing like a rampaging tyrant.

“Shit, let me set you down somewhere nice so I can feed him.” The crow must know to stay quiet because he doesn't respond to the cat's persistent complaining. In your plant room, you place a cushion from your bed down atop your wooden dresser. You fluff it just right for the crow, who eagerly rests his weary body. “I’ll be back later with some food and water.” You promise as you shoo Leo from the room and take him to his empty bowl.

A bowl of chopped nuts and a cup of water are soon placed by the crow's bed. You fear he will reject it, but he takes the time to devour as much as he can. While he eats, you wrap his injured wing and leg in a thin cloth covered with yarrow paste. Leo is waiting just outside the door, hoping for a second meal. You sit on the bed that once belonged to you and Annie as you take a small sip of your tea. “He ain’t going to eat you. He’s just acting like he will.” You explain in defense of your cat.

The crow makes a low-pitched rattling sound that you take as his words of understanding. You continue your chatter with ease. “Leo thinks he's the king now, but I found him abandoned on the side of the road. He wasn’t anything but a starving baby back then.” The crow sits on its pillow, watching you as you fill the air with words. You tell him a little bit about the remedy you’ve put on his wing, like you would say to a patient at your clinic.

You mention Annie and the dinner you just had at her house. It feels nice to have someone to tell things to, someone who seems to listen, unlike Leo, who turns away from you when he’s trying to sleep.

“I figure it’s your bedtime now with it being night and all. Leo and I will leave you be, Goodnight-” You pause, unsure of what to call this newcomer in your life.

The bird must understand you, for it attempts to make a sound, but it comes out like cooing. You brush its back, humming as you think of the perfect name for this creature. As your hand trails up its body, the bird turns to take a nip at your skin, leaving a pearl of blood that is quickly nipped away. You pull your hand back, clutching your finger and scolding the evil crow.

Remmy, a voice within you whispered. Despite it sounding like your own, you can’t remember where such a name came from. Still, the name fit the little crow with the injured wing. “Goodnight, Remmy.” You blew out the tableside candle and shut the door to keep Leo from getting in. The feline didn't mind; instead, he made his way to your shared bed and was content to know that you'd be sleeping with him tonight and not that pesky bird.

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A rhythm began between the three of you, with a natural ease. Leo would wake you in the morning, giving you enough time to feed him and Remmy before you had to run out of the house and rush to your nursing job in the city. You spent most days treating injured farm hands and the occasional wound sustained from fighting. When you weren't treating patients, you were reading medical books, learning about herbal remedies, and the known benefits of certain plants.

Your coworker would drop you off at Annie's house after work, and the two of you would catch a ride down to the market where Annie would sell spells and ointments. When you both had the money, you’d do a little shopping of your own. Your groceries over the past week were always filled with blackberries and pecans, Remmy’s favorite foods.

You would return home after a long day, cook dinner, and feed your boys all before picking up Leo and settling in the guest bedroom, where you talked to Remmy until sunset, and you grew weary. Tonight was no different.

“You should be able to practice flying now.” You tell the sleepy crow as you remove the bandage from his wing and leg. The crow preened as soon as the bandage was off. His eyes glimmer a shade of scarlet when he looks in your direction. You bent down to pick up Leo as he brushed against you, then both of you settled on the bed, with Leo snuggled into your crossed legs. Remmy gave his wings a little flap, seemingly testing out his movements.

“I’ll leave the window open tonight so ya’ can get some fresh air.” You trace patterns into Leo’s brindle fur. “Don’t gotta fly off if you aren't comfortable. You’re always welcome back here, just come on in.” Secretly, you hope Remmy won't fly away. He was good company, not that Leo wasn't, but there was something more attentive about the crow. So when you went to sleep, you left the window cracked just enough to give Remmy access if he chose it.

Come morning, you woke to find a shiny pebble placed outside your bedroom window. You opened it, quickly grabbing the rock before it fell. It glistened in the morning sunlight with a white hue similar to a pearl; if it wasn't for its rough edges, you might confuse it for one. Remmy wasn't in bed when you went to question him; the light from the open window glistened down onto an empty pillow. Your heart nearly dropped before you heard that familiar rattling sound that came from deep within Remmy’s throat.

He hid under the dresser, poking his little head out enough for you to know he was there. His body blended into the dark. Something in you knew to close the windows and shutters. As soon as they were closed, Remmy poked his head back out and flew to his pillow, a little wobbly but otherwise fine.

“Did ya’ bring me a gift, Remmy?” You teased the silly bird as you held up the white rock. His head moved up and down, similar to a nod. “Thank you very much, pretty bird.” You placed a peck on his beak, trying to show your sincere appreciation. Once again, the crow preened under your gaze.

As it was a Saturday, you and Leo relaxed in Remmy’s room while you took notes in your spellbook as you read through the book of herbal remedies. You lit candles as you recited old prayers and chants, hoping for prosperity. Annie had Hoodoo, and you had your craft, both different yet beautiful in their way. Remmy liked your prayers, flying to perch on your shoulder as you recited old words that flowed naturally from your lips. Leo lay with his belly in the air, comforted by the protective energy in the room.

By nightfall, you were too tired to make the journey to your room. You cracked the window open again before curling up with Leo and falling asleep in your childhood bed. Unbeknownst to you, the shadow of a man rose from your bedside. Beady red eyes traced your gentle figure before placing a blanket around you. Leo opened one weary eye, but he relaxed at the sight of the raven-haired man.

In the morning, Remmy was hidden under the dresser again, and resting on your pillow was a sprig of basil, the very herb you were writing about when sleep called to you.

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Annie didn't know about your feathered companion. You doubted she'd approve of you keeping a crow around your home. Bad luck, she would say, he’ll bring bad luck. Remmy brought you many things. From shining rocks to useful herbs, he spent the next four days bringing gifts into your home when the sun set and you were none the wiser.

After a long day at work, sewing one too many cuts for a group of teens that had gotten into a drunken argument, you were ready to crawl into bed and bid the world goodbye. Like clockwork, you fed your two special boys before attempting to prepare for a cleansing ritual you would perform in the morning. As you wrote down the items you needed and the intention you had for the spell, your eyes fell shut.

There was a weight behind you, gentle and loving. It wrapped you in its arms and nuzzled into your neck. You wondered why such a warm dream was coming to you tonight; it was rare for you to dream of being loved. Not since you called off your engagement with your ex, Benny.

Leo made an appearance in your dream, curling into a ball at the top of the bed, purring when a pale hand brushed his ears. You heard the low, contented sigh as the weight pulled you closer. In your dreary state, one name fell from your lips, “Remmy.”

Nearly three hours into your peaceful sleep, your eyes begrudgingly opened. The warm breeze coming from your window blew strands of hair that tickled your neck. Sighing, you rolled over, lying on your right side and facing towards the window. A man lay beside you, the man you dreamt of; you figured you were still dreaming. Gently, you brushed the hair from his forehead as you prepared to fall back into sleep. Your eyes closed, and in a beat, a sudden realization hit you. There was a half-naked man in your bed.

You yelped, loud and aggressive, as you fell from the bed, slamming your back into a wall. Leo raised his head, startled and unhappy with the rude awakening. The stranger stretched his body, eyes still closed, as he mumbled, “Come back to bed, sugar.” He must have heard you reaching for the gun in the drawer of your nightstand because his eyes shot open, just as shocked as you had been.

“Shit, didnt mean to fall asleep.” He shook the black curls from his eyes. Standing quickly, while raising his hands up to show you he meant no harm. With nothing but a pair of cotton boxer shorts on, you could see the outline of him, and it stirred something within you.

“Who the hell are you?” You didn’t expect your voice to sound so stern; you figured it was from the years of being with Annie. Your right hand found the handgun and you pulled it on him, faster than a viper. That's when you noticed the flicker in his eyes, specks of rubies shining back at you. “Remmy?” The crow's name fell from your parted lips.

“Kinda? The names Remmick.” In the moonlight, his skin reminded you of the first rock you had received, pearlescent and glowing. He moves cautiously, circling the bed as if you were a wild animal waiting to jump. In a sense, you are. The light catches onto his shoulder, and you see the scar tissue of a cut that stretches past his naked torso and down to his thigh. It’s the same cut that Remmy had from his wing to his leg.

“What are you?” It was hardly a secret, but you wanted to hear it from him.

“Don’t know what ya’ll call it down here, but I figure Vampire is the right word.” You refused to look down as he stood on your side of the bed, hardly clothed, and sheepishly rubbing at his neck. “I wasn’t trying to hurt ya’. I was wounded pretty bad ya’ see,” He takes a step backwards when you grip the handgun between both your shaking hands.

“Then you found me, I’m mighty thankful for you. I woulda’ve died out there.” His strong hand traces the flesh wound; it appears to heal right before your eyes.

The rapid pounding of your heart was uncomfortable, to say the least. There was a connection between the two of you that hung in the air like a noose. You told Remmy a million things about yourself and your life; this vampire knew all of you. The thought of him having been given such precious information makes your face grow hot and your throat tighten.

“My sister always taught me not to mess with creatures like you,” You begin slowly, waiting to see if he will switch up and attack, but he just stands there. “You need to leave now. I ain't gonna hurt you, but you can’t stay here. I don’t trust no vampires and I certainly don't trust no white men.” Remmick's face contorts as if you struck him.

“I-I enjoy it here. Don’t wanna leave you.” He lamented, searching for a speck of doubt in your eyes that would prove you wanted him there. You refused to meet his gaze; you knew he would find what he was looking for.

“Should have thought of that before you tricked me.” God, you sounded like a heartbroken maiden, but you couldn’t hide the betrayal you felt. “You didn’t need to hide from me. You had days to knock on my door and tell me the truth. I don’t like liars, and I especially don't like men who creep into my bed.” Pushing forward, the gun stands between the two of you as Remmick walks backwards.

“Imma’ go! I didn’t mean to sneak in bed with ya’ and it wasn't like that.” He shuffled his bare feet towards the door as you followed. Before he could exit, something tender and unspoken came over you.

“Wait,” you called as you slowly made your way back into the room, stumbling a little because you refused to turn your back on the man. You opened the nightstand, fiddling around till you found Benny’s old robe. Remmick still stood at the door, his naked flesh lit by moonlight. Setting the gun down, you wrapped the robe around his shivering form and tightened it.

“Thank you, sugar.” Then he was gone, and you locked the door with shaking hands. Annie always told you something would come hunting for good women like you. She whispered warnings as she braided your hair, reminding you never to trust a stranger. Against all reason, you had let one in.

#remmick #remmick sinners #remmick x reader #remmick x you #fanfic readers #sinners x reader #sinners fanfiction

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