catchthesemonkhands

[catchthesemonkhands]

Brats... when they finally get what they were asking for.

The way your face is wrecked now; mouth slack, eyelashes fluttering, that pretty little defiance finally smothered under my hand, fuck, it’s delicious.

You wanted to test me? Wanted to push and tease until I snapped? Good job.

Look at you now, hips jerking helplessly as my fingers work your oversensitive cock, my other hand fisted in your hair to keep you right there, forced to watch how ruined you are in the mirror.

"More?" I coo, laughing when you whimper. "Too bad. You get everything you asked for... and more. Take it like a good pup."

[catchthesemonkhands]

Johnny who has been away from u for far longer than comfortable, and when he finally gets back hes fucking frantic about having you.

He's railing u against the floor bc he couldn't wait to get to the bedroom, hands gripping ur hips hard enough to bruise "fuck- sorry- sorry, bonnie- i cant- ill be kind next time okay? Sorry- I just need you-" he mutters into the back of ur neck, while ur mind is totally blank and fuzzy from overstimulation. He already came in u once but he doesnt look like hes planning to stop.

[catchthesemonkhands]

Soap and reader who are extremely casual abt sex. Like, in the sense that you two are so horny that its second nature to slip a hand down his pants, or for him to drop to his knees.

You could be watching a movie together, hands in eachothers pants, and its not even a big deal. Hell, you hardly even thought abt it by now, its just so constant and warm and nice, yknow?

Which makes it all the worse when his mates come to visit and you literally look them in the eyes and say hi before plopping down next to soap and reaching into his joggers. He just groans appreciatively and keeps talking, so you dont even think about it until the indignant splutter gaz makes.

"Mate what the fuck?!" You furrow your brows, before realization and mortification wash over you in equal parts.

"Shit! Sorry- sorry, uhm-" you flee the room, not even sure how to recover from that while soaps voice follows u out, asking for u to at least finish him off lol.

[catchthesemonkhands]

Soap is sitting in the lounge, chatting with the guys abt something stupid, when u walk up. You dont say hi or even acknowledge the raised brow price gives you, instead gripping soaps face so hes forced to look at you.

"Open." His mouth falls open without thought, eyes already foggy. Pathetic. You spit into his mouth, watch him hold it there bc you didnt tell him to move "hm. Good boy. Swallow." He does, barely holding a whimper and not at all able to hide his sudden boner.

You hear gazs baffled "what the fuck, mate?!" As you leave, mentally wondering what percentage of the betting pool ghost will give you for that.

[catchthesemonkhands]

Simon tinkers around with an old carburetor like a fidget toy. He disassembles and reassembles it for fun, something to keep his hands busy when you watch TV some evenings.

You'll stretch out on the couch and he'll sit in front of it, close enough to reach, an old towel spread out between his legs and his eyes dart from whatever you're watching back to his little project.

During ads, you lean over, your chin resting on his shoulder as he fiddles with the thing.

"Very nice job, Simon," you tell him, giving him a playful kiss on his neck. "Good boy working on those fine motor skills."

He turns his head towards you to give you a grin, and your chest aches at how perfect the moment is. You're home, with Simon, because he is your home. Just like you're his. It's perfect and simple and all you've ever wanted.

By the time the next ad break rolls around, he's got you spread out in front of him instead, the carburetor forgotten. He works you open slowly, teasingly, enough to keep you on edge but not enough to push you over just yet.

“Just wanna make you proud, sweetheart,” he mutters, shoving two thick fingers deep inside before pulling them back out and running them through the wetness that’s accumulated between your legs. “Working on that dexterity like you said. Good boy get a gold star?”

He’s being a smug little asshole it — you know it and he knows it too. But after he gives you three orgasms, two with his fingers (“Wanna finish the movie, love, quiet down”) and one on his cock, you lay in bed together in the dark, picking out a chore chart to hang on the refrigerator, complete with a packet of star stickers.

Because it’s fun being with Simon. It’s home. You love that he feels comfortable enough with you to tease and be silly, and he loves that you let him, understanding the deep current of love and respect through every single thing he does.

Plus, he is, when it’s all said and done, a very, very good boy.

[catchthesemonkhands]

List of smut prompts

“So how do you want me to fuck you?”

“I’m not sharing you with anybody. You’re mine, and mine only, and I’m going to make you remember that.”

“That’s sweet and all but do they touch you the way I touch you? Fuck you the way I fuck you? Mm, yeah, didn’t think so.”

A softly spoken, “Want you to fuck me like you mean it.” 

“Let me take care of you, yeah? I’ll do the work.”

“Gonna fuck you until the only word you remember is my name.”

“Can I… can I touch you?”

“My God, you’re so fucking gorgeous like this.” 

“Can I— can I please touch myself?”

“Wanna see how you look when you come undone under me.” 

“I’ll make you feel good, I promise. Just trust me.”

“You sound/taste/feel/look so fucking good.”

“Oh God, you feel amazing, baby.” 

A whispered “Please” slipping out of kiss bitten lips. 

“Mine. All mine.”

“You drive me so insane, you don’t even know.”

“I love getting to know you like this.” 

“You. Me. Bed. Clothes off. Now.” 

“Is this okay?” 

“How much do you want this?”

“Doing so good for me, sweetheart.” 

“Shh, just a little more…” 

“You’re taking me so well, baby.”

“Say please.” 

“I want you in all the ways you’ll let me have you.”

“Tell me how you want me.”

Soft whines and whimpers; held back noises because they don’t want anyone else hearing them; a plea for more without the use of words. 

“Oh, I can think of many ways to shut you up right now.” 

“Wanna hear you beg for it, yeah?”  

“Where do you want me to touch you?” “I don’t know and I don’t care — I just want your hands on me. Please.”

“P-please just”—a sob—“I just need you to fuck me.” 

“Need/want you in me.”

“Beg and maybe I’ll think about it.”

“Not so fast, bun.” 

“So… You touch yourself to the thought of me? I’d like to see that in action.”  

“Want your fingers in me.” 

“Now, why don’t we teach you a lesson?” 

“Touch yourself for me.”

“Tell me how you like/want/need it.” 

“I wanna taste you on my lips again.”

It’s the gentle and soft touches which send shivers skittering down their spine. 

“Rough or gentle?” 

“Fuck, look at you right now…”

“You’re really messing with my head here.”

“Fuck, just touch me already! Just— just do something!” “Not so fast. We’ve still got the whole night/day ahead of us.”

“Wanna feel you against me.”

“Don’t wanna come until I feel you in me.”

“Clothes on or clothes off?” 

“All yours. Only yours.”

“How about we put that pretty mouth of yours into good use, hm?” 

“Fuck, I need/want you so bad.”

“I want you to say my name like that again.” 

“Aren’t you desperate?” 

“Only I get to ruin you like this, you hear me?”

“Only I get to touch you like this, okay?” 

“Patience, love. We’re getting there.” 

“Look at your reflection. Look at how gorgeous you are. So fucking gorgeous when I’m fucking you like this. So pretty for me, and only for me.”

“Be good for me.” 

“You want to come?” “Y-yes, I— please—” “Hm, but do you really deserve to?” 

“You like that, don’t you?” 

“Let’s make your thoughts a reality, yeah?”

“Imagine how amazing you’d sound when I’m fucking you senseless.” 

“I’ll fuck you so good, I promise.” 

“I can taste myself on your lips and it’s messing me up real bad.” 

“You look like a mess and I love it, because I’m the one who made you like this.” 

“You’ve got me all hot and bothered.”

“You don’t get to touch yourself until I say so.” 

“Always so needy for me, aren’t you? Can’t help yourself, can you?” 

“Please let me come.” 

“I-I promise I’ll be good.” 

“How are you feeling?” 

“God, you feel so good around me.” 

“So wet/hard for me already, huh?”

“You good?”

“Mm, always so impatient for me, aren’t you?”

“Do I turn you on that much?” “You don’t even fucking know.” 

“You wanna take control?”

“Let me ride you.”

“Behave.” 

“F-Fuck, I don’t think I’m gonna last long if you keep doing that.” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone more.” 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Stop fucking teasing me and get to it already.” 

“Oh, the things I’d do to you if we were alone right now…”

“Th-There are people outside this door—” “Well, this isn’t about them, is it?” 

“Look at you, squirming under me, all flushed and pretty looking. Can’t even take a little teasing, can you?”

“Yeah, but they don’t fuck you the way you deserved to be fucked, do they?” 

“Might I remind you that these walls aren’t sound proof.” 

A softly exhaled, “I don’t think I can ever get enough of you.” 

“Do you know how much I love seeing you like this?” 

“How do you want me to touch you?” 

“Let me show you how much I mean what I say.”

“Gonna make sure you don’t forget about tonight.” 

Whispered praises against the other’s lips, which are met with soft whimpers and moans. 

“Need me to remind you on what happened last night?” 

“Oh, sensitive there, aren’t we?” 

In a hoarse whisper, “Fuck, you’re killing me here.” 

“But you think about me when they’re fucking you, don’t you?” “I… That’s not true.” 

“Try not to be so noisy, yeah?” 

“Tell me if it hurts, okay?” 

“Lift your hips up for me.”

“Fuck, you’re so hot when you’re bossy.”

“Look at you, coming undone before I’ve even started touching you.” 

“Stop glaring at me like you don’t enjoy me teasing you.”

“I want to be the one fucking you this time.” 

“Sweetheart, you’re so responsive to my touch.”

“I think you’d look even better under me.” 

“And I think you’d look fucking hot when you’re on top of me.” 

“Want you to ruin me.” 

“Do whatever you want with me.” 

“Just sit on my fucking face already.” 

“Who gave you permission to touch yourself?”

“What did I just say?”

“You feel so fucking good in me.” 

“You can have all of me if that’s what you want.” 

“Baby—shit—I don’t think I’m gonna make it to the bed like this.”

“Tell me if it becomes too much, okay?” “Okay.” 

“S-Stop leaving marks on my neck. I have a presentation first thing in the morning.” “Then I get to leave marks anywhere below the neck?”

“Let me make you feel good this time?” 

“You only get to watch.” “B-but—” “No buts, sweetheart.” 

“I’d fuck you right here, right now, if I could.” 

“Let’s take it back to my place.”

“Are we— are we really going to do this here?”

“Turn around.” 

“You look so cute like this, you know?” “Shut the fuck up and just fuck me already.” 

“Why’d you stop?” “Because you sounded too fucking good and so I had like, a moment.” 

“I don’t like people touching what’s mine.”

“Eyes on me at all times, sweetheart.” 

“I wanna eat you out so fucking bad.” “Then why don’t you?”

“Spread your legs for me.” … “Spread them wider.” 

Hands firm on their thighs, keeping them from snapping them shut. 

“I’m not done with you yet.” 

A whispered, “Then come for me,” right next to their ear after they beg for release through tears and soft whimpers, because they’ve been edged for way too long. 

“Admit it — you want this as much as I do.” 

“I’ll be honest: I get off to the thought of you.” 

“No one does it like you.”

“Christ, I wanna fuck you so bad.” “You’ll get to do that once we get home.” 

“I want you in the most sinful ways possible.” 

“Need a hand?” 

“Aww, how eager can you get?” 

“I want you to touch me like I’m the only thing you could ever want.” 

“Can’t— can’t you go faster than this?” 

“You like messing with my head, don’t you?” “Only because it clearly turns you on.”

“B-But what about you?” “We can worry about me later. It’s all about you right now.”

“Shit, I’m so fucking hooked on you it’s not even funny.”

“You’d sound so good begging for it.”

“Fuck, you have such a tight hold on me, you don’t even know.” 

“Don’t make too many noises or we’ll get caught.” “That’s part of the thrill.”

“I don’t care, I just need these clothes off so I can fully feel you against me.” 

“You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted so badly.” 

[catchthesemonkhands]

comfort of my gore character :(

[catchthesemonkhands]

two characters: flirty banter, clearly getting off on the power dynamics between them

people who are scared of going to hell for masturbating: he loves him like a son

me, hauving covid: can he call him that while they fuck

[catchthesemonkhands]

[catchthesemonkhands]

an au of a boxing au i've barely started. price x reader. cw: noncon blowjob, injury, lots of blood and spit, a whiff of plot, abrupt ending a/n: reader can be interpreted as gender neutral.

Blood gushes from your broken nose in thick, hot streams you can’t stop—not until Price gives his permission. 

It floods your mouth, seeping around your mouthguard, slicking your throat with each strained swallow as more pours down from your sinuses. Pain radiates in waves from the fracture, reverberating through your cheeks and throbbing behind your eye sockets. Rogue tears slip free, salt sliding into the mess, but they don’t dilute the taste, just muddle it. Breathing through it is all you can do.

It spills from your chin to your knees, trickling over fresh scrapes and down to the floor. He’ll probably make you lick it up later.

Your gaze stays locked to his—two slivers beneath a lowered brow, cold as ice. It does not waver at the clink of his belt or the rustle of fabric. Nothing surprises you anymore.

Price steps forward. Fingers graze your cheek, smearing blood and tears with a touch that flirts with a gentleness he does not often practice.

“Spit it out,” he orders, using what he’s gathered on his fingers to wet his hardening cock.

Pain slows you down, but your tongue pushes behind the mouthguard, prying it loose. You tilt forward and, with a strained gurgle, let it fall. It hits his boot with an audible splat, leaving a streak across the leather. Another thing you’ll have to see to. Pink, tacky drool strings from your lips, sticking to your chin and throat.

“Filthy.” he mutters.

You know you screwed up. One job—throw the fight, make it look good, pocket the bonus. But your opponent ran his mouth, and all you saw was red. You took him apart. And now, punishment.

When he tilts forward, tapping the ruddy head of his cock to your lips for access, you hold your ground. Lower your brow. Meet him with a glare of your own.

You don’t deserve this—failure or not. You won. Maybe it didn’t pay as much, but it was a clean victory. A win for the gym. A step forward for the rookie.

Price watches a beat longer, expression first tightening, then smoothing into something worse. A chuckle rumbles from his chest, and he scrapes his nails through his beard.

“No?” he says, dropping the hand to drag a fingertip across your chin. “Dead set on bein’ difficult, hm?”

His hand shifts, and you realize too late what he’s aiming for. Thick knuckles bracket shattered bridge of your nose and squeeze.

You erupt. White-hot, blinding pain rips down your spine, searing through every limb. Your hands jolt, fingers flexing before scrambling for his wrist in a panic. You scream, mouth falling open—

—and he takes it, shoving his cock between your lips. Another muffled cry tears out of you.

The second your teeth twitch downward, instinct kicking in, he lets go of your nose and yanks your ear instead.

“None of that. You bite me, I’ll give you somethin’ worse than a broken nose to cry about.”

Pain still screams through your system, but you know better than to push him. Price doesn’t bluff.

You whimper around his cock, sniffle, the taste and scent shifting—salt and iron, sweat and musk thick on your tongue. You nod, glass-eyed and blinking through the sting.

He tugs on the shell of your ear anyway. 

“So these do work. Good. Then get on with it. Got a lot to make up for.”

You take another long, agonizing breath and adjust your grip. One hand drops from his rolled sleeve to brace against his thigh, fingers bunching the fabric. The other slides down his arm, wrapping around the base of his cock—slick with the blood and spit he smeared from your cheek. It makes the movement easier, but it burns against your raw knuckles, skin rubbed raw from sweat trapped beneath the tape you peeled off.

You start slow. Tongue moving as best it can around the intrusion—pinned, awkward—until you manage to curl it, dragging careful licks along the length. Your free hand works in tandem, firm and steady where your mouth won’t go, matching the rhythm of each bob of your head. You keep the motion smooth, mindful not to jolt your tender nose, and maintain some airflow.

The discomfort is impossible to ignore, though. It flares sharply each time his cock brushes your palate, forcing your mouth wider and wider as he stokes his own fire. Hips moving more until you’re forced to hold onto his thighs with both hands. You blink up at him, watching as his head tilts back and eyes close, an almost meditative calm settling over his face.

You’re wondering if you’ll get a rest day after all this when his palm slams down on the back of your head and shoves.

With a harsh shove, your face is mashed down onto his cock, your nose painfully rubbed against the steel wool there. A sharp squeal rips from your throat, twisting into a wet gag. Tears spill as you sob around him, and he grinds in harder with a low groan.

“Fuck, that’s it.”

A thin ribbon of precum slips down your maw, and you suppose you should be grateful—you can’t really taste it. No bile rising, no gag reflex kicking in. Just the slow burn and suffocation of its weight sitting heavy in your gut.

“This,” he growls, pumping shallowly, savoring every drag and catch, “or worse—if you keep thinkin’ for yourself.”

You feel like you’ll be wrung dry before he’s through. Each thrust pulls more spit than you thought you could produce, strings of dusky pink drool trailing down your chin, soaking your lap.

He gives you a second—a few precious breaths—as he pulls out, only to follow with a few sharp slaps of his cock against your cheek. A mix of fluids splatter with each hit, stinging where they land. You suck in a ragged, wheezing breath just in time to see his cock as it pushes in again.

After that, Price ruts into your face with reckless abandon. The only mercy he shows is not forcing you all the way down again as he uses your throat as a sleeve. The bleeding slows; your nostrils burn no longer, reduced to a dull, muted sting. You shiver, clutching his slacks like a lifeline, eyes squeezed shut, silently begging him to come.

His breathing turns ragged, each grunt tapered with a faint wheeze as he works himself up, chasing his finish. Words are beyond him now, at least—too far gone for any cruel word. When you peel your eyelids open, searching for a sign of how close he is, you catch the flush climbing his face, the veins straining in his neck and arms.

He’s pouring his anger into you, using you as the outlet, and what’s worse is the guilt that sparks in your chest. Sick as it is, you wonder if you deserve it. Maybe you should’ve listened. Your choices don’t just affect you, after all. They affect him. The gym. The spectators and investors.

Now he has to answer to their tempers.

So maybe it’s only right that you answer to his.

Finally, his thrusts lose rhythm—rough, uneven glides over your bruised tongue and wrecked mouth. His hands shift, clutching the sides of your head as he pulls back just enough to rest the heft on the flat of the muscle.

The sound you make is pitiful, a broken bleat, nose wrinkling as the first spurts of cum hit your tongue. Your eyes well up again, fighting not to choke, your mouth far too full of his cock, cum, and the mess that had already filled it before.

When it threatens to escape the seal of your lips, his hand hovers near your nose again in a silent warning. You scramble to steady yourself, to swallow past the ache, flinching as fresh pain crests in a new wave. It goes down syrup-thick along with everything else.

Only then does he retract and release his grip.

What’s left behind tastes foul—sour, clinging. You swallow again, reflexive, useless, trying to clear it. Air rushes in as you gasp, the last threads of saliva dangling from your lip, trembling with each breath.

Price gives you ten seconds, maybe less, before gesturing to his boots and the floor around them. It looks like a crime scene—blood and spit and cum splattered everywhere.

He doesn’t need to speak. You predicted it.

Shoulders quaking, you lower your hands to the floor and begin. Crawling through it, licking up every drop, every dark, metallic puddle. At his boot, you pause—wincing at the bitter tang of leather polish—but you keep going. Tongue working over the eyelets, the laces, until they shine.

Then, quietly, you retrieve your mouthguard, wipe your face with shaking fingers, and sink back onto your knees.

You’re rewarded with a pat on your head.

“What do you think? Think you’re gonna listen from now on?”

“Yes, sir,” you mumble, gently feeling under your nose, checking what damage remains. The skin there is tender, swollen, your touch barely grazing it before a fresh throb pulses up. And that’s just your face.

Price watches you for a moment longer, then exhales through his nose—satisfied.

“Good,” he says at last, tucking himself away. “‘Cause I’m done cleanin’ up after you. Pull that kind of stunt again, and I’ll toss you straight to Gaz an’ Soap.” He re-tucks his shirt and fastens his belt. “Get yourself cleaned up. You’re a fucking mess.”

You bow your head and hold the position a beat longer, gathering what’s left of yourself. When you finally rise, it’s slow—joints stiff, muscles aching.

And as you limp toward the showers, cataloging the bruises and welts blooming across your body, fluids drying tacky on your skin, you already know—next time, you won’t make the same mistake.

You’ll throw the fight to avoid another.

[catchthesemonkhands]

joke i'll never get tired of: "they died doing what they loved, [something no one would ever do on purpose]"

[catchthesemonkhands]

cowboy x punk. do you see the vision

[catchthesemonkhands]

[catchthesemonkhands]

cowboy napping for this month's postcard 🥱😴

[catchthesemonkhands]

items from a forgotten cowboy

[catchthesemonkhands]

19th century AU with cowboy Vasco and vampire Machete.

[catchthesemonkhands]

Hi, I need more cowboy x punk stuff after the suggestive boots, I also kinda wanna see them slowly infect each other's style since they look like similar sizes

I'm never gonna pass up the chance to draw Noah wearing Martin's clothes ;)